Iles an hour. A boy of twelve years old, as I was then, would not have
stood a chance in that roaring torrent. A terrible
accident happened here a few years afterwards. A party went from the
house, where I always stayed, to fish at Macomber Falls. There were four
ladies and two men. Whilst they were sitting eating their luncheon
at this romantic spot, an argument arose as to whether a man falling
into the seething pool
below the fall would be drowned or not. The water was only about two
feet deep; but the place was a miniature whirlpool, and, once started
down the pent-in torrent, a man would be dashed
along the rocky bed and carried far out into the deep Macomber pool
beyond. A gentleman from Lincolnshire argued that in would be impossible
for any one to be drowned in such shallow water. This was at lunch.
Little
did he imagine that within half an hour his theory would be put to the
test. But
so it was; for whilst he was standing on the rocks fishing, with a large
overcoat on, he slipped and fell in. His fishing-line became entangled
round his legs, and he was borne away at the mercy of the current.
Unfortunately only ladies were