Chapter 4

"That it does, papa," exclaimed Edward, whose exalted feeling was gradually subsiding to its natural level; "and there are people, too, older than Julia and I, that I think need an interpreter. That Yorkshireman, for instance, who lives in the stone house just at the turn of the road as we came down from Forsyth's, said to me, 'Well, young master, this is a mighty fine sight to come and see, but you would be sick enough of it if you lived here. It seems, when I am lying on my bed at night, like an everlasting thunder-storm, such a roaring from the Falls and dropping from the trees: and in winter my poor beasts are covered with icicles. I wish some of the quality that cry the place up, and come half the world over to see it, would change births with my wife and me,' and so he went on railing till I ran away from him to overtake you."

"Poor fellow!" said Mr. Sackville; "the sentiment, 'Il n'y a rien de beau que l'utile,'[3] is quite excusable in a laborer. I think, Ned, I feel more disposed to pity than to blame your Yorkshireman."

[3] There is nothing but the useful which is beautiful.

"Well, papa, what do you think of that party of city shop-keepers who dined at the inn with us to-day? I heard one of the ladies say, 'I have been so disappointed in my journey.' I dropped my knife and fork, and exclaimed, 'Disappointed, madam! does not the fall look as high as you expected?' 'Oh, child,' she replied, laughing, 'I was not speaking of the fall; but I find it is quite too early in the season to travel in the country. I have not seen a roast pig or a broiled chicken since I left the city.' What do you think of that, papa?"

"Why I think, my dear, she is a vulgar woman, who travels because others do; and is naturally disappointed in not meeting with the only circumstances that could give her pleasure."

"There's Mrs. Hilton, papa, who, I am sure, is not vulgar--at least she is as rich as Cr[oe]sus--and I heard her say to a gentleman, that if she could have remained at the Springs, and then could have gone home and _said_ she had been to the Falls, she should have been glad; for she was sure no one came here but for the name of it."

"Mrs. Hilton is of the class of the vulgar rich, among whom vulgarity is quite as obvious, and much more disgusting, than with the vulgar poor. But come, dear Ned; the faults and follies of others is a theme scarcely worthy of this place; and just at the moment that you are enjoying this festival of nature, you must take care you do not commit the pharisaic fault, and thank God that you are not as these people, without reflecting that Providence has arranged the circumstances which have made the difference."

"But, papa," said Julia, "it would not be wrong, would it, for Edward to feel that there is a difference?"

"Perhaps not, provided the feeling is properly tempered with humility and gratitude; but it is far safer to be in the habit of comparing yourselves with your superiors, than your inferiors."

"It may be safer, papa," said Julia, "but"--

"But what, my love?"

"It is not half so natural."

"Nor so pleasant," interposed Edward.

"Well, my children, I hope you will make it habitual, and then it will be natural. For the present I am satisfied that you speak frankly your opinions and feelings, without disguise or affectation."

Thus these vigilant parents extracted some moral good from every object and every scene; and at that early age, when most children are thoughtless of the future, theirs were constantly directed to virtue, which they were taught is immortal in its nature, is man's support and solace through all the vicissitudes of life, and his crown of glory when the 'terrestrial puts on the celestial.'

Our travellers remained at the Falls for a week, that they might become familiar with them, see them by the rising and the setting sun; by daylight, and moonlight, and starlight, in all the radiance of the clear, full day, and in mists and storm; and then, after offering a Te Deum from the temple of their hearts, they left them with beautiful and imperishable pictures traced on their memories.

In following the windings of the Niagara to Newark, they passed the celebrated heights of Queenstown, 'where ceas'd the swift their race, where fell the strong;' but even then, though then so recent, there were no traces of the disastrous battle fought there. The children, whose home was in a hill-country, and who valued a mountain as much as a New-Englander does a 'water privilege,' rambled over the heights, and gazed delighted on the green Niagara, which, escaped from its rocky prison, rejoices in its freedom, sweeps freely and gracefully around the bluff promontories that indent its course, flows past the headland, where Fort Niagara guards the American shore, and enters Lake Ontario, which stretches, sparkling in the distance,

"To where the sky Stoops, and shuts in th' exploring eye."

Edward had, in common with most spirited boys, a natural taste for military exploits. "I think," he said to his mother, "that a coward might play the hero on these heights, or at Lundie's-lane. Only think, mother, of fighting within the sound of the roaring of the Falls: would it not give you grand feelings?"

"I think, Edward, if I could hear the Falls at such a moment, they would seem to me to speak in a voice of rebuke, rather than encouragement."

"O, mother, you never seem to admire courage; but I suppose it is because you are a woman."

"No, my dear: women have been accused of having rather an undue admiration for what you mean by courage--fighting courage; but I confess that war seems to me a violation of the law of God, and it appears a profanation of such beautiful scenes as these, to convert them into fields of battle."

