“Never mind,” said Ralph; “there is a ford there, and I can but jump out and drag the boat to land.”
“Ah, but that was in the summer,” answered Lilly. “I remember a man telling us that in the spring a great body of water falls over the ledge; and that when we passed, with the water scarcely up to our horse’s knees, there is a regular cataract, and that once some people who were attempting to cross in a boat, got drifted near it, and were carried down and all drowned.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” exclaimed Ralph, now fairly wringing his hands. “Why did we come? How foolish we were. I wish that we had followed that lout Hobby’s advice. He, of course, knows more about the river than we do.”
Lilly was very much inclined to say, “Speak for yourself, cousin Ralph; I believed your boastful assertions, and trusted myself to you.”
Instead of that, she only said, “Still we must try to save ourselves. We ought, at all events, to try to reach the bank. Ah! what is this?” She lifted up a loose board from the bottom of the boat: “Here, do you use this as a paddle, and give me the oar. We shall be able to guide the boat if we try.”
Ralph, once more roused, took the plank and used it as his cousin directed. Still, from want of skill, they made but little progress. The other oar had been caught in an eddy, and had been drifted so far away, that they had lost sight of it altogether. As they were exerting themselves with might and main, their attention was aroused by a shout, and looking up, they saw a man standing on the bank and waving the lost oar. This encouraged them; while the roar of the cataract, a little way below, made them still more feel the necessity of exertion. The boat was, of course, all the time drifting down, sideways, nearer and nearer to the dangerous spot. Still they were approaching the shore. The man with the oar ran along the bank. They had got within twenty yards of it, when the current seemed to increase in rapidity. The man shouted to them to use more exertion, but that was beyond their power. Poor Lilly’s arms were already aching, and her hands were hot and blistered with the oar. Glancing on one side, they could see the ledge of rocks against which the river rushed, breaking into a mass of foam. It seemed impossible that they could reach the bank before they got within its influence. The man with the oar, seeing their danger, sprang forward and swam out towards them. He was not, apparently, a very good swimmer, but he struggled on.
“He’ll be drowned, and do us no good,” cried Ralph.
“Oh, no! I pray God that he may be preserved!” exclaimed Lilly, with a fervour, which showed that the expression came from her heart, and was truly a prayer.
It was heard, the man struggled on, and seized the stem of the boat.
“Go back to the other end,” he cried out; and, as Ralph obeyed the order, he threw in the oar, and climbed up himself over the bow. Without speaking a word more, he seized both oars, and began rowing away with might and main towards the shore. Only then did Lilly and her cousin discover that the stranger was no other than Arnold, the gipsy.