AN UNEXPECTED GUEST AT A PICNIC.
Outlaw and free thief,
Landless and lawless,
Through the world fare I,
Thoughtless of life.
Outlaw and free thief,
My kinsmen have left me,
And no kinsmen need I
Till my kinsmen need me.
My sword is my father,
My shield is my mother,
My ship is my sister,
My horse is my brother.—CHARLES KINGSLEY.
We have seen that Miss Rosenthal could not succeed in prevailing on her
perverse guest to abandon the picnic excursion. And, indeed, the
sanguine young people who came on the next day to the Parsonage to
arrange with Miss Fielding the details of the festival, contrived to
reassure Erminie as to the perfect safety of the expedition.
“The roads are guarded on both sides by our pickets, and the country for
miles back is quite free from dangerous characters,” said Mr. Allison, a
young man of fortune, who had a substitute in the field, risking his
life in Mr. Allison’s stead.
“Besides, we shall all go armed to the teeth, and determined to die if
necessary, in defence of the ladies!” said Mr. Jim Mim, a very small
young man, with a “wee face and little yellow beard,” but with, I do
believe, the soul of a hero, for he had done his very best to get into
the army, and had been rejected a score of times upon the ground of
physical disability.
“But—to use your own phrase,”—said Erminie, smiling, “‘will it pay’ in
enjoyment to go upon a party of pleasure when you have to go ‘armed to
the teeth,’ and keep up a vigilant watch all the time?”
“Oh, dear, yes! a spice of danger will only add zest to the adventure. I
agree with Miss Fielding that nothing could be more piquant than an
encounter with Monck and his fierce band,” put in Mr. Montgomery Fitz
Smithers, a huge six-footer, with the body of a giant and the spirit of
a pigmy, who had crept out of the draft upon the plea of being the only
nephew of a maiden aunt, or something of the sort.
“The spice of danger you speak of may add to _your_ enjoyment,
gentlemen; but it can scarcely add to the comfort of the young ladies of
your party,” said Erminie.
“I do assure you, Miss Wothenthall, that the danger is altogweder
imaginawy. Our awmes are only pwecautionary measures against the bare
possibility of mere annoyance; and evwy awangement shall be made for the
comfort of the ladies,” lisped Mr. Lew Billingcoo, a very exquisite
dandy, whose chief merits lay in a neat little figure, a round little
head, a nice little face, and a “cute” little moustache, as to person;
and a jet black suit, snow white linen, pure diamond studs, new kid
gloves, fresh pocket handkerchief, and a rare hot-house flower stuck
into his button-hole, as to dress.
“Only a clerk,” he spent all his small income on his outward adornments,
and hoped to marry an heiress who should pay his board bill and make his
fortune.
Mr. Billingcoo paid the most devoted attention to every one of the few
“moneyed” young ladies of his acquaintance, and he expected all pretty
girls who were not moneyed to pay devoted attention to _him_; and—more’s
the pity—he was not always disappointed.
Woe betide this exquisite young gentleman if he should fall into the
hands of the “roughs” of Monck’s, or any other guerrilla’s band!
Erminie, convinced against her will, offered no farther opposition to
the picnic excursion, but set about, with affectionate zeal, to forward
the views of the party.
Old Frederica, the cook, was directed to boil a ham and a leg of mutton,
and to roast a turkey and a pair of fowls. Erminie herself made lemon
pies and pound cakes, besides giving Elfie a _carte blanche_ to order or
prepare anything she liked; for she wished that the hamper from the
parsonage should be excelled by none.
Mr. Allison, being the rich man of the party, provided the most costly
wines to be procured.
Mr. Montgomery Fitz Smithers, the faint-hearted colossus, furnished a
band of music consisting of four pieces.
Mr. Jim Mim, the “feeble but ferocious” hero, nearly ruined himself in
the purchase of West India sweetmeats, French candies, English potted
meats, and other rare delicacies.
Mr. Lew Billingcoo, the exquisite, contributed himself, his guitar and a
bouquet of fragrant exotics for every young lady.
Two of these young men—Mr. Allison and Mr. Mim—had mothers and sisters,
who were of course members of the picnic; Mr. Smithers had a maiden
aunt, and Mr. Billingcoo a grandmamma, who was such a lively old lady
that she was always ready for any frolic that might be set on foot by
the young people; and these ladies were also to be of the company.
Besides these there were many other ladies and gentlemen, making in all
a company of thirty or thirty-five.
