The fall under the bridge at that state of the tide
was truly terrifying. It roared so loudly that I could hear
nothing else. It boiled about the bridge piers so fiercely that I
was scared to see it. I had seen the sea in storm; but then one
does not put to sea in a storm. This waterfall tumbled daily,
even in a calm. I shuddered to think of small boats, caught in
the current above it, being drawn down, slowly at first, then
with a whirl, till all was whelmed in the tumble below the
arches. I saw how hatefully the back wash seemed to saunter back
to the fall along the banks. I thought that if I was not careful
I might be caught in the back wash, drawn slowly along it by the
undertow, till the cataract sank me. As I watched the fall,
fascinated, yet scared by it, there came a shooting rush, with
shouts of triumph. A four-oared wherry with two passengers shot
through the arch over the worst of the water into the quiet of
the midstream. They waved to me, evidently very pleased with
their exploit. That set me wondering whether the water were
really as bad as it looked. My first feat was to back up
cautiously almost to the fall, till my boat was dancing so
vigorously that I was spattered all over. Standing up in the boat
there, I could see the oily water, like a great arched snake's
back, swirl past the arch towards me, bubbleless, almost without
a ripple, till it showed all its teeth at once in breaking down.
The piers of the arches jutted far out below the fall, like
pointed islands.
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