JOEL LAMBERT’S FERRY.

would sweep over the whole surface of the island, and
the great fields of ice would of course carry the
woman and child to a terrible death.

Many wild suggestions were made for their rescue,
but none that gave the least hope of success. It was
simply impossible to launch a boat. The vast fields
of ice, two or three feet in thickness, and from twenty
feet to a hundred yards in breadth, were crushing
and grinding down the river at the rate of four or
five miles an hour, turning and twisting about, some-
times jamming their edges together with so great a
force that one would lap over another, and sometimes
drifting apart and leaving wide open spaces between
for a moment or two. One might as well go upon
such a river in an egg shell as in the stoutest rowboat
ever built.

The poor woman with her babe could be seen from
the shore, standing there alone on the rapidly narrow-
ing strip of island. Her voice could not reach the
people on the bank, but when she held her poor little
baby toward them in mute appeal for help, the
mothers there understood her agony.

There was nothing to be done, however. Human
sympathy was given freely, but human help was out
of the question. Everybody on the river-shore was
agreed in that opinion. Everybody, that is to say,
except Joe Lambert. He had been so long in the
habit of finding ways to help himself under difficul-
ties, that he did not easily make up his mind to
think any case hopeless.

No sooner did Joe clearly understand how matters
stood than he ran away from the crowd, nobody pay-
ing any attention to what he did. Half an hour
later somebody cried out: “Look there! Who’s

that, and what’s he going to do?” pointing up the -

stream.

Looking in that direction, the people saw some one
three quarters of a mile away standing on a floating
field of ice in the river. He had a large farm-basket
strapped upon his shoulders, while in his hands he
held a plank.

As the ice-field upon which he stood neared
another, the youth ran forward, threw his plank
down, making a bridge of it, and crossed to the
farther field. Then picking up his plank, he waited
for a chance to repeat the process.

As he thus drifted down the river, every eye was
strained in his direction.
out: “It's Joe Lambert; and he’s trying to cross to
the island!”

Presently some one cried

‘town.

247

There was a shout as the people understood the
nature of Joe’s heroic attempt, and then a hush as
its extreme danger became apparent.

Joe had laid his plans wisely and well, but it
seemed impossible that he should succeed. His
purpose was, with the aid of the plank to cross from
one ice-field to another until he should reach the
island; but as that would require a good deal of
time, and the ice was moving down stream pretty
rapidly, it was necessary to start at a point above the
Joe had gone about a mile up the river before
going on the ice, and when first seen from the town
he had already reached the channel.

After that first shout a whisper might have been
heard in the crowd on the bank. The heroism of
the poor boy’s attempt awed the spectators, and the
momentary expectation that he would disappear
forever amid the crushing ice-fields, made them hold
their breath in anxiety and terror.

His greatest danger was from the smaller cakes of
ice. When it became necessary for him to step
upon one of these, his weight was sufficient to make
it tilt, and his footing was very insecure. After
awhile as he was nearing the island, he came into a
large collection of these smaller ice-cakes. [or
awhile he waited, hoping that a larger ficld would
drift near him; but after a minute’s delay he saw
that he was rapidly floating past the island, and ihat
he must either trust himself to the treacherous
broken ice, or fail in his attempt to save the woman
and child.

Choosing the best of the floes, he laid his plank
and passed across successfully. In the next passage,
however, the cake tilted up, and Joe Lambert went
down into the water! A shudder passed through
the crowd on shore.

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed some tender-hearted
spectator; “it is all over with him now,”

“No; look, look!” shouted another.
ing to climb upon the ice. Hurrah! he’s on his fect
again!” With that the whole company of spcc-
tators shouted for joy.

Joe had managed to regain his plank as well as to
climb upon a cake of ice before the fields around
could crush him, and now moving cautiously, he
made his way, little by little toward the island.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! he’s there at last!”’ shouted
the people on the shore.

“ But will he get back again?” was the question
each one asked himself a moment later.

“He's try