NIAGARA--ITS GRANDEUR AND DANGERS--FANNY REJECTS FRANK BECAUSE HE IS NOT
A HERO--SCARCITY OF HEROES--FANNY'S NEPHEWS GET INTO A BOAT--THEY DRIFT
AWAY--NO HOPE--HELP AT THE LAST--A FEARFUL STRUGGLE--FANNY FINDS FRANK
IS A HERO AFTER ALL.
Niagara, the father of waters! The name is significant of something
grand; words are inadequate to describe the mighty cataract. The waters
which rush down from Lake Superior, passing through Lake Huron and Lake
Saint Clair, and onward across Lake Erie, finally force their course in
a northern direction into Lake Ontario. On first leaving Lake Erie,
they flow in a tranquil current, and divide, leaving an island in the
centre, on which a thousand cattle save one are said to feed. Then the
rapidity of the current increases, till those who voyage on its bosom
see in front of them, raised high in the blue sky, a cloud of vapour.
This is said to be the crown of Niagara, the vapoury particles
collecting from the boiling caldron below.
Proceeding onward, a roaring sound is heard, the current increases in
rapidity, and ahead appears a line of foaming breakers. Those who once
get within their power must give up all hope of life. No vessel built
with mortal hands can live amidst those furious rapids. In the centre a
rocky island appears, thickly covered with trees, and while one portion
of the stream rushes directly on, and takes a leap downwards of 200
feet, the other and smaller portion, sweeping round Goat Island, finds
its way into the lower level, over the cliff on the right bank of the
river. The last-mentioned fall is known as the American fall, as the
territory on that side of the river belongs to the United States.
Onward the waters rush, between lofty cliffs, at a distance of three
miles, when they meet an opposing rock, and, circling round and round,
form a fearful whirlpool. No one falling into that circling eddy has
ever escaped with life. The stoutest boat would soon be dashed to
pieces.
At length the waters find their way out by a narrow passage, and rush
onward into Lake Ontario. A long fall across the direct current of the
River is known as the Horseshoe Fall. Standing on the British bank of
the stream, it is seen on the right, with the American fall directly
opposite the spectator. In the latter fall many fearful accidents have
occurred.
The scenery above the Falls is very different to that below. In the
latter the banks are high and precipitous, and the stream flows on 200
feet below the summit of the cliffs. Above the cataract, on the
contrary, the river presents the appearance rather of a large lake. The
woods, consisting of firs, and birch, and maple, come close down to the
water, their branches overhanging the stream. Here and there are
clearings. Many mills moved by water power, and numerous farms, extend
along the banks on either side.
It was somewhere above the rapids that a young man, clad in homely
costume but with the appearance and bearing of a gentleman, was walking
by the river's brink. By his side was a fair girl. He was speaking to
her earnestly and gently, but she seemed to be turning an indifferent
ear to his words.
"I acknowledge your merits, Mr Carlton, but really I cannot see that I
should be expected to give my heart and hand, as you ask me, to one who
has not done anything to show that he is above the ordinary run of
respectable young gentlemen." The girl spoke in a somewhat bantering
tone.
"But really, Miss Fanny Aveling, you are expecting too much at the
present day. Gentlemen cannot go forth with a lance and fight in
tournaments, as in days of yore, to win the admiration of the ladies of
their love. I offer you an honest heart, and I have every reason to
believe I shall establish a comfortable home; and really I think that is
a more sensible thing than running the risk of getting a knock on the
head for no purpose whatever."
"How fearfully matter-of-fact you are," answered Fanny. "I tell you I
do not like matter-of-fact people. If you had been a soldier or sailor,
and had fought the battles of your country, and got wounded, and
obtained a number of medals for your gallantry, I might possibly have
felt differently towards you."
"But I have had no opportunity of doing anything of the sort," urged
Frank Carlton. "I came out here to form an estate, and I have succeeded
in what I undertook, while a number of other persons with similar
opportunities have failed. I do not say this for the sake of boasting,
but simply as a fact which is certainly not discreditable."
"Humdrum," answered the young lady, half to herself. "Numbers have done
as well."
"So they have," said Frank Carlton, "and are married and settled, and
have every reason to be thankful that they came to the country."
"Well, Mr Carlton, there is no use carrying on the conversation
further," exclaimed Fanny: "You ask me to give you my heart and hand; I
frankly confess I have no inclination to do so."
"But, surely, you have led me to suppose you would," said Frank, in a
tone of reproach.
"That was when I did not think you in earnest," said Fanny. "If you had
said this before, I should have given you an answer which might then
have satisfied you."
