The Travellers Part 7

"No one could blame Mr. Leslie for giving me up. I am sure I never did.

He placed me with a poor widow, and paid my lodging with her till I was one and twenty, and gave me a draft on him for a hundred pounds, which was to be paid when I came of age. With Mrs. Gordon I was happier than I had ever been in my life. My book tasks I never had liked, but I sewed or spun with Mrs. Gordon, from morning till night, without ever being weary or discontented. She taught me her own ways, and she was noted through the whole town, for her industry and neatness. She was a good christian too, and she brought me up to fear G.o.d and to love his service. She had one child--an only son, two years younger than myself.

He was sometimes wild and wilful, for his mother, though she was resolute with every thing else, could never deny him. He was sometimes as I said, wild and wilful--but when he was himself, he was the pleasantest lad in the village, and the best. Mrs. Gordon was as a mother to me; and you know it was natural I should love her son Richard; and I thought I but loved him as a sister should, till one Sunday I saw him come up the little path-way that led to our cottage, with a blue ribband bow in his hand, which he kissed again and again, and then thrust it into his bosom. I knew it was a love token from Sally Wilton the miller's daughter, for I had seen it that day in her hat, and I felt a pang at my heart, that told me it was not as a brother I loved Richard.

"I have skipped over many years, for I would not weary you. I was now one and twenty, and my draft on Mr. Leslie was due. Mrs. Gordon began to talk to me of marrying Richard. I only answered her with silence and tears; but one woman can read another's heart, and she knew what was in mine; and she, poor woman, thought to make all right by taking it into her own hands.

"It so happened one night, that I was in an adjoining room when she supposed I was absent from the cottage, and she put many questions to Richard about me, but she could get no satisfaction from him. She then told him (oh, at the moment I thought I could never forgive her for it) she was sure I loved him. She said much in my favor, ma'am, that I cannot repeat, and tried with it all to put a veil over my poor ugly face, and then concluded with saying, for she was a thrifty woman, and never lost sight of the main chance, that I should not come empty handed. At this his spirit rose--he said, he would not be bought by all the gold in the king's coffers. My heart rose to my lips, but I held my breath, for his mother grew very angry, and said something from Solomon's proverbs, about my being the virtuous woman whose price was far above rubies. Then Richard burst into tears, and said he knew that, and he would go round the world to serve me, but he could not marry me.

He confessed that he had already plighted his truth to Sally Wilton; and he declared that he never would marry any body but Sally Wilton. His mother lost all patience--she said he would make a beggar of himself for life--that the Wiltons were an idle race, and that none of the name had ever come to any good.

"A great deal more she said, but it seemed to me the more she talked, the firmer Richard was in his own mind.

"You may be sure ma'am I did not close my eyes that night; my love had been blasted, and my pride cast down. It was long before I could think of any one but myself, or compose my mind to any good thoughts; but when I began to see things in a right light, it seemed to me a pity we should all be miserable together; and I began to contrive some way to make Richard happy. He had just served his time with a shoemaker, but he had no capital to enable him to set up for himself. I knew Sally Wilton was a gay thoughtless thing; but so were most girls, and I believed that when she was married, she would do her duty; to me it seemed, that duty would be all pleasure with such a husband as Richard. I had some struggles with my own heart, but before the morning light dawned, I had made up my mind what to do. When I met Richard and his mother in the morning, I was far the happiest of the three. She was angry, he was sullen and downcast; but I had that feeling which I need not describe to you ma'am, who have so often the power and the will to make others happy. Immediately after our morning meal, I went and presented my draft to Mr. Leslie's agent, and received my hundred pounds. Half the sum I returned to him to invest for me, the other half I placed in the hands of the shoemaker, with whom Richard had served his time, and with whom he was a great favorite, and I requested him to lay it out in tools and stock for Richard. The purchase was made--a little shop hired, and every thing in readiness; and then I told Richard in the presence of his mother what I had done. At first he said he never could accept so much from me; but I told him, (and I smothered my feelings, and smiled when I said it,) that in spite of his mother's fancies, it was as a sister I loved him, and as a sister and older than himself too, I had a right to provide for him. He was far more grateful and happy than I expected. His mother gave her consent to his marriage, though grudgingly, for she was a set woman, and she had no faith in Sally Wilton. They were married.

