Year: 1878

ties.


When I reached the bank of the rive
with my guide, Evan Rowlands, founc
that there was a considerable hiatus
between the shore and the nearest piel
about hundred yards. Evan, how
ever, was prepared with a plan fol
reaching it. A friend of his was the
master Of the little sloop, the cam
Jones'" which was lying in the tiny
brook above. He and his mate were
now on board of 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 nearest pier.


But why not 'erry me right Over?''
Iasked.


"Not possible" said Evan; "there
are shadows and quicksands at the other
side, which at this time of the tide are
dangerous"


We made our way along the road
which overlooked the estuary, till we
came to the little harbor. Evan had
no difficulty in borrowing the dingy,
and we were soon aioat and shooting
quickly down the stream.


1t was almost dark now, for although
the sun was not yet down the storm
that was gathering in the horizon
obseured his light. Great volumes OF
cloud and vapor were driven up before
the wind, which howled and moaned
internationally as blast succeeded blast,
and died away again. The wind and
tide in opposition made the water pretty
rough, and our boat danced up and
down in a very lively way. Presently
the black skeleton of the bridge loomed
up as through the mist, and Evan
dexterously brought up his boat in the
little eddy that was formed by the abut-
ments of the 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 foot or so from the waters
edge.


/ jumped and landed safely on the
balk, and then l found that my way
upwards was by climbing the nearest
pier, across which were nailed rough,
irregular slaves, which constituted what
is called workman's ladder. had no
intention of undertaking any acrobatic
feats, and the idea of climbing up to
that giddy height by such rough unre-
liable supports was distasteful enough.
wouldn't try it. ] would go back in
the boat to dry land once more. But
the boat had spun away on the tide, and
was now far out of ear-shot, or indeed
eye-shot either. There | stood, then,
in the midst of rushing, raging sea,
upon a balk of timber, embracing a
huge black pier, the head of which was
lost in the gloom and mist overhead. 1
couldn't stay here; must get across
the bridge at all hazards, and my only
way was upward.


l went up slowly, step by step, testing
each frail splintereG stave, ere | trusted
my weight to it. More than one broke
away in my hands and fell into the sea
below. But when reached the top
all this danger would soon be
over. should find firm, secure plat
form rail, or at least rope for the
hand. L


When came to the top of the pier l
saw stretched out before me beam,
as it seemed, in mid-air, a
narrow beam-more like rope it
seemed to me-stretched over this wild
abyss of raging waves-that, and moth
ing else. There were footprints in the
narrow ridge of timber; it was not
more than two feet wide at the broad
est, and the sight of them gave courage.
Men had passed before me; would
pass, too. And so, without giving my
self moment more to think, l stepped,
and the moment when letting 60 with
nv hands l stood upon that topmost
round of the ladder and balanced my
self for an instant as | placed my foot
upon the plank-that moment in which
l seemed to quiver and sway to and fro,
high upon this giddy perch, beyond the
ken of any human eye-a moment of
dizzy terror, of strange, whirling
thoughts, of instincts to cast myself
into the sea, was in sensation
as any ordinary week of placid being;
and yet it came and went like any other
moment, and I stood erect upon the
beam and began my perilous way.


I heard the wind afar off, believing
among the breakers on the bar. l
heard it screeching and bowling on the
flats. / felt moments calm. the
strange, unnatural hush, and then the
rush and leap of the storm as it
hurtlsd 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, carry
ing away my feeble breath in its wild
course, but leaving me-yes, thank God
leaving me still balanced upon my
plank.


The gust had cleared the mists for a
space, and could now see before me,
though indistinctly enough, but could
see that there was only another length
of unprotected balk; beyond that was a
broad, safe platform of timber, stretched
from pier to pier. Oh, to feel that plat,
form safe under my feetl traversed
the balk almost on run. must reach
safely before there came another gust OF
that fierce wind.


l heard it coming, but was almost
home-yes, home, for that rough, un-
sheltered platform, on this rude night.
seemed like home to me. | was step
ping firmly and quickly along. Sud
denly chasm seemed to open under my
feet-a horrible chasm. The beam or
which | stood came suddenly to an end
for some eight feet it had been cu
away, and there was nothing to help mt
over this dreadful gap. Without wing
it was impossible to pass.


All hope left me. / knew that to re
trace my steps was impossible to me
Even if l reached the end from which
/ had started l should be no better OF
than here, and the hopelessness of TIN
position weakened my every nerve. One
more heard the wind rising and hurt
ling along toward me. | would clins
as long as could. knelt down on tn


wet, slippery balk, clasped it with m.


arms and sat astride of it. The gus


came up fierce and strong, passed owe


me once more-once more spared me


But felt that could not survive an


other such attack; l should be blow


away like leaf. And yet there was n


hope of escape-none. 1t was only


question of moments how long, wit


stiffening limbs, l could cling to thi


rough beam, then plunge into the darl


ness.


Still / had time to think. Wha