The south-western. [volume] (Shreveport, La.) 1852-1870, 1856-02-13
a Thril1ing Narrative


The scene opens with a view of the great ma
tural bridge Of Virginia. There are three or
four lads standing in the channel below, look
ing up with awe to the vast arch of unhewn
rocks, with the almighty bridge over these ever
lasting abutments, when the morning stars sang
together The little piece Of sky spanning those
measureless piers, is full ofstars, althoug gh it is
mid day. 1t is almost FIVE hundred feet from
where they stand, up those perpendicular bull
warks of limestone, to the key rock Of the vast
arch, which appears to them only the size of a
mans hand. The silence of death is rendered
more impressive by the little stream that falls
from rock to rock down the channel. The sun
is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously
uncovered their heads, as if standing in the
presence chamber Of the Majesty Of the whole
earth. At last this feeling begins to wear away;
they begin to look around them. They see
the names of hundreds cut in the limestone
abutments A new feeling comes over their
hearts, and their knives are in hand in an in
slant. s'What man has done man can do,' is
the watchword, while they draw themselves up
and carve their names foot above those of a
hundred full grown men who had been there be-
fore them.
They are satisfied with this feat of physical
exertion, except one, whose example illustrates
perfectly the forgotten truth, that there is no
royal road to intellectual eminence. This am
bilious youth sees name just above his reach,
a name that shall be green inthe memory of the
world, when those Of Alexander, Caesar and
Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. 1t was the
name of Washington. Before he marched with
Braddock to the fatal field, he had been there
and left his name a foot above all his predeces-
sors. It was glorious thought Of boy to write
his name side by side with that ofthe great faith
er Of bis country, He grasps his knife with a
firm hand-and elinging to a jutting crag, he
cuts into the limestone, about foot above where
he stands; but as he puts his feet and hands IN
to those gains. and draws himself carefully to
his full length, he finds himself a foot above
every name in this mighty wall. While his COM
panions are regarding him with concern and ad-
miraton, he cut his name in huge capitals large
and deep into that finty album. He is knife is
still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and
a new created aspiration in his heart. .r.
Again he cuts another niche, and again he
carves his name in large capitals. This is not
enough. Needless the entreaties of his COM
panions, he cuts and climbs again. The grad
uations ofhis ascending scale grow wider apart.
He measures his length at every gain he cuts.
The voices fhis friends grew weaker and weak
er, till their voices are finally lost in his ear
He now, for the first time, casts a look beneath
him. Had that glance lasted moment, that
moment would have been his last. He clings
with convulsive shudder to his little niche in the
rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost GER
tain fall He is faint with severe exertion and
| trembling from the sudden view of the dreadful
destruction to which he is exposed. His knife
is worn half way to the haft He can hear the
voices but not the words of his terror-stricken
companions below. What moment What
a meagre chance to escape destruction. There
is no retracing his steps. It impossible to put
his hands into the same niche with his feet, and
retain his hold a moment. His companions in
stantly perceive this new and fearful dilemma
and await his fall with emotions that Greece
their young blood" He is too high, too faint
to ask for his father and mother his brothers and
sisters, to come and witness or avert his de-
tsruction. But one of his companions antici-
pates his desire. Swift as the wind he bounds
down the channel, and the fatal situation is told
upon his fathers hearth-stone.
Minutes of almost eternal length roll on, and
there were hundreds standing in that rocky
channel, and hundreds on the ridge above, all
holding their breath and awaiting that fearful
catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum oi
new and numerous voices, both above and be-
low. He can just distinguish the tones of his
fathers voice, who is shouting with all the en-
ergy of despair: civilian William! don't look
down. Your mother, and Henry and Harriet,
are all here praying for you. Don't look down.
Keep your eyes towards the top.' -
| The boy didn't look down-his eyes are fixed
like flint toward heaven, and his young heart
on Him who reigns there. He grasps again
his knife. He cuts another niche, and another
foot is added to the hundreds that remove him
! from human help from below. How carefully
he uses his wasting blade! How anxiousy he
selects the softest place in that pier! How he
avoids every hinty grain How he economises
his physical powers-resting moment at each,
again he cuts. How every motion is watched
from below. There stands his father, mother,
brother, and sister, on the very spot where, if
he falls, he will not fall alone
The sun is railway down the west. The lad
had made fifty additional inches in the mighty
wall, and now finds himself directly under the
middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth and
trees He must cut his way in new direction
get over this overhanging mountain The in
spiratlon of hope is dying in his bosom; its vital
heat is fed by the increased shouts of hundreds
perched upon cliffs and trees, and others who
stand with ropes in their hands, on the bridge
above, or with the ladders below. Fifty gains
more must be cut before the longest rope can
reach him. His wasting blade again strikes in
to the limestone
The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot,
from under the lofty arch. Spliced ropes are
ready in the hands of those who are leaning
over the outer edge of the bridge. Two min
utes more and all will be over. That blade is
worn to the last half inch. The boys head
reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets.
His last hope is dying in his heart-his life must
hang upon the last gain he cuts. That niche is
his last. At the last faint cash he makes, his
knife, his faithful knife falls from his hand, and
ringing along the precipice, falls at his moth
er's feet. .9 @@ l~@
g. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a
death -knell through the channel below, and is