"Nothing will satisfy me but `yes,'" said Frank, "for I believe that you
have more sense than you pretend to have."
"That is to say, you think I have sense enough to love you," said Fanny,
still in a tone of banter. "We part as friends, however, and if you
insist on coming to call upon my sister, Mrs Barton, of course I cannot
help it, only do not for a moment suppose that I give you any
encouragement."
Frank Carlton, having graduated at Oxford, had come out a few years
before to set up as a farmer in Canada. He had enjoyed the advantage of
studying under a Scotch farmer for a year, and this gave him more
knowledge of agricultural affairs than is possessed by many of the young
men who go out to settle. He had also given his mind to the work, and
what was of great importance, had withstood the temptations to idleness
into which so many fall. He was also a man of refined tastes and
habits, which he did not allow the rough life of a settler to make him
abandon. Captain and Mrs Barton were among his nearest neighbours. He
had been for some time a constant visitor at the house, and two little
boys, the children of Mrs Barton, were his especial favourites.
Fanny Aveling had, the year before, come out from England, and not long
after her arrival Frank Carlton began to reflect that his house would be
in a far better condition than it was at the present, if he could place
a mistress at its head. He had had no reason to suppose that Miss
Aveling was indifferent towards him, until the day on which the
conversation which has been described took place. He was still, it must
be owned, somewhat in doubt about the matter. He did not suppose that
she cared for anybody else; indeed he knew of no visitor at the house
likely to have won her affections. He therefore, as most men would have
done under similar circumstances, lived on in the hope of ultimately
winning her. Still, week after week passed, and though he made frequent
visits to Captain Barton's, Miss Aveling's manner towards him remained
totally unchanged. At length, sanguine as he was, he began to fear that
he had misplaced his affections. He also grew distant in his manner
towards her, and he seldom paid a visit to the house of his former
friends.
Mrs Barton could not but suspect the cause, for she, it must be owned,
was favourable to Frank Carlton, and thought that her sister could not
make a more desirable match.
"What more can you require in a man than Frank possesses, Fanny?" she
said one day to her sister.
"Yes," observed Fanny, "he is honest, and he does not smoke, and he does
not drink, and he does not use bad language, that I know of, and he's
very respectable; in fact, in my opinion, he is made up of negatives."
"Oh, you foolish girl!" exclaimed Mrs Barton; "you want him to threaten
to leave you for ever, or to jump down the Falls, or to commit some
other outrageous act, and then perhaps your feelings would be worked up,
and you would be ready to entreat him to remain and be yours."
"No, I tell you I don't care for him, that I know of, and don't know
that I ever shall," answered Fanny, petulantly. "I have made up my
mind, when he next comes, to let him understand that very clearly."
As it happened, Frank paid another visit the following day to the
Bartons. Fanny certainly did contrive to show him that there were no
hopes of her becoming his wife.
He would make a tour through the country, visit Toronto, Montreal, and
perhaps go down to Quebec. Or he would make a trip to the Far West,
across Lake Superior to the Red River Settlement, and visit the small
band of his countrymen collected there. At first he thought he would
start at once, and not pay a farewell visit to the Bartons.
It happened that Mrs Barton, her sister, and her two little boys,
Frank's favourites, Ernest and Harry, were strolling about by the bank
of the river. They had gone somewhere down in the direction of the
rapids, when Fanny exclaimed that the scenery, already tinged by the
bright hue of autumn, was so beautiful that she must stop and make a
sketch.
The two sisters sat down on the bank, while Fanny, with the hand of an
artist, rapidly sketched the scene. She had to employ the most gorgeous
colours which her colour-box could supply, and even then could scarcely
give sufficient brightness to the landscape. While she was sketching,
the little boys ran along the bank, where, moored to the shore, they
found a boat, and very naturally got into it. Their mother and aunt did
not observe them. They got out the oars, and began to make believe that
they were rowing. Now they pulled on one side and then on the other.
Harry, the youngest, tired of rowing, put in the oar, and began to play
with the "painter." The boat had been carelessly secured, and by some
means or other he let the painter slip. Ernest, in the meantime, who
was still rowing, turned the boat round, and before the boys knew what
was happening, they were drifting from the shore. Already, before they
saw their danger, they were too far off to regain the bank. Often they
had been told of the fearful risk of being carried off by the current.
They screamed with fear. Their cries aroused their mother and aunt.
Several people also had been attracted by them from a neighbouring farm,
but no boat was to be seen at hand in which they could be followed.
Already the boat was moving down the current. It was still some
distance from the rapids: but, unless stopped in its course, it must
eventually reach them.
