Scarcely willing to believe his own vision, he directs the attention of his
companions. The terrible news spreads like lightning, and in a few minutes
the bridge and the surrounding shore are covered with thousands of
spectators. "Who is he?" "How did he get there?" are questions every person
proposed, but answered by none. No voice is heard above the awful flood,
but a spy-glass shows frequent efforts to speak to the gathering multitude.
Such silent appeals exceed the eloquence of words; they are irresistible,
and something must be done. A small boat is soon upon the bridge, and with
a rope attached sets out upon its fearless voyage, but is instantly sunk.
Another and another are tried, but they are all swallowed up by the angry
waters. A large one might possibly survive; but none is at hand. Away to
Buffalo a car is despatched, and never did the iron horse thunder along its
steel-bound track on such a godlike mission. Soon the most competent life-
boat is upon the spot. All eyes are fixed upon the object, as trembling and
tossing amid the boiling white waves it survives the roughest waters.
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