Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the SeasonFenn, George Manville
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Christmas Penny Readings: Original Sketches for the Season
Fenn, George Manville
Christmas stories; Fiction; Poetry; Short stories
Once more I was aroused by a violent blow, and as my arm was raised
mechanically to grasp, I passed it over the trunk of a large floating
tree, and holding on for dear life, I was hurried down with the foaming
waters.
The hard battle for breath past, fear came again, and I looked
despairingly from left to right for rescue from my perilous position,
but everywhere ruin and desolation, while the din of the rushing waters
was frightful. Everywhere the sides of the ravine seemed to be
crumbling down, and masses of earth and rock were undermined and fell
with a terrible splash into the stream, growing more furious every
moment, while, wherever the gorge narrowed, the turbulence was awful.
Dashed against masses of drift wood, and bruised against the summits of
the projecting rocks, I was faint and despairing, when all at once the
roots of the tree I was in caught against a massive stone, the trunk
swung round, and I found myself brought up by the side of the gorge,
where the branches of a tree hung down; and rousing my last strength I
clutched them, and drew myself up, till I could rest my knees upon the
floating tree; then I nearly over-balanced myself as the trunk rolled
about, but getting hold of a stouter branch I again drew myself up, so
that I stood, and then as the trunk again broke loose and floated away,
I got one foot upon the rocky side, and hung suspended over the stream,
whose waves seemed to leap angrily, to beat me down.
To an uninjured man a slight effort would have been sufficient to place
him in safety, but a strange fear seemed to creep over me, as I felt
that in a few moments I must fall from my hold, and be swept away. But
once more the desire for life came again to renew my strength, and
slowly and painfully I got hold for my other foot, and then crawled to a
rift, where a little stream of water was rushing down from the
table-land above, when by dint of again battling with the blinding
water, falling from weakness again and again, I managed to reach the
top, crawl beyond the reach of the stream, and then fell exhausted,
where I could gaze down upon the raging torrent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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