Mrs Barton and Fanny cried in vain to the spectators to aid in rescuing
the children. Some of the men ran along the bank up the stream, but
others stood still, and declared they had no power to save the children.
"Still, if you would but swim in, you might get on board the boat before
it has gone far," exclaimed Mrs Barton.
"And run a pretty fair chance of losing our own lives," was the reply
made by some of the men.
Some way down, another boat was at length seen. It was a small, frail
skiff, and moored very near the commencement of the rapids.
"Will any one try and save my children?" exclaimed Mrs Barton in
despair.
Again the men shook their heads.
"Not for a thousand pounds. Before one could reach the boat in that
rotten canoe, she would be among the rapids."
The fond mother and Fanny became almost frantic with despair. Just at
that moment a figure was seen bounding down from a neighbouring height.
In an instant, with a knife, he cut the painter securing the skiff to
the shore. A pair of paddles were in the skiff. He leaped in and
shoved off from the bank. Mrs Barton knew him, and so did Fanny.
"It's Frank Carlton!" they exclaimed. "Oh, blessings on him! May God
protect him!"
Already the boat was approaching the commencement of the rapids. Once
in their power, even his sturdy arms could scarcely stem the current.
Not for one moment did he calculate the difficulty or danger he was to
undergo. With rapid strokes he pursued the floating boat. How eagerly
did the fond mother watch his proceedings! She stood apparently calm on
the bank, only now and then extending her arms, as if she would draw
back the boat which contained her loved ones.
Still, to those who looked on it seemed scarcely possible that the
children could escape. If they were lost, so also would be Frank
Carlton. Still he pursued. The motion of the boat which contained the
boys showed its near approach to the rapids. In two or three minutes it
would be within their power. It seemed hardly credible that he could
reach it even in that time. Onward he went, every now and then turning
his head round to watch the boat. Already it began to leap and toss.
The water foamed around it.
"See! he has got alongside!" exclaimed the people from the shore; "but
will he have strength to stem the current on his return?"
A glance showed him that two oars were in the boat. Leaving his canoe
to its fate, he leaped into the boat, and seized the oars. Now came a
fearful struggle. Should an oar give way, he and his young friends must
inevitably be lost. He nerved himself for the undertaking by offering
up prayer for strength to One who alone can give it. Grasping the oars,
he placed his feet firmly at the bottom of the boat, and rowed manfully.
At first it seemed to those who looked on that he made no way. The
boat's head was up the stream, but still she seemed to be going slowly
and surely downwards. He struggles on. The water foams around the boat
on every side. Yes! he is making way--he has gained an inch, another
and another. Slowly the boat moves onward, out of the power of the
rapids. A foot is gained. Still, by the exertions he is making, his
strength must become exhausted. He rows on and on; the boat makes
headway. Surely the prayers of that fond mother are heard. The gallant
young man renews his exertions. He is resolved, God helping him, to
save the children. He thinks not of himself, or what will be the
consequences to his own frame. The veins seem starting from his
forehead. Those only who have gone through such a contest, can
understand what he had to endure. The people from the neighbouring
farms now eagerly crowd the shores, ready to render him assistance when
he reaches it. Some, however, even now doubt whether he will accomplish
the undertaking. Should his strength fail, even for an instant, the
boat would quickly be carried back, with those on board, to destruction.
With all his strength he continues rowing, looking neither to the right
hand nor the left. His eyes are on the young children who sit crouching
down in terror at the bottom of the boat. With a smile, he endeavours
to encourage them. Again and again he cries to Heaven for strength.
Gradually the boat approaches the shore. Now it has reached an upward
eddy. Still he rows on, and the boat safely reaches the bank. Scarcely
conscious of his success, he is lifted out of the boat, and eager hands
restore the children to their mother. She clasps them to her bosom, and
pours out her gratitude to their deliverer. But there is one kneeling
by his side who entreats those who stand by to bring some water to bathe
his brow. The handkerchief tied round his throat is loosened. He
returns to consciousness, and sees Fanny Aveling bending over him. In a
short time he declares himself sufficiently recovered to walk, and a
joyful party returned to Barton Lodge.
Our tale is finished. Though he returned home that evening, Frank could
not do otherwise than, the following morning, visit Barton Lodge, to
enquire after the boys. Fanny Aveling no longer received him as had
been her wont.
"You have done something," she exclaimed. "Yes, I see it is not
necessary for a man to go and fight, and kill his fellow-creatures, to
be a hero. Oh, Frank, what a very silly girl I have been!"
Frank assured her he was confident she would be a wise woman in future,
and it is scarcely necessary to add that Frank's establishment soon had
a mistress at its head.