Well, one day,
in company with a boy who was visiting me, I went up to the 'falls,'
and we concluded to climb the shelving rocks to the 'table;' and
taking off our shoes and stockings, entered upon the perilous
ascent--for such to some extent it was. Hands and feet, fingers and
toes, were all put in requisition. My friend began the ascent before I
did, and was half way up when I started. I ought to have said, that at
the foot of the 'falls,' was a basin, worn away by the torrent, and in
which the water, clear and cold, then stood to the depth of three or
four feet. We were toiling painfully up, when I heard a rush above,
and in an instant my friend came like an arrow past me, sliding down
the shelving rocks on his back, or rather in a half-sitting posture,
his rear to the rocks. I won't undertake to say that the fire flew as
he went by me, for the rocks were slate, and therefore such a
phenomenon was not likely to occur, but the entire absence of the seat
of my friend's pantaloons, and the blood that trickled down to his
toes, showed that the friction was considerable. As he passed me, I
heard him exclaim, 'thank God,' and the next instant he plunged into
the cold water at the base of the falls. What there was to be thankful
for in such a descent over the rocks, I could not at the time
comprehend, as the chances were in favor of a broken back, or neck, or
some other consummation equally out of the range of gratitude, in an
ordinary way.
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