Richard was industrious, and we hoped would be prosperous, but as it proved Mrs. Barton's distrust of Sally was too well founded. She was idle and extravagant, and such a wife soon ruins a poor man. In five years Richard was reduced to such straits, that in a fit of desperation he enlisted. From the sorrowful day he came to take leave of us, for his regiment was soon after sent to the East-Indies, his mother never had a well day or a happy hour. After he went away, his wife led a vicious life; and four years after she came to our door to beg a crust of bread--a poor, wasted, sick, half-famished creature. We took her in.

To be sure she had been a sad sinner, but she was Richard's wife, and besides it is always better to pity than condemn, and it is not for the like of us ma'am you know, who have no hope but because G.o.d's compa.s.sions fail not, to turn our backs upon a fellow-creature in sin and misery.

"For a whole year she laid in a distressing sickness. Mrs. Barton had become so old and feeble, that she could do nothing but pray for us, and I had as you may suppose a toilsome life of it; but I was as I trusted, doing my duty, and that makes a light heart, and according to my experience ma'am, no one can be very wretched that has enough to do, and that tries to do their duty faithfully, be that duty ever so humble.

We never suffered. Sally had some help from the charitable; and when we had no other resource, I drew on my fifty pounds.

"It would have been a great comfort to us to have seen Sally take hold of religion, when every thing else failed; but the poor soul was racked with pains and coughing, and could only think of her suffering body, and she was perfectly deaf too, and could hear nothing that the clergyman said to her, though Mrs. Barton thought it right he should talk to her.

Oh ma'am, I think there is not a more mournful sight on the earth than to see a young creature thus cut off by her sins.

"Richard returned to us two days before she died, but she did not know him, and could not hear his forgiveness, though he spoke it over and over again."

Mrs. Barton paused for a few moments, quite overcome by the recollection of that sad period, and then resumed her story.

"And now came brighter days. Richard had endured many hardships, and past through many temptations, but he had not lost his integrity. He had come home in attendance on an officer who had obtained a furlough.

Not many months pa.s.sed over before Richard expressed a wish to marry me, though my little fortune was gone, and ten years had not as you may suppose improved my beauty. Our mother said, our wedding-day was the happiest of her life. She did not long survive it. Before my husband rejoined his regiment she had gone to her rest. From that time till Richard was taken prisoner by the Americans, we have never been separated, and he has proved faithful and kind to me, and being, as he is, all the world to me who have never known other kindred but my little ones, it cannot seem strange to you, ma'am, that the world is a lonely place without him; and that I should be willing to take the help of your blessed children to get on my way to him."

"Oh no indeed, my good friend," said Mrs. Sackville, "I am delighted that my children have found one so worthy of their a.s.sistance; you may rest a.s.sured that we shall not part from you till we arrive at Quebec.

Come now Edward and Julia to your berths--and dream of the 'thousand isles,' or Mrs. Barton, or what you will." The children obeyed their mother, and doubtless had such sweet visions as hover about the pillow of youth, and health, and innocence.

Jemmy Chapman had not been an uninterested listener to this simple tale of patient virtue; and though Mrs. Barton had spoken so low that he had lost some parts of her narrative, he heard enough to touch his kind heart. As she rose from the bench near him, "Stop, stop, good woman,"

said he, and he jerked some tears from off his cheeks; "it is not much that such as I can pity you, but a drop is something in a gill-gla.s.s, and (turning his pockets inside out, and collecting a half handful of small change,) I should not be my mother's son if I did not feel for a woman in distress, and so will you just take this which may help to raise a little breeze for you when you are becalmed. Nay, don't haul off, but take it, and remember the poor sailors in a stormy night. It is good luck to us to have a friend a-sh.o.r.e to speak a good word for us when we have no time to speak for ourselves."

Jemmy's hearty kindness was irresistible, and Mrs. Barton received his gift, scarcely able to command her voice to utter her thanks.

The next morning found the steam-boat at the wharf at Ogdensburg. Edward undertook to settle with the captain for the pa.s.sage of his protegees; but the captain would receive nothing, and persisted in declaring that he was amply compensated by Mrs. Barton's industry. The travellers parted from him and from our friend Jemmy with expressions of the esteem which their virtues even on this short acquaintance had not failed to produce; and then they proceeded to make arrangements for their pa.s.sage down the St. Lawrence by chartering and provisioning a Durham boat.

