"If it was only a little lighter I might throw out the rope and catch fast somewhere," he said to himself. "As it is, I suppose I’ll have to wait till morning."
But waiting was far from agreeable. Had he been sure of eventually escaping, it would have been different, but the doubt of this rendered his mind extremely uneasy.
Nearly an hour passed. It grew darker, and one by one the stars came out.
Ceaselessly the water tumbled and roared, as if it knew not the meaning of rest.
As we know, he had had but little sleep the night before, and now he was fagged out. Several times his eyes closed and his head nodded, but he always came to his senses.
"It will never do to go to sleep here?" he exclaimed. "Guess I’ll try shouting. It will keep me awake, if nothing else."
He used his lungs to their full capacity, yet his voice was no stronger than the bleating of a lamb in a hurricane.
"No one will ever hear me," was his dismal comment, and then he stopped.
To Jack it seemed like an age. He was getting benumbed by the cold water, and his limbs were stiff and sore. How long would it last? How long could it last?
It must surely be morning soon--he had been there certainly a full night already. Why didn’t it grow light?
His eyes closed for a moment--more from exhaustion than sleep--and then they closed again.
Here he was safe at home! There was the supper table waiting, and Deb, in her neat, white apron, pouring out the tea! Now they sat down together and began to eat, when, hold up--there was a fire somewhere. Was it in their home? Yes, it must be for the fireman was at the window with a hose--and it was Mr. Gray! The water struck Jack in the ear.
The young machinist awoke in horror. He had slipped from the rock, and was again being madly whirled down the stream!
Oh! the agony of that moment! Why had he allowed himself to fall asleep?
Nothing but certain death now stared him in the face!
In the dim dawn he looked ahead and saw the line of white that marked the last of the breakwater above the awful descent.
"I’m gone, sure!" he sighed. "Good-by to home and Deb!"
On he swept with ever-increasing speed. The lofty brink was only a hundred feet away--now it was seventy-five--now fifty!
With a terrible cry he flung himself back, as if to ward off that which was inevitable.