Then the same shriek burst simultaneously
from all their lips.
"The Slide! The Slide!"
The simplest words must intimate, but not portray, the
unutterable horror of the catastrophe. The victims rushed from their
cottage, and sought refuge in what they deemed a safer spot- where, in
contemplation of such an emergency, a sort of barrier had been reared.
Alas! they had quitted their security, and fled right into the pathway
of destruction. Down came the whole side of the mountain, in a
cataract of ruin. Just before it reached the house, the stream broke
into two branches- shivered not a window there, but overwhelmed the
whole vicinity, blocked up the road, and annihilated everything in its
dreadful course. Long ere the thunder of the great Slide had ceased to
roar among the mountains, the mortal agony had been endured, and the
victims were at peace. Their bodies were never found.
The next morning, the light smoke was seen stealing from the
cottage chimney up the mountain side. Within, the fire was yet
smouldering on the hearth, and the chairs in a circle round it, as
if the inhabitants had but gone forth to view the devastation of the
Slide, and would shortly return, to thank Heaven for their
miraculous escape. All had left separate tokens, by which those who
had known the family were made to shed a tear for each. Who has not
heard their name? The story has been told far and wide, and will
forever be a legend of these mountains.
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