While this was getting in readiness, Mrs. Sackville, whose curiosity, like that of a more celebrated traveller, 'extended to all the works of art, all the appearances of nature, and all the monuments of past events,' walked with her children to view a rare curiosity on our continent--an _American_ antiquity. On a point of land at the junction of the Oswegatchie with the St. Lawrence, there is a broken stone wall, the remains of a French fortification. While they stood surveying with pleased attention this monument of the olden time, they were joined by a gentleman who appeared like them to have been attracted to the spot by curiosity. He took off his hat, bowed to Mrs. Sackville, and asked if he might take the liberty to inquire of her whether she resided at Ogdensburg.

When she replied in the negative, he begged her pardon, and said he had been extremely anxious to authenticate a traditionary story he had picked up in his journey through Canada, some of the events of which had been located at this place. He had hoped to find some record of it in Charlevoix's History, but he had searched in vain. Mrs. Sackville became in her turn the inquirer. She said she delighted in those traditionary tales, which, with the aid of a little fancy, reconstructed ruins, and enclosed within their walls living beings with affections and interests like our own; and she should hold herself very much obliged to the gentleman if he would enrich her with some interesting a.s.sociations with this place. The stranger seemed highly gratified to have found so ready a sympathy in his feelings, and he related the following particulars.

"A commandant of this fort (which was built by the French to protect their traders against the savages,) married a young Iroquois who was before or after the marriage converted to the Catholic faith. She was the daughter of a chieftain of her tribe, and great efforts were made by her people to induce her to return to them. Her brother lurked in this neighbourhood, and procured interviews with her, and attempted to win her back by all the motives of national pride and family affection; but all in vain. The young Garanga, or, to call her by her baptismal name, Marguerite, was bound by a threefold cord--her love to her husband, to her son, and to her religion. Mec.u.meh, finding persuasion ineffectual, had recourse to stratagem. The commandant was in the habit of going down the river often on fishing excursions, and when he returned, he would fire his signal gun, and Marguerite and her boy would hasten to the sh.o.r.e to greet him.

"On one occasion he had been gone longer than usual. Marguerite was filled with apprehensions natural enough at a time when imminent dangers and hairbreadth escapes were of every day occurrence. She had sat in the tower and watched for the returning canoe till the last beam of day had faded from the waters;--the deepening shadows of twilight played tricks with her imagination. Once she was startled by the water-fowl, which, as it skimmed along the surface of the water, imaged to her fancy the light canoe impelled by her husband's vigorous arm--again she heard the leap of the heavy muskalongi, and the splashing waters sounded to her fancy like the first dash of the oar. That pa.s.sed away, and disappointment and tears followed. Her boy was beside her; the young Louis, who, though scarcely twelve years old, already had his imagination filled with daring deeds. Born and bred in a fort, he was an adept in the use of the bow and the musket; courage seemed to be his instinct, and danger his element, and battles and wounds were 'household words' with him. He laughed at his mother's fears; but, in spite of his boyish ridicule, they strengthened, till apprehension seemed reality. Suddenly the sound of the signal gun broke on the stillness of the night. Both mother and son sprang on their feet with a cry of joy, and were pressing hand in hand towards the outer gate, when a sentinel stopped them to remind Marguerite it was her husband's order that no one should venture without the walls after sunset. She, however, insisted on pa.s.sing, and telling the soldier that she would answer to the commandant for his breach of orders--she pa.s.sed the outer barrier. Young Louis held up his bow and arrow before the sentinel, saying gaily, "I am my mother's body-guard you know." Tradition has preserved these trifling circ.u.mstances, as the events that followed rendered them memorable.

"The distance," continued the stranger, "from the fort to the place where the commandant moored his canoe was trifling, and quickly pa.s.sed.

Marguerite and Louis flew along the narrow foot path, reached the sh.o.r.e, and were in the arms of ---- Mec.u.meh and his fierce companions. Entreaties and resistance were alike vain. Resistance was made, with a manly spirit, by young Louis, who drew a knife from the girdle of one of the indians, and attempted to plunge it into the bosom of Mec.u.meh, who was roughly binding his wampum belt over Marguerite's mouth, to deaden the sound of her screams. The uncle wrested the knife from him, and smiled proudly on him as if he recognised in the brave boy, a scion from his own stock.

