Connecticut western news., 1873-08-22
SALISBURY, CONN.,, FRIDAY, AUGUST p, ls73

l narrowed GO u1SCanCo or apOuG InTee- quarters of mile. The unfinished bridge was constructed of piles firmly driven into the bed of the river, from which rose huge piers of timber to the height of about forty feet. Along these were massive balks, destined to support the platform of the bridge, whilst each pier was strengthened and supported, and strengthened and supported it's neighbor, by an arrangement of cross beams and ties. ..t.
 When I reached the bank of the river with my guide, Evan Rowlands, found that there was considerable hiatus be- tween the shore and the nearest pier about a hundred yards. Evan, how ever, was prepared with @ plan for reaching it. A friend of his was the master of the little sloop, the Ann Jones, which was lying in the tiny creek above. He and his mate were now on board her, and they had got their little dingy with them. Evan would borrow the boat, and drop down with the stream, and deposit me at the foot of the near est per. ....
 "But why not ferry me right overthe river I asked. .-
 "Not possible" said Evan. There were shadows and quicksands at the other side which at this time of the tide were very dangerous.
 So we made our way along the road which overlooks the estuary, till we came to the little harbor. Evan had no difficulty in borrowing the dingy, and we were soon afoat, shooting quickly down the stream.
 It was almost dark now, for although the sun was not yet down, the storm that was gathering up on the horizon obscured his light. Great volumes of cloud and vapor were driving up be- fore the wind, which howled and moan ed intermittently, as blast succeeded blast, and died away again. The wind and the tide in opposition made the water pretty rough, and our boat danced mp and down in Q very lively way. Presently the black skeleton of the bridge loomed upon us through the mist, and Evan dexterously brought up his boat in the little eddy that was formed by the abutments of tho pier, and then he called to me to jump from the stern of the dingy on to a cross- piece that formed sort of platform a foot or so from the waters edge. +
 Ijumped, l and landed safely on the balk, and then found that my way up wards was by climbing the nearest pier, across which were nailed rough, irregu- lar slaves, which constituted what is called 0 workman's ladder. l had no intention of undertaking any acrobatic feats, and the idea of @mbing up to that giddy height by such rough, un- reliable supports was dlstasteful enough. wouldn't try it. I would go back to the boat to dry land once more. But the boat had spun away on the tide, and was now far out of earshot, or indeed eyeshot either. There I stood, then, in the midst of rushing, raging sea, upon balk of timber, embracing Q huge black pier, the head of which was lost in the gloom and mist over head. couldn't stay here; I must get across the bridge at all hazards, and my only way was upwards.
 |. Up went slowly, step by step, test ing each frail splintered stave ere I trusted my weight to it. More than one broke away in my hands, and fell into the sea below. But when I reached the top, thought, then all this danger secure platform-a rail, or, at least, @ rope for the hand.
 When I came to the top of the pier, I saw stretched out before lne beam, suspended, as it seemed, n mid-air, q narrow beam-more like Q rope, it seemed to me-stretched over this wild abyss of raging waves that, and noth- ing else. There were footprints in the narrow ridge of timber-it was not more than two feet wide at the broadest and the sight of them gave me courage. Men had passed over here before me; I would pass too. And so, without giving myself moment more to think. stepped and the moment when letting go with my hands, I stood upon that topmost round of the ladder and balanced myself for an instant, as l placed my foot upon the plank-tha moment in which I seemed to quiver, and sway to and fro, high up on this giddy perch, beyond the ken of any human eye--that moment of dizzy terror, of strange willing thoughts, of instincts to cast myself headlong into the sea was in sensation as any ordinary week of placid being; and yet it came and went like any other moment, and stood erect upon the beam, and began my perllous way.
 I heard the wind afar off, believing among the. breakers on the bar heard it screeching and bowling over the flats. I felt Q moments calm, the strange, unnatural hush, and then the rush and leap of the storm, as it hurtled by me- Dashing the salt spray into my eyes, it came, seizing all the loose corners of my apparel, and cracking them like whip-lashes, carrying away my feeble breath in it's wild course, but leaving me-yes, thank God-leaving me still balanced on my plank.
 The gust had cleared the mist for a space, and I could now see before me, though indistinctly enough, but could see that there was only another length of unprotected balk ; beyond that was Q broad, safe platform of timber, stretched from pier to pier. Oh, to feel that platform safe under my feet! I reversed the balk almost at Q run. I must reach safety before there came another gust of that fierce wind.
 I beard it coming now, but I was almost home-yes, home, for that rough, unsheltered platform, on this rude night, seemed like a home to me. I stepped firmly and quickly along. Suddenly a chasm seemed to open under my feet-a horrible chasm. The beam on which I stood came suddenly to m end for some eight feethad been c1t away, and there was nothing to help me over this dreadful gap. Without wings, it were impossible to pass.
 All hope left me. knew that to re- trace my steps was impossible to me. Even if I reached the end from which had started, should be no better of than here, and the hopelessness of the position weakened my every nerve. Once more I heard the wind rising and hurtling along towards me. I would cling to life as long as could. Iknelt down on the wet, slippery balk, clasped it with my arms, sat astride it. The 1 gust cama I'D fierce and stronn nassed