The
Missouri had become too deep for poles, too swift for paddles; and the
banks were so precipitous that the men were often poised at dizzy heights
above the river, dragging the tow-line round the edge of rock and crumbly
cliff. Captain Lewis was leading the way one day, crawling along the
face of a rock wall, when he slipped. Only a quick thrust of his
spontoon into the cliff saved him from falling almost a hundred feet. He
had just struck it with terrific force into the rock, where it gave him
firm handhold, when he heard a voice cry, "Good God, Captain, what shall
I do?"
[Illustration: Tracking Up-stream.]
Windsor, a frontiersman, had slipped to the very verge of the rock, where
he lay face down with right arm and leg completely over the precipice,
his left hand vainly grabbing empty air for grip of anything that would
hold him back. Captain Lewis was horrified, but kept his presence of
mind; for the man's life hung by a thread. A move, a turn, the slightest
start of alarm to disturb Windsor's balance--and he was lost. Steadying
his voice, Captain Lewis shouted back, "You're in little danger. Stick
your knife in the cliff to hoist yourself up."
With the leverage of the knife, Windsor succeeded in lifting himself back
to the narrow ledge. Then taking off his moccasins, he crawled along the
cliff to broader foothold. Lewis sent word for the crews to wade the
margin of the river instead of attempting this pass--which they did,
though shore water was breast high and ice cold.
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