"The indians had two canoes; Marguerite was conveyed to one, Louis to the other--and both canoes were rowed into the Oswegatchie, and up the stream as fast as it was possible to impel them against the current of the river.

"Not a word nor cry escaped the boy: he seemed intent on some purpose, and when the canoe approached near the sh.o.r.e, he took off a military cap he wore, and threw it so skilfully that it lodged, where he meant it should, on the branch of a tree which projected over the water. There was a long white feather in the cap. The indians had observed the boy's movement--they held up their oars for a moment, and seemed to consult whether they should return and remove the cap; but after a moment, they again dashed their oars in the water and proceeded forward. They continued rowing for a few miles, and then landed; hid their canoes behind some trees on the river's bank, and plunged into the woods with their prisoners. It seems to have been their intention to have returned to their canoes in the morning, and they had not proceeded far from the sh.o.r.e, when they kindled a fire and prepared some food, and offered a share of it to Marguerite and Louis. Poor Marguerite, as you may suppose, had no mind to eat; but Louis, saith tradition, ate as heartily as if he had been safe within the walls of the fort. After the supper, the indians stretched themselves before the fire, but not till they had taken the precaution to bind Marguerite to a tree, and to compel Louis to lie down in the arms of his uncle Mec.u.meh. Neither of the prisoners, as you may imagine, closed their eyes. Louis kept his fixed on his mother. She sat upright beside an oak tree; the cord was fastened around her waist, and bound around the tree, which had been blasted by lighting; the moon poured its beams through the naked branches upon her face convulsed with the agony of despair and fear. With one hand she held a crucifix to her lips, the other was on her rosary. The sight of his mother in such a situation, stirred up daring thoughts in the bosom of the heroic boy--but he laid powerless in his uncle's naked brawny arms.

He tried to disengage himself, but at the slightest movement, Mec.u.meh, though still sleeping, seemed conscious, and strained him closer to him.

At last the strong sleep, that in the depth of the night steeps the senses in utter forgetfulness, overpowered him--his arms relaxed their hold, and dropped beside him and left Louis free.

"He rose cautiously, looked for one instant on the indians, and a.s.sured himself they all slept profoundly. He then possessed himself of Mec.u.meh's knife, which lay at his feet, and severed the cord that bound his mother to the tree. Neither of them spoke a word--but with the least possible sound they resumed the way by which they had come from the sh.o.r.e. Louis in the confidence, and Marguerite with the faint hope of reaching it before they were overtaken.

"You may imagine how often the poor mother, timid as a fawn, was startled by the evening breeze stirring the leaves, but the boy bounded forward as if there were neither fear nor danger in the world.

"They had nearly attained the margin of the river, where Louis meant to launch one of the canoes and drop down the current, when the indian yell resounding through the woods, struck on their ears. They were missed, pursued, and escape was impossible. Marguerite panic-struck, sunk to the ground. Nothing could check the career of Louis. "On--on, mother," he cried, "to the sh.o.r.e--to the sh.o.r.e." She rose and instinctively followed her boy. The sound of pursuit came nearer and nearer. They reached the sh.o.r.e, and there beheld three canoes coming swiftly up the river.

Animated with hope, Louis screamed the watch word of the garrison, and was answered by his father's voice.

"The possibility of escape, and the certain approach of her husband, infused new life into Marguerite. "Your father cannot see us," she said, "as we stand here in the shade of the trees; hide yourself in that thicket, I will plunge into the water." Louis crouched under the bushes, and was completely hidden by an overhanging grape-vine, while his mother advanced a few steps into the water and stood erect, where she could be distinctly seen. A shout from the canoes apprised her that she was recognised, and at the same moment, the indians who had now reached the sh.o.r.e, rent the air with their cries of rage and defiance. They stood for a moment, as if deliberating what next to do; Mec.u.meh maintained an undaunted and resolved air--but with his followers the aspect of armed men, and a force thrice their number, had its usual effect. They fled.

