He hoped they all would surely drown
Before they reached their goal;
The waters be their winding sheet,
That Hell would raise a double heat
To welcome every soul.
Then taking up his pack he set
His face towards the trail that yet
Along the river ran.
But soon the blazes were no more,
His path was barred by creeks, a score,
Which now no bridges span.
He felled the towering cottonwood,
That graceful by the river stood,
To bridge each torrent wide.
But longest spans were swept away,
By the wild waters in their play
At the last creek he tried.
So plunging in the torrent wild
Which swept him helpless as a child,
He braved its swollen tide.
While raced along a branch he caught,
That, waving from the shore long sought,
Was like an arm outstretched.
He pulled himself hand over hand
Until his feet could feel the sand
By eddying currents fetched.
His pack was soaked with water through,
There was no trail ahead he knew,
But still kept on his way;
And with determination strong