“Well, it ain’t much matter, Squire,” said Mr. Slick: “ain’t that Liverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I’ve been to Liverpool. Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh! or, as Rufus said, I have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his story.
“In about a half hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back he comes as hard as he could tear, a-puffing and a blowin’ like a sizeable grampus. You never seed such a figure as he was, he was wet through and through, and the dry dust stickin’ to his clothes, made him look like a dog, that had jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road to dry hisself; he was a caution to look at, that’s a fact.
“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Stranger, did you see the Falls?’
“‘Yes,’ sais he, ‘I have see’d ‘em and felt ‘em too; them’s very wet Falls, that’s a fact. I hante a dry rag on me; if it hadn’t a been for that ere Britisher, I wouldn’t have see’d ‘em at all, and yet a thought I had been there all the time. It’s a pity too, that that winder don’t bear on it, for then you could see it without the trouble of goin’ there, or gettin’ ducked, or gettin’ skeered so. I got an awful fright there—I shall never forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You know I hadn’t much time left, when. I found out I hadn’t been there arter all, so I ran all the way, right down as hard as I could clip; and, seein’ some folks comin’ out from onder the Fall, I pushed strait in, but the noise actilly stunned me, and the spray wet me through and through like a piece of sponged cloth; and the great pourin’, bilin’ flood, blinded me so I couldn’t see a bit; and I hadn’t gone far in, afore a cold, wet, clammy, dead hand, felt my face all over. I believe in my soul, it was the Indian squaw that went over the Falls in the canoe, or the crazy Englisher, that tried to jump across it.
“‘Oh creation, how cold it was! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell, and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was so skeered. Give me your hand, said Ghost, for I didn’t see nothin’ but a kinder dark shadow. Give me your hand. I think it must ha’ been the squaw, for it begged for all the world, jist like an Indgian. I’d see you hanged fust, said I; I wouldn’t touch that are dead tacky hand o’ yourn’ for half a million o’ hard dollars, cash down without any ragged eends; and with that, I turned to run out, but Lord love you I couldn’t run. The stones was all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected every minute, I should heels up and go for it: atween them two critters the Ghost and the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell you. So I begins to say my catechism; what’s your name, sais I? Rufus Dodge. Who gave you that name? Godfather and godmother granny Eells. What did they promise for you? That I should renounce the devil and all his works—works—works—I couldn’t get no farther, I stuck fast there, for I had forgot it.
“‘The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and seized me by my mustn’t-mention’ems, and most pulled the seat out. Oh dear! my heart most went out along with it, for I thought my time had come. You black she-sinner of a heathen Indgian! sais I; let me go this blessed minite, for I renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all his works—so there now; and I let go a kick behind, the wickedest you ever see, and took it right in the bread basket. Oh, it yelled and howled and screached like a wounded hyaena, till my ears fairly cracked agin. I renounce you, Satan, sais I; I renounce you, and the world, and the flesh and the devil. And now, sais I, a jumpin’ on terry firm once more, and turnin’ round and facin’ the enemy, I’ll promise a little dust more for myself, and that is to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, and dead Britishers, and the whole seed, breed and generation of ‘em from this time forth, for evermore. Amen.
“‘Oh blazes! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint of clear cocktail; somethin’ to warm me. Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch a dead man’s hand? it’s awful cold, you may depend. Is there any marks on my face? do you see the tracks of the fingers there?’
“‘No, Sir,’ sais I,’ I can’t say I do.’
“‘Well, then I feel them there,’ sais he, ‘as plain as any thing.’
“‘Stranger,’ sais I, ‘it was nothin’ but some poor no-souled critter, like yourself, that was skeered a’most to death, and wanted to be helped out that’s all.”