“They are saved!” some one said, close behind me, in a whisper so deep and earnest that I started, and turned to look at the speaker; when another, who heard him, exclaimed, “No, no! they are gone! they are lost! the boat has left them!” And sure enough, it had.  But, in an instant afterward, just as we thought they were about to be driven into the fatal breakers, they turned, to our inexpressible delight, as if drawn by some invisible power (the rope the ferryman had attached to the oar was, indeed, invisible to us,) and followed the boat.

The ferryman and his sister had yet to pull a fearful distance for the time they had to do it in, to get out of that part of the current leading to the breakers:  and they accomplished it.  The man had the bow oar, and we could see the tough ash bend like a willow-wand as he stretched out to keep the head of the boat partially up the stream.  His sister, too, “kept her own,” and the little punt shot out rapidly into the comparatively quiet stream, beyond the influence of the fearful current, which was rapidly driving them upon the breakers.  When this was accomplished, our fears for the noble-hearted brother and sister were at an end, and we took a long breath; it was, indeed, a relief to do so.  Still we continued to watch their further proceedings with the deepest interest.

The moment they got into a less rapid current, which, they knew, led into comparatively still water they ceased rowing, and allowed the punt to float down with it.  The young ferryman now drew up the sweep alongside, and succeeded in getting the two unfortunate men into his boat.  While he was doing this, his sister went aft, and used her oar as a rudder to steer the boat.  At the foot of the current, which they soon afterward reached, there was no further danger.  But we watched them still; and we saw them row ashore, on their own side of the river.  One of the poor fellows was so much exhausted, that the ferryman had to carry him on his back to the nearest house, where he soon recovered.

Twelve months after this took place, I had the satisfaction of presenting to this worthy ferryman, in the presence of above five hundred men, a beautiful silver medallion, sent out to me by the Royal Humane Society—­to which I had transmitted an account of the occurrence.  Nor was the heroine of my story forgotten.  A similar medallion was given to him for his sister.  She could not, with propriety, be present herself, as it was the annual muster-day of the militia in that locality.

Memoirs of A Church Missionary in Canada.

A WHALE CHASE.