When they reached Newark, the party walked up to Fort George; a slight embankment, surrounded by a palisade, is still dignified by that name. "This palisade as they call it, Ned," said Mr. Morris, "we should scarcely think a sufficient defence against the batteries of pigs and chickens."

"It has served, though, to keep the yankees at bay," said a soldier, gruffly, who was cutting up Canada thistles, and who had suspended his labour for a moment, to regard the strangers.

"A fair hit, friend," said Mr. Morris; "but all our fighting is over now, and forgotten I hope. This work you are doing here, cutting off these thistles, is far better than cutting off heads."

"It is far aisier, sir," replied the man, with a slight curling of the lip, which betrayed a professional contempt for Mr. Morris's preference of the plough-share over the sword; then turning towards the gate he called to a little boy who was just entering it--"Come, come Dick, what do you gaze at, boy? bring me the basket."

The boy, without heeding the command, dropped the basket; and uttering a cry between joy and surprise, scampered off in the direction of a cottage, or rather hovel, which stood just without the palisade.

"That is Richard Barton!--that is certainly Richard Barton!" exclaimed the children in one breath.

"Surely is it Richard Barton," said the soldier.

"Is his mother, here? Has he found his father?" asked Edward impatiently; while all the party drew nearer the soldier, anxious to learn the fate of their humble friend.

"Ay, his mother is in by there, poor cratur; but his father has been gone since the summer after the war, when the 40th was sent from Canada--where, God knows--there's none but he that made them can keep track of a British regiment: one year they are here with the setting sun, and then off to where he rises--shifting and changing like the waves of the sea, beating from one world to another; and I should know it by rason that I myself was fighting, and baiting gentaly under Wellington on the sunny side of the Pyrennees in one month, and the next comes an order and whips us off for Canada in the twinkling of an eye, among the indians and the yankees, who know nothing about fighting," he concluded, glancing his eye at Mr. Morris, "according to the civil rules of war."

"Poor, Mrs. Barton!" said Mrs. Sackville. "I am grieved at her disappointment, though I expected it."

"Oh, do let us go in and see her," said Julia.

"We will wait a moment, my dear," replied her mother; "her little boy must have told her that we were here, and I think she will come out to us."

"She'll not be right free to come before you," said the soldier, "if, as I now partly suspect, you are the gentlemen and ladies that were so hospitable like to her." The man now doffed his cap, and stood with it in his hand, with an expression of respect in his manner far different from the hostile air he had at first assumed.

"But, why not, my friend, come before us?" asked Mrs. Sackville. "I trust she has nothing to be ashamed of."

"Ashamed! no, thank God--it would be hard indeed if she had to bear the burthen of shame with her other misfortunes; but though a soldier's wife, she has an English spirit, and a proud one; and she says, while she has her health and her hands, she will never be seen asking charity; and that destitute is her condition, that as she said to-day, to make her case known to christian people, is asking charity of them."

"Do, mother, let us go now and see her," again interposed Julia.

"Stop, a moment, my love," replied Mrs. Sackville; and then turning again to the soldier--"You say she is utterly destitute; but when she left us, she said she had a considerable sum of money."

"And she spake the truth, ma'am--or, what is the same, she thought she did; but a little limb of the old one, saving your presence, my lady, had fingered all the poor cratur had been earning in three years, in as many minutes, and was off to the States with it."

"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Morris, who had been intently listening--"the son of Belial--I told you so--I knew the rascal had it."

"So dame Barton said one of the gentlemen told her; but the bundle was all tight and snug, for the little devil had sewed it up again, and she did not examine it till she come to look for the money to pay the captain of a schooner, who had agreed to take her down the lakes: and just think, my lady, at that moment what an overcast it was."

"That mischief was done," said Edward, as soon as he had an opportunity of speaking, "when you and I, Julia, left that little wretch Tristy in the wood. I shall always think we were to blame for leaving him."

"Does the poor woman," asked Mrs. Sackville, "still think of returning to Quebec?"

"To Quebec! ah, madam, and to the world's end, but she'll find her husband if he is above ground. She is that resolute, that neither wind nor tide can turn her. If she was left on a naked island in mid ocean, she would contrive to get off from it."

"Come, children," said Mrs. Sackville, "we will just leave your father and uncle to finish their survey here, while we look in upon our poor friend."

"Well, go on mother," said Edward, "I will overtake you; first I must run up to the flag-staff and get at least a clover stalk for a memorial of the gallant Brock who is buried there."

"And I will overtake you too, mother," said Julia, falling back with Edward.

The soldier's eye followed the children: "God bless them--God bless them!" said he, "that is better than a monument."

