The Island in the Falls.—A Discovery of a startling Kind.—The sullen Boar.—A mad Risk.—The Struggle for Life.—On the Verge of Ruin.—A last Effort.—Over the Falls.—Ingulfed and drawn down by the Vortex.—Where is Pat!
THE boys secured their boat to the rocks, and then clambered up the bank to the top of the island. Arriving there, they found but little to be seen. The island was of very small dimensions, and the thick woods that covered it made it impossible to gain any view of the whole scene around. They crossed to the lower side, and came back; after which they sat down on the edge of the bank, just above the boat, and looked out. They could see up the river from here—the wide cove, the rocky shores, the saw-mills, the rafts, the scows, the tug boats, the wood boats, and the river steamers. Now that they were on the island, there was certainly not much to reward them, except this view; and even this was not equal to that which might be had from the suspension bridge. But, then, they were not altogether destitute of a reward. The island was small and insignificant; but, then, it was an island, and that was something. Besides, their position here meant that they had achieved their enterprise; and the consciousness of success was of itself a sufficient reward.

“I wonder,” said Phil, “why no more vessels go through the Falls—”

“Through the Falls, is it?” said Pat. “O, sure it’s just because they don’t want to; an that’s all, so it is.”

After some more conversation, they began to grow tired of the island; and since they had exhausted all the pleasure that a landing upon it, combined with the consciousness of success, could afford, there remained nothing more to do but to complete their enterprise by effecting a landing upon the other island also.

This one lay farther up the stream; and as they launched their boat and rowed towards it, they became at once sensible of a great increase in the difficulty of their task. With their utmost efforts their progress was very slow, and it took far longer to reach it than it had taken to come from the shore to the first island. At length, however, they reached it, and secured the boat.

“Ye see,” said Pat, who always was ready to account for everything,—“ye see we’ve had the tide dead agin us this time. Whin we crossed the river it was on’y on one side. Whin we go back, it’ll be all fair and aisy, for we’ll have it on one side agin; and that’s how it is.”

They now began to explore this second island. It was larger than the other, but did not seem so large. As it was free from woods, its small extent was perceptible at a glance, which was not the case with the other. The absence of woods made it also even less interesting. But the boys were not at all exacting; and as there was nothing in particular to see on the island, they naturally turned their eyes to the scene that lay beyond. This scene was now very extensive. They could look around in every direction, and enjoy an unobstructed view. Up the river it was the same as it had been before—the same assemblage of rocky hills, and schooners, and steamers, and rafts; but down the river a grander view unfolded itself before their eyes.

The river there ran on till it seemed terminated by a wall of rocks, at the foot of which a steam saw-mill was clattering and howling. On each side of the water arose perpendicular cliffs, and between these was the suspension bridge, whose frail pathway was sustained by cables that passed over granite towers at the edge of the precipice; and overhung a tremendous gulf of treacherous waters.

Suddenly Phil put his hand on Pat’s shoulder. Pat turned, and saw him looking anxiously out over the water and pointing.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pat.

“I wonder what makes it so white over there,” said Phil, in an anxious tone.

He was pointing to the water between the island and the promontory. Here the surface was agitated, and foam was emerging and floating on in ever-increasing masses, while a deep, dull roar began to be slowly perceptible to their ears.

“What is it?” repeated Pat, after looking for a little while in silence at the place where Phil had pointed. “What is it?” he repeated, after a little hesitation. Then his hesitation vanished, and in his usual confident way, he proceeded to account for the foam.

“Sure an it’s the foam,” said he, “an that’s what it is.”

“But there wasn’t any foam a little while ago,” said Phil.

“Deed, thin, an I wor jist thinkin that same,” said Pat, in a candid tone.

The boys stood now for a little while in silence. The low, dull roar increased as they listened, and excited very singular feelings in the minds of both.

“The tide is certainly stronger,” said Phil—“a good deal stronger. I wonder if—if—it’s too strong for us.”

“Niver a bit,” said Pat, shaking off his uneasiness. “Sure an we’ll have no throuble. We’re jist a good bit above the Falls—so we are—an there’s no danger—not the laist in life.”

Again they stopped, and looked, and listened.

And now the foam had increased, the dull roar was perceptibly louder, and its deep cadence reverberated in their inmost hearts, exciting dark apprehensions.

“Deed an I’ll jist tell ye what it is,” cried Pat, suddenly. “It’s no use standin here all day; we must hurry out of this.”

“But can we now?” asked Phil, uneasily.

“Sure an why not?”

“The tide—it’s so strong.”

“Sure an that’s nothin,” said Pat. “All we’ve got to do is to head the boat up strame, half up an half across, an we’ll slide over that way in spite of the tide, so we will.”

