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Updated: May 10, 2025
As the last of the timber comes down, the guards by the rapids join them, one after another. "Where'll it be?" "Down below somewhere, must be. If only it's not the Whirlstone again." "Ay, if it's that.... 'Tis no light work to get loose there in the daytime, let alone by night." The Whirlstone Rock it was; the baulks had gathered about it in an inextricable mass.
The shores were dark with men gathered to watch. "Ay, 'tis there, sure enough, and fast as nails," said the men coming in to the shore, after a vain attempt at breaking loose the block. The Whirlstone was a point of rock, rising barely a yard above the surface of the water, at the lower end of the rapids, where the river began to widen out and clear.
I came here a way you'd never dream by way of the river, and past the jaws of death." "What what do you mean?" And he told her what had passed among the rapids that night, when the floating timber jammed against the Whirlstone Rock. "And then we get locked in here, to make it unlike anything else all through.
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