Informational Site NetworkInformational Site Network
Privacy
 


Yet They Call It Lover's Leap






Category: TALES OF PURITAN LAND

Source: Myths And Legends Of Our Own Land

In the lower part of the township of Cavendish, Vermont, the Black River
seeks a lower level through a gorge in the foot-hills of the Green
Mountains. The scenery here is romantic and impressive, for the river
makes its way along the ravine in a series of falls and rapids that are
overhung by trees and ledges, while the geologist finds something worth
looking at in the caves and pot-holes that indicate an older level of the
river. At a turn in the ravine rises the sheer precipice of Lover's Leap.
It is a vertical descent of about eighty feet, the water swirling at its
foot in a black and angry maelstrom. It is a spot whence lovers might
easily step into eternity, were they so disposed, and the name fits
delightfully into the wild and somber scene; but ask any good villager
thereabout to relate the legend of the place and he will tell you this:

About forty years ago a couple of young farmers went to the Leap--which
then had no name--to pry out some blocks of the schistose rock for a
foundation wall. They found a good exposure of the rock beneath the turf
and began to quarry it. In the earnestness of the work one of the men
forgot that he was standing on the verge of a precipice, and through a
slip of his crowbar he lost his balance and went reeling into the gulf.
His horrified companion crept to the edge, expecting to see his mangled
corpse tossing in the whirlpool, but, to his amazement, the unfortunate
was crawling up the face of a huge table of stone that had fallen from
the opposite wall and lay canted against it.

Hello! shouted the man overhead. Are you hurt much?

The victim of the accident slowly got upon his feet, felt cautiously of
his legs and ribs, and began to search through his pockets, his face
betraying an anxiety that grew deeper and deeper as the search went on.
In due time the answer came back, deliberate, sad, and nasal, but
distinct above the roar of the torrent: Waal, I ain't hurt much, but
I'll be durned if I haven't lost my jack-knife!

And he was pulled out of the gorge without it.





Next: Salem And Other Witchcraft

Previous: Skinner's Cave



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 1374