The lost hunter: A tale of early timesAdams, John Turvill
General
The lost hunter: A tale of early times
Adams, John Turvill
Adventure stories; Indians of North America -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
In one of these placid bays a party of school-boys were amusing
themselves with getting upon the loose blocks and pushing them about
like boats. The amusement appeared to be unattended with danger, the
place being so far from the current, and the water but two or
three feet deep. The children, therefore, were but little noticed,
especially as they were at quite a distance from where the multitude
of spectators was assembled, being considerably higher up and near the
flat-land, bearing the undignified name which only historical accuracy
compels us to introduce. After a time a cake, on which one of the boys
was standing, began slowly to slip away from the shore. So gradually
was this done that it was unobserved by the boys themselves until it
had quite separated itself from the neighborhood of the other cakes,
so that no assistance could be rendered, when one of his companions
cried out to the little fellow upon it, to push for the shore. This
he had already been attempting to do, but in spite of all exertions
he was unable to come nearer. On the contrary, it was evident he was
receding. The water had now become so deep that his pole could no
longer reach the bottom. The current had drawn in the cake, and was
sweeping it with its precious freight to destruction. The children set
up a cry of alarm, which was heard by the spectators below, and first
attracted their attention.
A thrill of horror ran through the crowd. Men drew in their breath
hard, and women shrieked, unable to turn away their eyes, fastened by
a terrible fascination on the peril. Horrid apprehensions invaded the
mind of many a parent. The doomed boy might be his own son. Despairing
glances were cast around in every direction for help. In vain: none
could be given. There was time for nothing: with every second the
child was swept more rapidly to destruction.
Meanwhile the brave little fellow, planted firmly on the centre of the
cake, was balancing himself with the pole, and intrepidly confronting
the danger he could not avoid. Not a cry escaped, nor did his
self-possession desert him. As the vexed and whirling water raised up
the one side or the other of his frail bark, he would incline his body
in this or that direction to preserve the equilibrium, now standing
upright and now cowering close to the surface of the uncertain
footing. And now the block approached the throat, where the torrent
ran the swiftest and was most turbulent. The child seemed to have
escaped thus far by miracle, but now it appeared impossible he would
be able to maintain his place. His head must become dizzy, his courage
fail in the awful confusion of so many threatening dangers; the
tormented waves must upset the block, or another must strike against
it and cast the boy into the water. And now the cake has reached the
icy barrier stretched across the stream. It strikes; it is sucked in
below and disappears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account