“Truth is strange, stranger than fiction.”
The following adventure happened in the experience of an Ingersoll man.
A man rafting down the river,
Time he will remember ever,
He shouted, “Pole, the raft to land,
Or we’ll be wrecked upon the strand.”
But captain gave him a reply
That all danger he would defy;
But, in another moment more
Part was wrecked upon the shore
Of a Nova Scotian bay;
The other half was borne away.
Enough to make a person shiver,
Man was drifted out of river,
All alone on the broken raft,
Driven where e’er the wind did waft;
Right out on the open sea,
Where the storm did blow so free.
No shelter from the wind or wave,
He thought the gulf would be his grave.
He had no food, life to sustain,
He laid him down, there to remain.
What happened he did know no more,
But old man on Prince Edwards shore,
While gazing through his good spy glass,
“What do I see?” he cried, “Alas!
Some poor man, and I fear he’s dead,
Drifting to my humble shed.”
The body acted like a sail,
And wafted raft before the gale;
He called on men to man a boat,
And quickly crew had it afloat,
And in haste full soon they bore
His lifeless body to the shore.
But old man did them then desire
To place body near the fire,
And wrap it up in blankets warm—
Which did act like to a charm—
And soon the breath it did return.
With gratitude his heart did burn,
To think he was again restored
Unto his friends, whom he adored;
But worse misfortunes him befell,
Yet he bears up ’neath troubles well.