Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1869-02-24

fabric tottered, and the soft earth gave way
there was a breath of wild suspense. an,
then the bridge went down with dull pIupg
into the waters beneathl The sharp claw
OF the wolf had already been fixed on tn,
Scant vegetation of the rock, and he held OF
a moment, struggling with ferocious strength
to gain foo:hold, the next he slid down in
the chasm, uttering wild howl of disap
pointed rage.
Martha sank on her knees and offered NJ
a fervid prayer of thanksgiving for her es
cape; but simultaneouslv with the heart
felt Amen, there came dreadful recol
lection. The bridge formed the only link be
tween the Pulpit and the main land, and thai
was severed True, she was not more than
twenty feet distant from the shores of the
river, but she might as we'll been thousands
OF miles out in the ocean. The water was
deep and it ran with almost inconceivable
rapidity. forty or fifty feet below her, over
rocks so sharp and jagged that it made he,
shiver to look over the brink.
Her only hope was in her husband. Should
he return at the expected time they might
still be alive; but if, by any accident he
be detained beyond the time She closed
her eyes, and besought God :or protection
and help.
Cold and hungry, and drenched by the
mist OF the river, Charlie began to cry for
home. She could hear anything better than
that. She took off her own garments to
fold around him. and held him to her breas It
and sang him the cradle songs which had so
often soothed him.
But the fierce howls of the wolves and the
suiien thunders of the river, filling his little
heart with terror, all the long dark night
| through, be clung to her neck, sleeplessly
crying to go home to papa
Day dawned at last, the pale sun SWIM
ming through the sickly sky, the pallid fore
cast of a storm. Weak and faint from cold
for summer is no bearerof tropical smiles
In this inhospitable clme-Martha paced
back and forth the narrow limits of the rock.
No one came-the faint sun declined-it
was night again. A cold fog sank down
over the naeantaiR, followed by drizzling
rain, which before morning changed into
perfect deluge. The river rose fearfuIly.
foaning milkwhite down the gorge, filling
the air with shuddering roar, like the peal
OF an imprisoned earthquake.
The day that followed was ne better, only
rain and ashen- white mist-not a ray of
sunshine.
A new fear rose in the heart of Martha
Warren. This turbulent stream must have
swept away the bridge over which her hus-
band would cross on his return, a.d he
would be detained-for days, may be for
weeks
She gave up all for lost Strongly and
feariully was she tempted to fold her child
in her arms and plunge into the cauldron
beneath. and thus end her fear and doubt
1t would be better she thought than to suf-
fer that slow, painful death of starvation
But something held her back-God's curse
was upon those who do self murder.
Towards night, lost robin, beaten about
by the storm, stopped to rest moment on
the rock Martha seized upon and rent him
in twain. with almost savage glee, for her
child to devour raw-she, who two days be-
fore would have wept at the sight Of the
wounded sparrow.
Another night and day, ike the other,
only more intensely agonizing. Martha was
sullenly Indifferent now; suffering had pal
sled every noble feeling, Charlie moaned for
supper-too weak and spent to sit up, he
was lying on the rock, his head in her lap,
his great eyes fixed on her face. She tore
open vein on her arm with her scissors,
and made him drink the blood Anything,
she said to herself, to calm the wild, wild
yearnings of his eyes, The boy rose-he
sat up and peered through the darkness.
Mamma, he said, papa is coming. l
felt him touch me.
She wept at the mockery, and drew the
child frantically to her bosom.
The night was fair, lit up by a new moon.
Overcome by deadly exhaustion, against
which she could make no resistance, Martha
fell into an uneasy slumber, which towards
midnight was broken by startling cry. She
sprang to her feet and gazed around her.
No! her eyes did not deceive her-there
on the shore stood the stalwart form of her
husband, and he was calling her name with
the energy of despair. She could only cry
out, 20, Mark, Mark - and fell senseless to
the earth. When she awoke to consciousness,
she was lying on her bed in the cottage, sup
ported by her husbands arms. 1t was no
dream. She and her darling boy were not
dead. Many weeks passed before she grew
strong again, but Mark tended her as a
mother would an infant. and by the time the
autumn frosts fell, she was the blithe Martha
Warren of old.
At the time of the freshet, the bridge
over the Ammonoosue had indeed been
swept away. but Mark, impelled by an un-
comfortable fear-almost presel timent-
had crossed the river, at the risk of his life,
on rude log raft, and reached home only to
find it vacant.
The descendants of Mark Warren and his
wife still dwell in the fertile valleys of the
Ammonoosuc, and the old men still tell to