There were three ways of reaching the Great Falls from Washington and
Georgetown. The first was by the River road; but that was in a very bad
condition from the constant passage of trains of army wagons and
ambulances, and droves of mules and horses. The second by the Conduit
road, leading past the new water works; but this was objectionable for
the same reasons as was the River road. The third way was by the
Chesapeake and Ohio canal; and this way was certainly free from the
objections that could be urged against the former two.
So, after changing their minds half a dozen times from the River road to
the Conduit road, and back again from the Conduit road to the River
road, our party gave up both as impracticable and determined to go by
the canal, and to charter the bright little steamboat Gadfly to take
them. The picnickers wished to pay for this boat by subscription; but
Allison, the millionaire, insisted upon taking it in his own name and
being at all the charges for transportation.
A cook, a couple of waiters and a chambermaid, all colored people, were
engaged to attend upon the company.
At length the long expected, ardently desired, eventful Saturday came.
The picnickers were to assemble at the parsonage. And by five o’clock in
the morning, Erminie, whom you know to be the very soul of kindness, had
a comfortable breakfast prepared for the whole party, who were all on
hand by a quarter past five. By six o’clock four ambulances and a
baggage wagon, all borrowed from the quartermaster’s department, were in
attendance to convey the whole party with all their stores to High
street, Georgetown, where they were to take the boat, and where also the
band of music and the colored waiters, cook and chambermaid were to meet
them.
Many hands make labor light, ’tis said; and so the young men, having
breakfasted to their satisfaction on Erminie’s strong coffee, fried
chickens, broiled ham, rice cakes and rolls, set to work with a will and
soon loaded the baggage wagon with their stores. There were about thirty
ladies and gentlemen comprising this picnic party, and they expected to
be gone but twelve hours; but their stores were enough to feed three
hundred people for the same time.
When the last package was put into the baggage wagon, the gentlemen
assisted the ladies into the ambulances, and followed them there: and
the train started—Erminie standing in the door and looking after them,
smiling and waving adieu.
The sun had not yet risen, but the clearness of the dark blue sky at the
zenith, and the bright red flush of the Eastern horizon surely promised
a fine day.
The horses were fresh of course, and travelled at a fine exhilarating
rate. And so great was the glee of the picnic party, that they could
scarcely refrain from breaking into song, even there in the streets.
They were only enabled to restrain themselves by thinking how they would
sing when once free of the city and town.
An hour’s rapid jolting brought them to the lock in Georgetown, where
the little canal steamboat Gadfly, with the Union flag flying, lay
puffing and blowing as with impatience to receive them. Their colored
band of musicians and their colored servants were standing on the deck
waiting for them.
The party quickly alighted from their ambulances, and went on board the
boat.
The servants speedily unloaded the baggage wagon, and transferred the
stores to the deck.
And just as the sun arose, the band of music struck up Hail Columbia,
and the little steamer blew her shrill signal whistle, and started for
up the country.
Past the useful and necessary, but excessively ugly warehouses, past the
lumber yards and fish market, past the Aqueduct Bridge and the suburban
grog-shops, steamed the little Gadfly, until she was well free of the
town and its suburbs, and in a comparatively quiet country, with the
narrow tow path and the broad river on the south, and the narrow road
and rocky precipice on the north.
The party were all on deck, and as soon as they dared do so they broke
into song. First they sang “Hail Columbia,” because the band was playing
that tune. Then in turn followed “Yankee Doodle,” “The Star Spangled
Banner,” “Rally Round the Flag, Boys,” “John Brown,” “We are Coming,
Father Abraham,” “The Year of Jubilo,” “Just Before the Battle,” and, in
fact, one after another, every popular song of the day. If music had
been their profession, and if they had been well paid for singing so
many songs at one time, they would have thought that they had been
working too hard, and they would have felt very tired; but as they were
singing only for their own amusement, they were insensible to fatigue.
But then you see it makes all the difference whether our violent
exertions are called work or play. There are those who fretfully play at
work, and those who cheerfully work at play, and those who invariably do
both.
Our picnickers were very perseveringly working at play. They were,
indeed, so taken up with their singing, that they found themselves at
the picturesque Chain Bridge Military Depot, four miles above
Georgetown, before they knew where they were.
“How far do you call it from here to the Great Falls?” inquired Ben.
Allison of one of the young officers of the post, as the steamer was
passing through the lock.
“Some call it nine miles only, but _I_ think it nine of the very longest
miles _I_ ever travelled,” laughingly answered the young man.
The boat passed the lock, steamed on her way, and soon left the Chain
Bridge behind.
They were now coming into a wild, romantic, and beautiful region of
country.
