Secondly, that the sight of him seemed suddenly to bring to my mind that we were all on the far side of the dam, the side he thought dangerous.

And thirdly, that, quickly as my eyes passed from Mr.Wood to the skater, I caught sight of a bloated-looking young man, whom we all knew as a sort of typical "bad lot," standing with another man who was a great better, and from a movement between them, it just flashed through my head that they were betting as to whether the lad would cut the double three backwards or not.
He cut one--two--and then he turned too quickly and his skate caught in the softening ice, and when he came headlong, his head struck, and where it struck it went through.

It looked so horrible that it was a relief to see him begin to struggle; but the weakened ice broke around him with every effort, and he went down.
For many a year afterwards I used to dream of his face as he sank, and of the way the ice heaved like the breast of some living thing, and fell back, and of the heavy waves that rippled over it out of that awful hole.

But great as was the shock, it was small to the storm of shame and agony that came over me when I realized that every comrade who had been around the lad had saved himself by a rush to the bank, where we huddled together, a gaping crowd of foolhardy cowards, without skill to do anything or heart to dare anything to save him.
At that time it maddened me so, that I felt that if I could not help the lad I would rather be drowned in the hole with him, and I began to scramble in a foolish way down the bank, but John Binder caught me by the arm and pulled me back, and said (I suppose to soothe me), "Yon's the school-master, sir;" and then I saw Mr.Wood fling himself over the hedge by the alder thicket (he was rather good at high jumps), and come flying along the bank towards us, when he said, "What's the matter ?" I threw my arms round him and sobbed, "He was cutting a double three backwards, and he went in." Mr.Wood unclasped my arms and turned to the rest.
"What have you done with him ?" he said.

"Did he hurt himself ?" If the crowd was cowardly and helpless, it was not indifferent; and I shall never forget the haggard faces that turned by one impulse, where a dozen grimy hands pointed--to the hole.
"He's drowned dead." "He's under t' ice." "He went right down," several men hastened to reply, but most of them only enforced the mute explanation of their pointed finger with, "He's yonder." For yet an instant I don't think Mr.Wood believed it, and then he seized the man next to him (without looking, for he was blind with rage) and said, "He's yonder, _and you're here_ ?" As it happened, it was the man who had talked with his back to us.