Pat’s confident tone reassured Phil, and as Pat set off quickly to the boat, he followed without a word of further objection. Under the impression that there was now not a moment’s time to lose, they pushed the boat off; and seizing the oars, they began pulling with all their strength, Pat taking the stroke oar, and striving to head her in that mysterious direction which he had described a short time ago. For a few minutes they exerted all their strength; and both boys, as they pulled, kept turning their heads, so as to see the shore, which they wished to gain. Those few minutes served to put a considerable distance between them and the island which they had left. But the interval was not exactly the kind which they wished to see between them and it. It was evident that their progress forward was not very great, but that at the same time their progress down the stream was fearfully rapid. And that stream was setting full towards the Falls.

Phil noticed this first, and his cry aroused Pat, who was still too much interested in watching his destination to regard his actual situation. But that situation, as the two boys looked around upon it, was calculated to administer a shock to the strongest nerves, and quicken the action of the stoutest heart.

The river current was running down at such a rate of speed that their efforts to counteract it while crossing were quite unavailing. Its force had already dragged them down stream about half way between the two islands, while the actual progress which they had made towards their destination was small. Their downward drift had brought them nearer to the Falls, and as they took their hasty look around, they were aware again of that low, sullen roar which they had heard on the island; but now that roar was deeper and nearer, and the low, droning sound of the agitated waters struck more menacingly upon their ears.

At this moment there was still one chance, and one only. That was to head the boat back for the island which they had just left. Had they done so, and rowed for their lives, there was a possibility of emerging yet from the clutch of that hungry current, which grew more and more tenacious as they advanced, and from which escape was only possible by a retreat. But at that moment Pat did not fully realize the danger that impended. He was quite cool, and the mistake that he made arose from an error in judgment, rather than from anything like panic. He had only the idea of resisting the current, and was unable as yet to give up his purpose of returning to the boat’s wharf. So he headed the boat up stream in such a way that their own force should be brought as much as possible against the current, and yet secure to it a slight advance.

They now pulled, as before, in silence, using all their strength. The head of the boat was almost up stream, and as they pulled they could see all that could be seen of the danger below them. For about five minutes they thus struggled, and at the end of that time there began to force itself into the minds of both of them the dread conviction that the strength of the current was too great for their efforts. Pat saw this first, and, seeing this, made a final relinquishment of his efforts to cross, and put the boat’s head straight up stream, so as to make all their efforts tell against the tide itself. But by that time they had brought themselves to where the tide was strongest, and that tide was growing stronger and stronger every minute. This they both saw and felt; and they knew enough of the nature of the Falls to understand now the mistake that they had made. For they had crossed to the islands when the tide was falling, and, in their attempt to return, had been caught by a tide that had been increasing in force ever since they had last crossed it, and was still increasing and directing all its might down towards the Falls.

Their efforts to resist the tide were overpowered. The river was gaining; their strength was failing. One last, faint hope remained—to turn the boat back, to pull towards the islands; it might yet be possible by strenuous effort to drag the boat forth from the clutch of the mighty waters. The lower island was as yet below them, on their left; if they could only bring the boat out of the middle of the stream, they might reach it.

For the last time, then, Pat changed the direction of the boat, turning it but slightly, however, just enough to aim at the upper island. Then again, as before, they put forth their last remaining energies. With feverish anxiety they fixed their eyes upon one or two objects on the land, to watch whether the boat was losing or gaining. That it was still being drawn down by the tide was at once certain; but they yet had a hope that their advance towards the islands might serve to bring them there before it was too late. And now they had fairly reached the crisis of this tremendous struggle. Rousing up the very last of their exhausted strength, they exerted themselves with the convulsive energies of despair, working in silence, with eyes fixed on the shore.

In vain!

They saw themselves drawn down in a line with the lower island, and there, tree by tree, and rock by rock, they saw that island slipping past them; while the distance between them and it had been lessened so slightly that it afforded no prospect whatever of their being able to attain it. At length the last vestige of hope died out. The howling, wrathful vortex was just before them, and now the islands were forgotten, and all their efforts were directed towards saving themselves as long as possible from that fate which they felt was inevitable.

Of the two, Pat was the least affected. Phil was pale, and sat with his eyes glaring at the flood, straining himself at the oars with all his strength, his brows contracted, his lips parted, his breath coming and going in quick, short gasps. As for Pat, the ruddy color of his honest but freckled Irish face remained unchanged; and though he was working with all his might, he as yet showed no signs of any very extreme exhaustion; for his muscles were harder, and his frame more inured to labor, than the slender limbs and lighter frame of his companion. Nor did he gasp or sob, nor were his brows contracted, nor was there any other expression on his face than that same jovial, healthy, and withal rather impudent self-confidence which it usually wore.

Yet, if anything could have reduced Pat to despair it was the sight that now appeared immediately before him.

