ON A CANADIAN RIVER.
A young man and his sister have kept this ferry several years, during which they have performed many acts of heroic benevolence, and have rescued numbers of their fellow creatures from a watery grave. One of these had so much of perilous adventure in it, that I shall make no apology for giving some account of it, the more especially as I was myself one of the trembling and anxious spectators of the whole scene.
A raft of timber, on its way down the river to the nearest port, was dashed to pieces by the violence of the rapids. There was the usual number of men upon it, all of whom, except two, were fortunate enough to get upon a few logs, which kept together, and were comparatively safe, while their two poor comrades, were helplessly contending with the tumbling waves, almost within reach of them, but without their being able to afford them the slightest assistance. After a minute or two, and when one more would have been their last, a long oar or sweep, belonging to the wretched raft, came floating by. They instantly seized it, and held on till they were carried down more than a mile, loudly calling for help as they went along; but what aid could we render them? No craft, none, at least, which were on the banks of the river, could live in such a boiling torrent as that; for it was during one of the high spring freshets. But the ferryman was of a different opinion, and could not brook the thought of their dying before his eyes without his making a single effort to save them. "How could I stand idly looking on," he said to me afterward, "with a tough ash oar in my hand, and a tight little craft at my feet, and hear their cries for help, and see them drowned?" He determined, at all risks, to try to rescue them from the fate which seemed to us inevitable. He could not, however, go alone, and there was not another man on that side of the river within half a mile of him. His sister knew this, and, courageously, like another Grace Darling, proposed, at once, to accompany him in his perilous adventure. From being so often on the water with her brother, she knew well how to handle an oar. Often, indeed, without him she had paddled a passenger across the ferry in her little canoe. He accepted her proposal, and we had the satisfaction of seeing the light punt put off from the shore opposite to that from which we were idly and uselessly looking on, and go gallantly over the surging torrent toward the sinking men. We feared, however, that it would not be in time to save them, as their cries for help grew fainter and fainter, till each one, we thought, would have been their last. We saw that the oar, with the drowning men clinging to it, was floating rapidly down the middle of the stream, which, in this particular locality, is more than a quarter of a mile in breadth, and would inevitably, in two or three minutes more, be in the white water among the breakers, when their fate must be sealed, and the boat, if it followed, dashed to pieces among the rocks. This was the principal point of danger, and they had to run down within a most fearful proximity of it, to cross the course down which the drowning men were drifting, and, as they did so, to seize hold of them without losing their own headway; for there was not time for that. They succeeded in shooting athwart the current, rapid as it was, just below the men. With breathless and painful anxiety we saw them execute this dangerous manoeuver. We saw the ferryman lean over the side of his boat, for a moment, as it passed them, while his sister backed water with her oar.
"They are saved!" some one said, close behind me, in a whisper so deep and earnest that I started, and turned to look at the speaker; when another, who heard him, exclaimed, "No, no! they are gone! they are lost! the boat has left them!" And sure enough, it had. But, in an instant afterward, just as we thought they were about to be driven into the fatal breakers, they turned, to our inexpressible delight, as if drawn by some invisible power (the rope the ferryman had attached to the oar was, indeed, invisible to us,) and followed the boat.
The ferryman and his sister had yet to pull a fearful distance for the time they had to do it in, to get out of that part of the current leading to the breakers: and they accomplished it. The man had the bow oar, and we could see the tough ash bend like a willow-wand as he stretched out to keep the head of the boat partially up the stream. His sister, too, "kept her own," and the little punt shot out rapidly into the comparatively quiet stream, beyond the influence of the fearful current, which was rapidly driving them upon the breakers. When this was accomplished, our fears for the noble-hearted brother and sister were at an end, and we took a long breath; it was, indeed, a relief to do so. Still we continued to watch their further proceedings with the deepest interest.
The moment they got into a less rapid current, which, they knew, led into comparatively still water they ceased rowing, and allowed the punt to float down with it. The young ferryman now drew up the sweep alongside, and succeeded in getting the two unfortunate men into his boat. While he was doing this, his sister went aft, and used her oar as a rudder to steer the boat. At the foot of the current, which they soon afterward reached, there was no further danger. But we watched them still; and we saw them row ashore, on their own side of the river. One of the poor fellows was so much exhausted, that the ferryman had to carry him on his back to the nearest house, where he soon recovered.
