Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1875-12-08
VOL. 71.-36OS. NO. s.

river, but she might as well have been thon.
sanGs OF miles In the ocean, The water was
deep, and il ran with almost inconceivable
fapidity, forty or fifty feet below her. ovor
rocks so sharp and jagged that il made her
shiver to look over the brink.
Her only hope was in her husband. Shonld
ne return at the expected time, they might
still be alive but If by any accident he
should be detained beyond the time She
closed her eyes, and besought God for pro-
lection and help.
Cold and hungry, and drcnched by the
mist OF the river, Charley began to cry for
nome she could bear anything better than
that. She took off her own garments to
fold around him. and held him TO her breast.
aud sang him the sweet cradle songs which
had so often soothed him.
But the fierce howls Of the wolves and the
sullen thunders Of the river filled his little
heart with terror and all the long, dark night
through, he clung 10 her neck, sleeplessly
crying to 60 home to papa
Day dawned at last the pale sun swim
ming through the sickly sky, the pallid fore
cast OF o storm. Weak and faint from
hunger, and suffering intensely from cold
Tor summer is no bearer Of tropical smiles in
this inhospitable clime--Alartha paced back
and forth the narrow limits Of the rock.
None came-tho faint sun declined-it was
night again. A cold fog sank down over
the mountain, followed by drizzling rain,
which before morning changed to a perfect
deluge. The river rose fearfully, foaming
milk-white down tho gorge, filling the air
with ashuddering roar, like the peal Of an i'm
prisonsd earthouake.
The day that followed was no better-only
rain and ashen-white mist--not ray Of
sunshine.
A new fear arose in the heart Of Martha
Warren. The turbulence of the stream must
have swept away the bridge over which her
husband would cross on his return, and he
would be detained for days-maybe for
weeks. She gave up all for lost Strongly
and fearfully was she tempted TO fold her
child in her arms aud plunge into the cau
dron beneath, and thus end her fear and
doubts 1t would be better, she thought,
than to suffer that slow, painful death of
starvation. But something held her back
Gods curse was on those who do self-mnrder
Towards night, lost robin beaten about
by the storm, stopped to rest moment on
the rock Martha seized upon him and rent
him in twain, with almost savage glee, for
her child to devour raw-she, who three
days before would have wept at the sight of
a wounded sparrow.
Another night and day, like the other,
only more intensely agonizing. Martha
Warren was sullenly indifferent now; suffer-
ing had palsied every noble feeling. Charlie
moaned for his 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 a vein in her arm with her
scissors, aud made him drink the blood
Anything, she said to herself, to calm the
wild, wishful yeaning Of his eyes
The boy raised-he sat up and peercd
through the darkness.
Mamma" he said, " Papa is coming.
felt him touch me-"
She wept at the mockery, and drew the
child frantically to her bosom
The night was fair--lit up by anew moon.
Overcome by deadly exhaustion against
which she could make no resistance, Martha
fell into an uneasy slumber which towards
midnight was broken by a startling cry.
She sprang to her feet and gazed around her
No her eyes did not deceive her-therc
on the shore stood the stawart form of her
husband, and he was calling her name with
the energy of despair. She could only cry
out, 40, Mark, Mark aud fell senseless to
the earth.
When she awoke to consciousness. she was
lying on her own bed in the cottage, sup
ported by her husbands arms.
1t was no dream. She and her darling
boy were safe and he came back
Many weeks passed before she grew strong
again, but Mark tended her as mother
would an infant, and by the time the autumn
frosts fell, she was the blthe Martha Warren
Of old.
At the time of the freshet, the bridge
over the Ammonoosuc had indeed been swept
away but Mark, impelled by an uncon-
tIollable fear-almost a presentiment--had
crossed the river, at the risk Of his life, on a
long raft and reached home only to find it
vacant.
The descendants of Mark Warren and his
wife still dwell among the fertile valleys of
the Ammenoosuc, and the old men still tell
to their grandchildren the story of Martha
Warren and her child.