He looked after them, cried, 'shame!' and then, with a desperate yell, leaped into the water and stood beside Marguerite. The canoes were now within a few yards--He put his knife to her bosom--"The daughter of Tec.u.mseh," he said, "should have died by the judgment of our warriors, but now by her brother's hand must she perish:" and he drew back his arm to give vigour to the fatal stroke, when an arrow pierced his own breast, and he fell insensible at his sister's side. A moment after Marguerite was in the arms of her husband, and Louis, with his bow unstrung, bounded from the sh.o.r.e, and was received in his father's canoe; and the wild sh.o.r.es rung with the acclamations of the soldiers, while his father's tears of pride and joy were poured like rain upon his cheek."

The stranger paused, and Edward breathed one long breath, expressive of the interest with which he had listened to the tale; and then said, "You have not told us, sir, how the commandant was so fortunate as to pursue in the right direction."

"He returned soon after Marguerite's departure, and of course was at no loss to determine that she had been taken in the toils of her brother.

He explored the mouth of the Oswegatchie, thinking it possible that the savages might have left their canoes moored there, and taken to the land. Louis's cap and feather caught his eye, and furnished him a clue.

You have now my whole story," concluded the stranger; "and though I cannot vouch for its accuracy, many similar circ.u.mstances must have occurred, while this country was a wilderness, and my tradition is at least supported by probability."

"You have not told us, sir," said Julia, "whether Mec.u.meh was really killed. I do not see how Marguerite could leave him without finding out, for after all, he was her brother."

"Marguerite," replied the stranger, "justified your opinion of sisterly duty. Mec.u.meh was conveyed to the fort--the arrow was withdrawn, and after a tedious illness, he recovered from the wound. There is too a tradition that the pious sister converted him to the catholic faith; but about this part of the story there seems to rest some uncertainty."

"And don't you know, sir," asked Edward, "what became of Louis afterwards?"

"I really do not," replied the gentleman, smiling; "but I doubt not that the man kept the promise of the heroic boy; and I think it extremely probable that he has led some gallant fellows to those deeds of high emprise which were achieved by the armies of Louis fourteenth."

"My dear children," said Mrs. Sackville, "you must really ask no more questions. You will be good enough to pardon," she added, turning to the stranger, "the eagerness of their youthful curiosity."

"Oh, madam," he replied, "the evidence of curiosity is the most grateful reward to a story-teller, and I feel that my acknowledgements are due to your children for their patient listening."

A few more courteous words pa.s.sed, and the stranger bowed and departed.

"This was a lucky meeting, mother," said Edward; "this crazed leaning wall looks quite interesting to me now. I can almost fancy I see Marguerite and Louis issuing from the gate--Louis holding up the bow and arrow that was to do such memorable service that night."

"You have had a good lesson this morning, my children, on the pleasures of a.s.sociation. When we first saw that ruin, it looked to you like any other stone wall--mere mason-work: and you, Julia, afraid of being buried in its shadow, wondered what interest any one could feel in looking at it; and now, I see you are venturing on the most tottering part of it for a piece of moss, which I suppose is to be carefully treasured in your herbal."

"Yes, mama, as a keep-sake for Marguerite and Louis."

We shall not condemn our readers to attend the travellers in their tedious pa.s.sage down the St. Lawrence. Sometimes a favoring breeze filled the single sail of their little boat, and aided by the oars of the lazy boatmen, wafted them gently forward, till, coming to a more rapid descent in the river, their light vessel seemed urged on by an irresistible force to the 'rapids,' where the waves, fretting and foaming over the invisible rocks, threatened to engulph it. The boatmen threw themselves prostrate on the bottom of the boat to avoid the splashing of the waves; their oars lay useless beside them, while the pilot strained every nerve to guide the boat in safety through the perilous channel. These pa.s.sages, like the brilliant events of life, are rare and brief, and are succeeded by the sleepy lakes of the river, bordered by sh.o.r.es uniformly low and monotonous, save where the green mountains of Vermont dimly define the eastern horizon.

Arrived at Montreal, Mrs. Sackville, from consideration for Mrs. Barton, determined to avoid delay, and therefore deferred the examination of this city, so singular and picturesque to an American eye, till their return from Quebec. There was, however, no boat to sail before the evening, and a half day of leisure afforded our industrious travellers an opportunity to visit the churches and convents of Montreal.