She knew what it was. If she
could only bring her boat to that bank,--precipice though it was,--there
must be some broken piece to catch by! She toiled with all her puny
strength, and the great stream laughed at her and roared on. Suddenly,
what her wildest efforts failed to do, the river did itself,--dividing
into twenty currents for its plunge, some one of the eddies caught the
old scow in its teeth and sent it whirling along the inmost current of
all, close upon the shore. The rock, whose cleft the river had
primevally chosen, was here more broken than above; various edges
protruded maddeningly as Flor skimmed by almost within reach. Twice she
plucked at them and missed. One flat shelf, over which the thin water
slipped like a sheet of molten glass, remained and caught her eye; she
was no longer cold or stiff with terror, but frantic to save herself; it
was the only chance, the last; shooting by, she sprang forward, pole in
hand, touched it, fell, caught a ledge with her hands while the fierce
flow of the water lifted her off her feet, scrambled up breathlessly and
was safe, while the scow swept past, two flashing furlongs, poised a few
moments after on the brink of the fall, went majestically over, and came
up to the surface below in pieces.
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