"What is better than a monument, friend?" asked Mrs. Sackville, riveted to the spot, as most mothers would be, by an honest commendation of her children.

"The memory of an innocent heart--and a tear from eyes that never cried for sin, my lady--we soldiers die, and are turned into the turf--but we are honored in our officers."

"Farewell, my friend; I wish you well," said Mrs. Sackville, dropping a piece of money into the soldier's hand, and then turned from him while he was still uttering his hearty, "God bless you, my lady."

Julia hailed Edward as he was bounding off towards the flag-staff, and begged him to stop for her, as she had something private to say to him. He laughed at her passion for secrets, said he could not possibly be detained, and at last good naturedly stopped to listen. "Ned," she said, "I tell you what I was thinking of--as it was our fault, you know, that poor Mrs. Barton lost her money--and she is so anxious to get to Quebec--and that little Dick is such a good good natured little fellow--I was thinking, Ned--"

"For mercy's sake think a little faster, Julia."

"Well, I was thinking, if we could contrive some way to have her go down in the boat with us."

"Contrive! it could not take us long to contrive I think: we can only ask papa, you know, and all the contrivance in the world will do her no good, if he does not think it best."

"But, then, Ned, there is one thing I would like to propose to father and mother, if you are willing to join me."

"Don't be so round-about, Julia, as if I was the great Mogul. Speak out."

"Well then, to speak plain--you know Edward, you and I have each of us five dollars that papa gave us to buy Canada curiosities with; now I think if we were to club, we might have enough to get Mrs. Barton to Quebec, if the captains of the boats are good-natured men, and reasonable in their charges, and if papa approves the scheme--and if"----

"If--if--if," said Edward, "we shall never move the woman with all these _ifs_ to clog the way; one _if_ is sure, that if we spend our money this way, we might have saved ourselves all the trouble of planning so many times over how we should lay it out."

Edward continued for a few moments silent and moody, while Julia urged her cause zealously. The person, young or old, to whom a charity is suggested, is not often as eager for it as the original projector. Edward, however, after having walked up to the flag-staff, plucked a clover-stalk, and retraced a part of the way to the little wicket by which they entered, said, with the air of a sage, "I did not think it best, Julia, to say yes, without some consideration; but on the whole I like the plan, and if father and mother consent, I shall be very glad." Once agreed, they were impatient for the execution of their scheme, and they hurried forward to the cottage, at the door of which they were met by both the children. The little girl now quite recovered, clung to Julia, while Richard plucked Edward by the sleeve, and expressed his joy awkwardly, but naturally enough, by laughing in his face.

"Ah, they are indeed right glad to see ye," said Mrs. Barton, "as I'm sure I am, as I have reason; but they, poor things--their hearts would not jump so at sight of their father's face, as indeed how should they, seeing they can have no recollection of him."

The children replied to all these kind expressions from mother and children, and then drawing Mrs. Sackville to the door, they suggested their plan. She kissed them both, and bade them await her in the cottage, while she went to consult their father and uncle, whom she saw approaching.

As soon as she had communicated the children's wishes, Mr. Morris laughed at them. "Why," said he, "the poor foolish woman is on a wild-goose chase, and the sooner she is stopped the better--travelling over the world after a husband, who I have no doubt she is vastly better without than with."

"But she is the best judge of that, brother."

"Lord bless you, no--a wife is no judge at all about her husband. She is evidently an ingenious worthy woman, and can get a good living if she is not footing it over the world after this soldier--a good riddance--a good riddance, Mrs. Sackville. I am surprised you do not see it is a good riddance."

Mrs. Sackville, who did not esteem matrimonial ties so lightly as her bachelor brother, appealed to her husband, but he joined Mr. Morris in thinking Mrs. Barton had much better remain where she was; not because he was sure the father and husband, though a soldier, might not be worth looking up, but because there was not the slightest chance of finding him. "What good will it do the woman to get to Quebec?" he asked; "her husband's regiment has left Canada."

"She tells me," replied Mrs. Sackville, "that she has many friends in Quebec from whom she might expect assistance. She has worked for the governor's lady, and she builds much on her benevolence, and thinks she will get her a free passage to her husband in a government ship; and besides," added Mrs. Sackville, "even if her hopes fail utterly, we shall confer an essential benefit on our children by complying with their wishes; for if they give this poor woman all their little store of wealth, it will cost them the sacrifice of sundry personal gratifications that they have reckoned much on, and thus give them a practical lesson of self-denial and disinterestedness, better than all our precepts, and it will associate with the more selfish and transient pleasures of their journey, the pure and enduring sentiment of benevolence."

"Well, my dear wife," said Mr. Sackville, "do as you please--you have arrayed before me irresistible motives."

Thus sanctioned, Mrs. Sackville returned to the cottage, whispered to the children their father's acquiescence, and then saying aloud, "I leave you to make all the arrangements with Mrs. Barton," she left them.