On the north side of the canal arose the lofty, dark gray rocks, like
pallisades, from every crevice of which grew the hardy evergreen, or
sprang the bright mountain rill. Along the foot of this rocky precipice,
at equal distances, nestled the picturesque huts of the pickets, each
hut built of rough logs, with the bark on, and thatched with evergreen
boughs of fir, pine or cedar, and having in front its little camp-fire,
and its group of three or four soldiers.
As the little steamboat glided past these stations, the picnickers
cheered these picket guards, and pelted them well with apples, oranges,
cocoa nuts, poundcakes, and packets of newspapers.
And the pickets in return cheered them, and threw into their boat hares,
quails, and partridges, that they had killed in that country, so
abounding in game.
All this was on the right hand of the way, and north side of the canal.
On the opposite, or south side, and divided from it only by the narrow
tow path, rolled the broad river, and beyond that arose the wooded hills
of Virginia, now gorgeous in the variegated hues of autumn foliage.
“I think this is the most delightful season for a picnic excursion of
this sort, for really the summer is as much too hot as the winter is too
cold for an outdoor party of pleasure. What do you think, Mr.
Billingcoo?” inquired Elfie of the exquisite, who was standing by her
side, as she gazed on the beautiful scenery, and basked in the genial
sunshine.
“I think you are quite wight, Mith Fielding, and I quite agwee with you.
It ith a gweat pity Mith Wothenthal could not be induthed to join uth.”
“Isn’t it now! And she would have prevented me from coming if she could
have done so! The idea of any one imagining danger in this excursion! I
wonder where the danger is to come from! Here is a line of picket guards
on one side of us and the river on the other. I should like to know how
the guerrillas, even if they were in the neighborhood, could pass
either. I wish they would for my part! I should enjoy a smart skirmish
with Monck and his men! Heigh-ho! there is no such good luck. Our picnic
excursion is going to be just as tame a party of pleasure as though we
were in the pipinest times of peace. I tell you, Mr. Billingcoo, as far
as my experience goes, this war’s a sell, like most other things in
life.”
“Weally now? you don’t mean it!”
“I do. Here it has been going on for more than three years, and I have
been living all this time at what they call ‘the seat of war,’ and I
haven’t seen one great battle or even one little skirmish yet!” grumbled
Elfie.
“And do you weally with to witneth an engagement, Mith Fielding?”
“I really do.”
“How would an engagement thealed with a wedding wing do, in lack of an
engagement with the enemy?” lisped the exquisite, caressing his
moustache.
“If you like to talk rubbish, Mr. Billingcoo, there are some young
ladies at the other end of the boat who will listen to you with the
utmost patience all day long,” said Elfie, coldly.
“Weally, now? Ith that tho? But thuppothe I pwefer your company?”
“Then you will have to talk sense or be silent.”
“Mith Fielding, you are cwuel.”
“Mr. Billingcoo, you are absurd!”
“Tho I’ve heard. I wonder if it ith weally twue. I will go and athk my
grandmamma,” said the young gentleman, coolly playing with the tea-rose
in his button-hole, and sauntering off to join the lively old lady, and
leaving Elfie to wonder whether she had not got the worst of it in the
word fencing.
So the boat glided along, on that delightful morning, through the wild
and picturesque scenery of the Upper Potomac.
And our excursionists, notwithstanding that they were on a party of
pleasure, really enjoyed themselves.
It was yet early in the day, when they reached the Great Falls of the
Potomac, where the mighty river, rushing on between huge precipices,
clothed with evergreen woods, falls into a vast basin, or cauldron,
where, among great, jagged rocks, it roars and foams in frightful eddies
and whirlpools.
In that dry, Indian summer weather, the river was so low at the falls,
that any brave and dexterous leaper, who would not mind risking life and
limb, by springing, from rock to rock, across the whirlpools, might have
passed dry-shod from shore to shore.
The boat stopped there.
The military officer in charge of the commissary depot came down from
the block-house to see the visitors.
After bowing to the ladies, and shaking hands with Mr. Allison, who was
his old acquaintance, and learning that the visitors were a company of
picnickers on a party of pleasure, he courteously invited them all to
come on shore, and accept such hospitality as his quarters were able to
afford.
But, knowing from personal experience that the accommodations of the
block-house were not of the most tempting description, Allison, on the
part of the company, thanked the captain, declined the invitation, and
pressed him, instead, to join them at their lunch, and accompany them
afterwards as guide in their rambles through the magnificent scenery of
the place.