Twelve months after this took place, I had the satisfaction of presenting to this worthy ferryman, in the presence of above five hundred men, a beautiful silver medallion, sent out to me by the Royal Humane Society--to which I had transmitted an account of the occurrence. Nor was the heroine of my story forgotten. A similar medallion was given to him for his sister. She could not, with propriety, be present herself, as it was the annual muster-day of the militia in that locality.
MEMOIRS OF A CHURCH MISSIONARY IN CANADA.
A WHALE CHASE.
Down went the boats with a splash. Each boat's crew sprang over the rail, and in an instant the larboard, starboard, and waist-boats were manned. There was great rivalry in getting the start. The waist-boat got off in pretty good time; and away went all three, dashing the water high over their bows. Nothing could be more exciting than the chase. The larboard boat, commanded by the mate, and the waist-boat, by the second mate, were head and head. "Give way, my lads, give way!" shouted P----, our headsman; "we gain on them; give way! A long, steady stroke! That's the way to tell it!" "Ay, ay!" cried Tabor, our boat-steerer. "What do you say, boys? Shall we lick 'em?" "Pull! pull like vengeance!" echoed the crew; and we danced over the waves, scarcely seeming to touch them. The chase was now truly soul-stirring. Sometimes the larboard, then the starboard, then the waist-boat took the lead. It was a severe trial of skill and muscle. After we had run two miles at this rate, the whales turned flukes, going dead to windward. "Now for it, my lads!" cried P----. "We'll have them the next rising. Now pile it on! a long, steady pull! That's it! that's the way! Those whales belong to us. Don't give out! Half an hour more, and they're our whales!" The other boats veered off at either side of us, and continued the chase with renewed ardor. In about half an hour we lay on our oars to look round for the whales. "There she blows! right ahead!" shouted Tabor, fairly dancing with delight. "There she blows--there she blows!" "Oh, Lord, boys, spring!" cried P----. "Spring it is! What d'ye say, now, chummies? Shall we take those whales?" To this general appeal, every man replied by putting his weight on his oar, and exerting his utmost strength. The boat flew through the water with incredible swiftness, scarcely rising to the waves. A large bull whale lay about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, lazily rolling in the trough of the sea. The larboard and starboard boats were far to leeward of us, tugging hard to get a chance at the other whales, which were now blowing in every direction. "Give way! give way, my hearties!" cried P----, putting his weight against the aft oar. "Do you love gin? A bottle of gin to the best man! Oh, pile it on, while you have breath! pile it on!" "On with the beef, chummies! Smash every oar! double 'em up or break 'em!" "Every devil's imp of you, pull! No talking; lay back to it; now or never!"
On dashed the boat, cleaving its way through the rough sea, as if the briny element were blue smoke. The whale, however, turned flukes before we could reach him. When he appeared again above the surface of the water, it was evident that he had milled while down, by which manoeuver he gained on us nearly a mile. The chase was now almost hopeless, as he was making to windward rapidly. A heavy black cloud was on the horizon, portending an approaching squall, and the barque was fast fading from sight. Still we were not to be baffled by discouraging circumstances of this kind, and we braced our sinews for a grand and final effort. "Never give up, my lads," said the headsman, in a cheering voice. "Mark my words, we'll have the whale yet. Only think he's ours, and there's no mistake about it, he will be ours. Now for a hard, steady pull! Give way!" "Give way, sir! Give way all!" "There she blows! Oh, pull, my lively lads! Only a mile off!" "There she blows!" The wind had by this time increased almost to a gale, and the heavy, black clouds were scattering over us far and wide. Part of the squall had passed off to leeward, and entirely concealed the barque. Our situation was rather unpleasant: in a rough sea, the other boats out of sight, and each moment the wind increasing. We continued to strain every muscle till we were hard upon the whale. Tabor sprang to the bow, and stood by with the harpoon. "Softly, softly, my lads," said the headsman. "Ay, ay sir!" "Hush-h-h! softly! Now's your time, Tabor!" Tabor let fly the harpoon, and buried the iron. "Give him another!" "Stern all!" thundered P----. "Stern all!" And, as we rapidly backed from the whale, he flung his tremendous fluke high in the air, covering us with a cloud of spray. He then sounded, making the line whiz as it passed through the chocks. When he rose to the surface again, we hauled up, and the second mate stood ready in the bow to dispatch him with lances. "Spouting blood!" said Tabor, "he's a dead whale! he won't need much lancing." It was true enough; for, before the officer could get within dart of him, he commenced his dying struggles. The sea was crimsoned with his blood. By the time we had reached him, he was belly up. We lay upon our oars a moment, to witness his last throes, and when he turned his head toward the sun, a loud, simultaneous cheer, burst from every lip.