We shall not attempt to describe the poor woman's gratitude, which overflowed in words and tears, nor the children's noisy joy when they heard they were to go down the lake with their friends. Suffice it to say, that in the course of two hours, and just as the steam-boat appeared in sight, heavily plying down from Lewistown, Mrs. Barton was on the wharf with her children, as clean and nice as soap and water and fresh and well-patched clothes could make them, and looking so grateful and joyful, that Mr. Morris, who, like the good vicar of Wakefield, 'loved happy human faces,' forgot all his objections to the procedure, and shaking the good woman's hand heartily, said, he "was glad they were to be fellow-passengers."

Our friends, with many others, were now impatiently waiting a conveyance to the steam-boat, which had stopped near the opposite shore. The wharf exhibited the usual signs of a small garrisoned town. Half drunken soldiers were idling about, and sentinels were posting to and fro, stationed there to prevent the desertion of the soldiers to the opposite side, a crime which the vicinity and hospitable habits of the State render very common. Edward accosted one of the sentinels, and asked him if the captain of the steam-boat sent his small boat ashore. "Fraquently he does, and fraquently he don't," replied the fellow, rather surlily. "Does the boat stop at fort Niagara?"

"Indeed sir, and that is what I cannot tell you."

"Well," pursued Edward with simplicity, "do you think they will send ashore to-day?"

"Indeed master, and it's what I am not thinking about."

Edward turned away, making a mental comparison between this man and his own civil countrymen, greatly to the disadvantage of the former, when his attention was attracted by the approach of a boat which came skimming over the water like a bird, and as it neared the shore, a little tight-built sailor leaped on to the wharf, and announced himself as Jemmy Chapman, the captain's mate. While the baggage was arranging in the boat, Edward seized the favorable moment to make the best bargain he could with the mate for his protegée.

But the mate averred he had no power to transact that business, and referred him to his captain. "You may safely trust to him, my young man," said he, "for captain Vaughan is not a man to take advantage of a ship in distress."

And so it proved--for the captain, (as every body knows, who ever crossed the lake in the steam-boat Ontario) was a man of distinguished humanity; and pleased with the good appearance of Mrs. Barton and her children, and the zeal of her youthful protectors, he said, that if she had brought her thread and needles a-board, she might work her passage to Ogdensburg, for he and some of his men were sadly out at elbows. The good woman's eyes glistened with delight, at the thought of paying her way thus far, and she seated herself directly to put new pockets in an old coat of Jemmy's, when a sudden attack of tooth-ache put a stop to her progress.

The children were soon acquainted with her malady, for they were continually hovering about her, and Julia procured some camphor and laudanum from an invalid passenger, and gave them to her. She applied them, but the horrible pangs were not allayed, when Jemmy Chapman was attracted by the report of her distress. "Stand away, all," said he; "stand away--fall back, my young man; and you, my little lady, and give place to me. I am the seventh son of a seventh son, and I can cure any body's tooth-ache but my own." Mrs. Barton was not free from the superstition which pervades her class, and she gladly permitted him to stroke her face, which he did with a gravity that evinced perfect faith in his own powers; and in the course of fifteen minutes, she declared herself completely relieved, and cheerfully resumed her labors. Julia ran to announce the cure to her mother.

"Is not it strange, mama," she said, "that she could believe it was Jemmy that cured her?"

"Strange to us, my dear, who do not believe in any such supernatural powers; but we will not quarrel with a faith that cures the tooth-ache."

As the boat passed Fort Niagara, where the river debouches into the lake, "There," said Jemmy Chapman to Edward, who stood beside him; "there, on that point stood a noble stone light-house, that has saved many a poor fellow from finding a grave in this stormy lake: it was like the good scripture light which shines equally upon all."

"And what has become of it?" asked Edward.

"Oh, it was taken down like Solomon's temple, till there was not one stone left upon another, by one of our generals--thank the Lord he was not an American born--he it was, that first set the example of burning on the frontier, and burnt down this pretty town of Newark here--and cut down all the orchards."

"The orchards! what in the world did he do that for?" asked Edward.

Jemmy paused for a moment, apparently at a loss what motive to assign for such reckless destruction, and then said, "Out of curiosity I believe."

* * * * *

We fear that we have already protracted our details beyond the patience of our readers.

We shall not therefore describe the prosperous passage of the boat over the beautiful expanse of Lake Ontario: nor the visit of our friends to the town of Rochester, which five years before was a complete wilderness; but now had fine houses, shops, and warehouses, and Edward said, reminded him of Adam, who was born grown up: nor their passage from the lake into the St. Lawrence, where these mighty waters passing St. Vincent on one side, and Grand Island on the other, contract their channel, and assume the form of a river.