The captain readily agreed to this proposition, and then eagerly
inquired if they had brought the morning papers along.
“Lots of them,” answered Allison, laughing. “I thought of that before I
came away. I knew that the most acceptable offering I could bring to men
stationed at these sequestered outposts would be the daily papers. I
knew it would be too early for the newsboys; so before reporting myself
at the parsonage, where our party assembled to start, I went the rounds
of the printing-offices and astonished the printers by buying up the
morning papers by hundreds. And we have been distributing them to the
picket guards all along our way. And great gifts our boys thought them,
I assure you. However, don’t be alarmed; we have saved enough for you.”
And so saying, Allison handed over a packet of newspapers, that was as
welcome to the officer in command of this outpost, as ever was news from
home to an exile abroad.
Meanwhile, with laughing and jesting, and much merriment, the picnickers
were leaving the boat.
The hampers were brought on shore; a nice, high spot, a natural opening
in the forest, was selected; the cloth was laid on the dry, burnished
grass, and the feast was spread—a light repast of fruits, cakes and
wines, for it was yet too early to think of dinner.
“But how about the guerrillas? Heard or seen anything of Monck and his
band of brigands, lately?” inquired Mr. Allison of the captain, as they
all gathered around the luncheon, and sat down upon the grass.
“Not a breath, not a sign of them for many weeks past,” answered the
officer.
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. I shouldn’t like to have a raid
made upon our party to-day.”
This was said jestingly, and the captain laughed as he replied:
“Oh, no fear of that. The guerrillas keep far enough away from our
neighborhood. ‘All quiet along the Potomac,’ I do assure you.”
So in the evergreen wood they chatted, and jested, and laughed over the
prolonged luncheon.
At length they all arose from the grass, and began to prepare for their
ramble. The ladies hoisted their parasols, the gentlemen put on their
wide-awakes, and everybody asked everybody else—
“Where shall we go first?”
“Have you ever seen the Lady’s Leap?” inquired the captain.
“No—never,” answered a score of voices.
“Nor the Devil’s Dripping Pan?”
“No.”
“Nor the Eagle’s Eyrie?”
“No, for no one but myself of this company has ever been here before,”
answered Allison for all his party.
“Then we had better visit them in turn,” counselled the captain.
And everybody answered—
“Yes.”
And the whole party, led on by the captain and Mr. Allison, set out on
their excursion.
They went first to the Lady’s Leap, a lofty rock overlooking the Falls,
where a lovesick girl was reputed to have taken a fatal leap into the
river below.
Next they visited the Devil’s Dripping Pan, a great basin of rock nearly
circular in form.
Finally they took a look at the Eagle’s Eyrie, the highest point of land
within many miles of the place.
And then, fatigued with their long ramble, they returned to their boat
to rest.
Now, had the programme of the excursion been carried out to the letter,
a great mischance might have been averted. But it was not.
Elfie, at least, seemed possessed by the evil one, who inspired her with
a love of adventure. She would not hear of terminating the excursion at
the Great Falls. It was a glorious afternoon, and having visited the
most striking scenes around the Falls, she wished to go farther up the
river.
The captain, who had returned with them on the boat, sided with Elfie.
“It would be a pity,” he said, “to turn back without having seen the
fine scenery above. Why, you might even run up as high as the Point of
Rocks—a magnificent view.”
“To be sure we might,” said Elfie; “and even if we should be late in
returning, there will be moonlight to come home by. It will be perfectly
delightful.”
“And we have everything along to make us comfortable,” said Allison.
In fact, when the extension of their expedition was once fairly and
broadly proposed and discussed, it was unanimously agreed upon.
And it was decided that they should immediately start for the upper
river, should stop and dine at the Point of Rocks, and then return home
by moonlight.
To be sure Elfie felt a few twinges of conscience when she thought how
great would be Erminie’s anxiety at her prolonged absence, but Elfie,
with a mental jerk, exclaimed to herself:
“Bother! if she shouldn’t be worrying about me, she would be worrying
about somebody else—some dying soldier in the hospital, some starving
refugee from the South, or some condemned criminal in his cell. It’s all
the same to her.”
And so the picnickers bade adieu to their new friend, the commander of
the block-house, and their boat steamed away up the canal for the Point
of Rocks.
Above the Falls the scenery was much finer than it was below. The river
was narrower, and higher; and the huge frowning precipices on each shore
darker and loftier.