The boat had been dragged for some distance out of the middle of the stream, and was nearer the island than it had been, though still out of reach. The tide was fearfully strong. At every desperate pull the boat would stand still; but between the strokes the tide would bear it down. Thus their efforts only served now to stop the boat for a few moments at every stroke, without in any way ennabling them to elude their fate.

The Falls were close at hand—just in front.

These Falls were not, however, a thunderous cataract, though at the lowest stage of the tide, their furious surges, as they sweep over the rock-strewn descent of the river bed, would be, perhaps, even more dangerous than a cataract itself. But now they were not at their most furious stage. Still, as the boys gazed there, they saw enough to appall them.

All across was a white line of foam. Immediately in front, the water seemed to come in contact with some hidden reef, for it lifted itself up in a heap, and, rounding over, tumbled in thunder on the other side. It was towards this that they were drifting. This was sufficiently formidable, but where the foam tossed and the boiling waters seethed in a long flood of white, it seemed equally so; and thus even if Pat had been inclined to make a choice of some particular place to direct the boat, he would not have been able to select one, since all places appeared equally repellent. The fact was, however, Pat had no such ideas, but was thinking of some other way of encountering the coming fate.

There, then, full before them, was the long line of boiling breakers; there was that upheaving mass of water rounding itself over the sunken ledge. The hiss of the foam was in their ears, while beneath it was the gloomy menace of the roar of many waters.

“Phil,” cried Pat, “can you swim?”

“A little,” said Phil.

“It’s our last chance. Will ye do what I tell ye?”

“Yes.”

“Take off yer coat, howld on to yer oar, and jump whin I give the word.”

“What!” cried Phil; “stop rowing? Why, we’ll be lost—”

“Lost, is it? We’re sure to be that—row—or no row—so do as I say—will ye?”

Phil was silent for a moment, and still tugged at his oar, for neither of them had stopped during this conversation. In that moment of extremest peril there was no time to be taken up in deliberating. He had either to consent to Pat’s proposition, or refuse, and that at once.

“The boat’ll upset,” cried Pat, “sure. You jump out wid me whin I give the word. But ye’ll have to take off yer coat first. Yer bound to get a duckin, ony way, an ye’d better do as I say.”

“I’ll do it,” cried Phil, suddenly and decidedly.

“Aff wid yer coat, thin,” cried Pat.

Both boys flung down their oars, and whipped off their coats in an instant.

The boat was dragged now, without any further resistance, straight towards the Falls.

“Grab howld of yer oar,” cried Pat, quickly. “Stand up, an’ jump whin I give the word—ony mind, whin ye do jump, jump for’ard as fur as ye can.”

“Yes,” said Phil, quietly.

The two boys now stood up, each grasping an oar, and watching the water before them. The boat drifted down—nearer and nearer! Phil’s heart throbbed fast in the suspense of that dread moment, but Pat stood cool, collected, with his sharp, eager glance watching for the right time to jump.

And now that mighty mass of water, that lifted itself up in a heap, as it rose and rounded itself over the sunken ledge, grasped the boat, and raised it on high in its tremendous embrace, and impelled it forward. For a moment the boat seemed to linger there hesitating. Then it trembled in every fibre. Then it slowly turned round, till its broad side was presented to the waters below. Then one side was slowly drawn down under the water, while the other side rose up. Behind it a wall of water rushed.

Suddenly Pat gave a loud yell—

“Jump!”

Phil was already standing with the oar poised in one hand, and the other hand outstretched, waiting for Pat’s word. Every nerve, every sinew, was on the alert, and before the whole word was fairly spoken, and before Pat himself had sprung, Phil leaped forward. His feet touched the water first, He went down. A tremendous grasp seemed to seize upon him, dragging him downward, and ever downward. He gave himself up for lost. In the whirl of his senses, he seemed sinking into fathomless abysses, and in his ears there were the howling and the abhorrent uproar, and the deafening thunder-peal of a thousand cataracts. Then, in the midst of all this, another grasp clutched him, and dragged him swiftly forward, and whirled him round and round. Then he seemed to be thrown upward by the resistless upheaval of some mighty mass beneath him, and then suddenly he shot forth, out of the darkness and the uproar of the ingulfing waters, into the upper air and the glad light of day.

Clutching his oar, which he had held all this time with the grasp of a drowning man, he drew a long breath, and looked all around. Above him was the blue sky; farther on, across the sky, hung the suspension bridge; behind him was the howl of the Charybdis that he had just escaped.

Where was Pat?

As he thought of this, an involuntary shudder passed through him. He himself had escaped, and he now felt comparatively safe, for the oar was of immense assistance, and with the help of this it needed only a slight effort to keep his head above water. As to progress in any direction, the water was settling that question for him; for the mighty, resistless tide held him in its embrace, and was bearing him onward helplessly. There was no place to which he might look for escape, and no one to help.

But where was Pat?

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