You might as well spring
from the parapet of a house and think to float by striking out as to swim
in such a medium. Sinking under, a hundred tons of water drive the body
to the bottom; there it rotates, it rises, it is forced down again, a
hundred tons of water beat upon it; the foot, perhaps, catches among
stones or woodwork, and what was once a living being is imprisoned in
death. Enough of this. I unloosed the boathook, and drifted down with the
stream, anxious to get away from the horrible weir.
These accidents, which are entirely preventable, happen year after year
with lamentable monotony. Each weir is a little Niagara, and a boat once
within its influence is certain to be driven to destruction. The current
carries it against the piles, where it is either broken or upset, the
natural and reasonable alarm of the occupants increasing the risk. In
descending the river every boat must approach the weir, and must pass
within a few yards of the dangerous current. If there is a press of boats
one is often forced out of the proper course into the rapid part of the
stream without any negligence on the part of those in it. There is
nothing to prevent this--no fence, or boom; no mark, even, between what
is dangerous and what is not; no division whatever.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174