was carrying his tow rapidly
towards the old mill dam. Neither did the passenger on the raft realize
this until he noticed a changed expression on the face of the tow boat.
He further realized that the tow boat was laboring powerfully.

In rounding a bend in the stream the tow actually swung around in the
current, the tow boat not having power to prevent it. The younger boy
for the first time noticed the roaring of the old dam, a fact the boy
doing the towing had been aware of and terribly worried over for some
time.

In his excitement, the younger boy stood up on the raft.

"Set down! Set down!" frantically yelled the boy in the water.

Another alarming fact presented itself at this juncture. Several of the
under rails had worked out and were only connected to the raft by one
end. This caused the raft to settle on the port side and the younger boy
could no longer keep his seat, fearing he would tumble off backwards
into the stream.

The boys became more and more excited, the roar of the old dam grew
nearer and nearer. Louder and louder came the noise of the waters
tumbling over it. Both boys pictured themselves being swept over the dam
into the whirlpool below. No victim of Niagara's treacherous tides ever
neared his doom with greater terror. Down, down, floated rails and
cargo; Cousin Charley struggling as he never did before; Alfred
screaming as he never did before or since.

When Cousin Charley began shouting for help, the younger boy became
hysterical. The roar of the rushing water seemed to drown all other
sounds and Cousin Charley's voice, though he shouted at the top of his
lungs' strength, sounded to Alfred's ears like a voice in the distance.

"Set down! Set down! For God's sake, set down! You'll fall off. Set
down!" yelled Cousin Charley.

Instead of obeying, Alfred clambered higher and higher on the rails,
waving his shirt frantically and shouting for help. The shirt served as
a signal of distress.

Morg Gaskill was in the field above the Young House. He saw the shirt
waving. The roar of the waters drowned the boys' voices. Gaskill,
rushing to the saw-mill, grabbed a log hook and ran up the banks of the
creek.

The boys could see the break of the water as it rushed over the crest of
the dam and the white, foamy splashes as it bounded up from where it
fell below. Cousin Charley was barely holding on to the tow; Alfred was
sinking down on the almost disintegrated raft.

Gaskill, muscular and acti