PETER PILGRIM. A NIGHT ON THE TERRAPIN ROCKS. CHAPTER I. ALL persons who have visited Niagara (and who has not?) are aware, that the rocks stretching in a broken chain from Goat Island far out into the Horseshoe Fall, giving foundation to the bridge by which the visiter reaches the brink of the cataract, are designated as the Terrapin Rocks-a name scarce worthy the dignity of their position, but rendered somewhat appropriate by a resemblance, which fancy readily traces in them, to a cluster of gigantic turtles, sprawling in VOL. II.-2 the torrent. They lie confusedly along the verge of the watery precipice, extending a distance of a hundred yards or more from the island, of which they seem to have formed originally a part-the ruins of a jutting promontory long since washed away. The bridge-a low path of logs and planks, as is well known-gives access to many of these fragments: others again may be reached without such assistance, from the island: and the adventurous spirit, tempted by the very wildness of the exploit, will often seek among them some convenient perch, where, poised perhaps over the tremendous gulf, with the flood on either side of him, shooting furiously by, he enjoys a spectacle of unequalled magnificence in itself, and to which the feelings inspired by the situation add double sublimity. The bridge, at its termination, projects several feet over the fall; and here the visiter may enjoy both the scene and the excitement of a half-fancied peril, without encountering the risk, which would certainly attend a scramble among the rocks, by any one not having his nervous propensities under full command. A fall-the consequence of a single mis-step-into a current that rather darts than runs, and a whirl down an abyss of a hundred and sixty feet perpendicular depth-are consequences that may easily happen; and the thought of them is, in general, sufficient to keep visiters on the bridge. Yet use doth breed a habit in a man. I do not think I possess any philosophic contempt of raging billows: and I have, especially, very poor and unhappy brains for looking down precipices. Yet there was something in the glory of Niagara that chased away my fears-it may be, swallowed them up in the all-engrossing passion of delight; something in the sublime position of those naked rocks, too, which, when once reached, substituted for trembling apprehension a nobler feeling -a feeling as of enthronement, and rule, and power over the majestic torrent. One day, while sitting upon one of these grim thrones, speculating, after the true motley-manner, upon the ever-falling flood, in which fancy saw represented the river of human life, with the cataract of death, over which it was eternally falling, and wondering what difference it made to the drop pitching down the steep, whether rocks had vexed, or smoother channels lulled it into security, on the way; my attention was attracted to a stranger, whom I had previously noticed on the bridge, and who, besides myself, was the only living creature at that moment to be seen on, or near, the fall. He stood grasping the rail of the bridge, pale, agitated, and eyeing myself, as I soon found, with a look that I interpreted into a call for assistancea call which terror, sickness, or some unknown cause, I supposed, prevented his making by word of mouth. I left my rock, which was only rendered temporarily accessible, in consequence of a huge log having lodged against it, as well as against another nearer the bridge, forming a stepping-tree that the first swell of the flood must wash away, and hurried to the stranger's assistance, without, however, having any very clear idea what ailed him. As I stepped upon the bridge, he seized me by the hand, and with the fervent ejaculation, "Heaven be praised!" hurried me up to his side, pretty much with the air of one who, in mortal affright himself, has just snatched another out of imminent danger. "Heaven be praised!" he cried; "I was frightened for you; or, rather, I-I-" Here he became confused, as if awaking from a dream-"I was frightened for myself!" |