The company, with their lately exuberant spirits somewhat toned down by
the fatigues of the day, no longer sang jubilant Union songs with
uproarious choruses; but sat silently enjoying the beauty of the scene,
or quietly conversing with each other, or listening to Mr. Billingcoo,
who, with his guitar in his hands and his eyes turned up, reclined on
the deck and sung lispingly to his own accompaniment one of Thomas
Moore’s sentimental songs:
“Row gently here, my gondolier,
Tho thoftly wake the tide,
That not an ear, on earth, thall hear
But herth to whom we glide.
Ah, did we take for Heaven above
But half the painth that we
Take day and night for woman’th love,—
What angelth we thould be!”
So he sang the whole song through, dwelling upon the last word and
lingering on the last note with his fingers on the chords of the
instrument and his eyes fixed on the clouds in the sky, like one
possessed; until Elfie awoke him with this criticism:
“It is very fine indeed, Mr. Billingcoo, only it would take a very
powerful effort of imagination to transform this matter-of-fact
steam-packet to a Venetian gondola. However, I really think we have the
advantage of your gondolier. For we are gliding by the most beautiful
scenery in the whole world, and he appears to have had nothing better in
that way than narrow canals and high stone walls.”
“Mith Fielding, have you no thentiment at all?” pathetically inquired
the injured minstrel.
“None whatever. Nature seems to have been out of the article when she
formed me,” answered Elfie.
“Oh, do, Mr. Billingcoo, sing another sweet thing like that!” pleaded a
poetical young lady.
“And do, Mr. Billingcoo!” chimed in a chorus of others.
And the troubadour suffered himself to be entreated and sang lispingly
several other “sweet things,” to the accompaniment of his guitar—all of
which the young ladies warmly applauded.
So glided away the glorious Indian Summer afternoon; and as the sun was
sinking to his splendid setting, the steamer neared the Point of Rocks.
“We had better stop here. This is a more convenient place to land and
dine than we could find without going on some distance above the Point.
And besides it is really growing late,” said Mr. Allison.
The company eagerly assented to the plan, and the boat was stopped where
the canal passed under the shadow of a great precipice crowned with pine
woods.
“If we can get to the top of this rock, there is a fine table land well
protected from the wind, which I find is rising, and well shaded from
the sun by pine trees, and also commanding one of the most magnificent
panoramic prospects in the country. That table land will be an excellent
place to dine,” exclaimed Mr. Allison, while he and his friends were
getting ready to leave the boat.
They found a way to the top of the steep; and the gentlemen climbed
carefully, helping the ladies up along with them.
Their attendants followed with the hampers of provisions.
When the whole party arrived at the summit they found a level piece of
ground covered with dry grass, and encircled except upon the river side,
with a girdle of pine trees.
“It seems made for the very purpose we are about to put it to,” said the
lively old lady, as she sank panting, but joyous upon the ground.
“Oh, what a stupendous—what an overpowering breadth of view!” exclaimed
Elfie, in honest wonder and admiration, as she reached the summit and
looked around, letting her eyes rove from East to West and from North to
South. “I feel now for the first time in my life that I actually live on
the outside of the earth’s surface; and I see for myself that it is
really round; and I even begin to realize that it is a vast globe
rolling through the immensity of space!”
“It looks dreadfully lonely though,” observed a young lady, with a
shudder.
“Yes—what a solitude! Far as the eye can reach on every side a forest of
autumn foliage, with only here and there a grey rock looming up, and the
river rolling deeply through it all. Not a house, not a chimney, nor
even smoke, to indicate human habitations near!”
While the company were gazing upon the vast panorama around them, and
descanting upon its beauties, some of the attendants were building fires
on the ground, hanging kettles over the blaze, and putting the hares,
quails and partridges, which were already dressed for the gridiron, upon
the coals; others were laying the table-cloth and arranging the dinner
service.
Mr. Allison having seen to the careful transportation of his costly
wines, now joined the group on the edge of the precipice.
Looking down upon the chaos of grey rock below them he smiled and
quoted:
“‘The ragged rascals rage round rugged rocks.’ Now, I wonder what on
earth put that choice specimen of ingenious alliteration into my head?”
he laughingly inquired.
“The ‘wugged wockth’ of courthe,” lisped Mr. Billingcoo.
“Yes; but where are the ‘ragged rascals?’” laughed Allison.
“Vewy twue! Here are the ‘wugged wockth,’ but _where_ are the ‘wagged
wathcalth?’” repeated the dandy.
The question was answered by a yell more terrible and ferocious than
ever startled a sleeping backwoods settlement when a tribe of ruthless
savages woke it up to slaughter.
And forth from the cover of the pine woods leaped a band of fierce
brigands, brandishing their bayonets.