THE TEARS OF CHILDHOOD AND RAIN OF THE TROPICS--CHARLES'S
WAIN--VOLUNTARY ENLISTMENT--A LIKENESS GUARANTEED--THE WORLD AT
PEACE--ALAS, POOR MARY!--THE SAME BREATH FOR TWO BEINGS--THE FIRST
PILLOW--THE LOGIC OF THE HEART--HOW FRITZ SUPPORTED GRIEF--A GRAIN OF
SAND AND THE HIMALAYA.
At daybreak next morning, all the eyes in the colony were busily
engaged in scrutinizing the sky. This time the operation seemed
satisfactory, for immediately afterwards, all the hands were, with
equal diligence, occupied in packing up and making other preparations
for the meditated excursion to the remote dependencies of New
Switzerland.
The dense veil that the day before had shrouded them in gloom was now
broken up into shreds. The azure depths beyond had assumed the
appearance of a blue tunic bespattered with white, and the clouds
suggested the idea of a celestial shepherd, driving myriads of sheep
to the pasture. Children alone can dry up their tears with the
rapidity of Nature in the tropics; perhaps we may have already made
the remark, and must, therefore, beg pardon for repeating the simile a
second time.
In a short time, the two families were assembled on the lawn, in front
of the domestic trees of Falcon's Nest, ready to start on their
journey. The cow and the buffalo were yoked to the carriage, which was
snugly covered over with a tarpauling, thrown across circular girds,
like the old-fashioned waggons of country carriers. Frank mounted the
box in front; Mrs. Becker, Wolston, and Sophia got inside; whilst
Ernest and Jack, mounted on ostriches that had been trained and broken
in as riding horses, took up a position on each side, where the doors
of the vehicle ought to have been. These dispositions made, after a
few lashes from the whip, this party started off at a brisk rate in
the direction of Waldeck.
It had been previously arranged that one half of the expedition should
go by land, and the other half by water, and that on their return this
order should be reversed, so that both the interior and the coast
might be inspected at one and the same time. The only exception was
made in favor of Willis, who was permitted both to go and return by
sea.
The second party, consisting of Mrs. Wolston, Becker, Mary, and Fritz,
started on foot in the direction of the coast. They had not gone far
before Becker observed a large broadside plastered on a tree.
"What is that?" he inquired.
Nobody could give a satisfactory reply.
"Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Wolston, "paper grows ready made on the
trees of this wonderful country."
"They all approached, and, much to their astonishment, read as
follows:--
"TAKE NOTICE.
"The renowned Professor Ernest Becker is about to enlighten the
benighted inhabitants of this country, by giving a course of lectures
on optics. The agonizing doubts that have hitherto enveloped
astronomical science, particularly as regards the interiors of the
moon and the stars, have arisen from the absurd practice of looking at
them during the night. These doubts are about to be removed for ever
by the aforesaid professor, as he intends to exhibit the luminaries in
question in open day. He will also place Charles's Wain[C] at the
disposal of any one who is desirous of taking a drive in the Milky
Way. The learned professor will likewise stand for an indefinite
period on his head; and whilst in this position will clearly
demonstrate the rotundity of the earth, and the tendency of heavy
bodies to the centre of gravity. In order that the prices of admission
may be in accordance with the intrinsic value of the lectures, nothing
will be charged for the boxes, the entrance to the pit will be gratis,
and the gallery will be thrown open for the free entry of the people.
The audience will be expected to assume a horizontal position. Persons
given to snoring are invited to stay at home."
"I rather think I should know that style," remarked Willis.
"It is a pity Ernest is not with us," observed Fritz; "but the placard
will keep for a day or two."
"They say laughing is good for digestion," remarked Mrs. Wolston; "and
if so, it must be confessed that Master Jack is a useful member of the
colony in a sanitary point of view."
The party had scarcely advanced a hundred paces farther, when Fritz
called out,
"Holloa! there is another broadside in sight."
This one was headed by a smart conflict between two ferocious looking
hussars, and was couched in the following terms:--
"PROCLAMATION.
"All the inhabitants of this colony capable of bearing arms, who are
panting after glory, are invited to the Fig Tree, at Falcon's Nest,
there to enrol themselves in the registry of Fritz Becker, who is
about to undertake the conquest of the world. Nobody is compelled to
volunteer, but those who hold back will be reckoned contumacious, and
will be taken into custody, and kept on raw coffee till such time as
they evince a serious desire to enlist. There will be no objection to
recruits returning home at the end of the war, if they come out of it
alive. Neither will there be any objections to the survivors bringing
back a marshal's baton, if they can get one. The Commander-in-chief
will charge himself with the fruits of the victory. Surgical
operations will be performed at his cost, and cork legs will be served
out with the rations. In the event of a profitable campaign, a
monument will be erected to the memory of the defunct, by way of a
reward for their heroism on the field of battle."
"Well, Fritz," said Becker, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "you were
sorry that Ernest was not present to hear the last placard read;
fortunately, you are on the spot yourself this time."
Fritz tried to look amused, but the attempt was a decided failure.
When the party had gone a little farther, another announcement met
their gaze; all were curious to know whose turn was come now; as they
approached, the following interesting question, in large letters,
stared them in the face:--
"HAVE YOU HAD YOUR PORTRAIT TAKEN YET?
"It has been reserved for the present age, and for this prolific
territory, so exuberant in cabbages, turnips, and other potables, to
produce the greatest of living artists--real genius--who is destined
to outshine all the Michel Angelos and Rubenses of former ages. Not
that these men were entirely devoid of talent, but because they could
do nothing without their palette and their paint brushes. Now that
illustrious _maestro_, Mr. Jack Becker, has both genius and ingenuity,
for he has succeeded in dispensing with the aforementioned troublesome
auxiliaries of his art. His plan which has the advantage of not being
patented, consists in placing his subject before a mirror, where he is
permitted to stay till the portrait takes root in the glass. By this
novel method the original and the copy will be subject alike to the
ravages of time, so that no one, on seeing a portrait, will be liable
to mistake the grand-mother for the grand-daughter. Likenesses
guaranteed. Payments, under all circumstances, to be made in advance.
"Ah, well," said Becker, laughing, "it appears that the scapegrace has
not spared himself."
"I hope there is not a fourth proclamation," said Mrs. Wolston.
"There are no more trees on our route, at all events," replied
Becker.
"Glad to hear that; Jack must respect the avocation chosen by Frank,
since he sees nothing in it to ridicule."
As they drew near the Jackal River, in which the pinnace was moored,
Mary and Fritz were a little in advance of the party.
"Are you really determined to turn the world upside down, Master
Fritz?"
"At present, Miss Wolston, I am myself the sum and substance of my
army, in addition to which I have not yet quite made up my mind."
"It is an odd fancy to entertain to say the least of it."
"Does it displease you?"
"In order that it could do that, I must first have the right to judge
your projects."
"And if I gave you that right?"
"I should find the responsibility too great to accept it. Besides, a
determination cannot be properly judged, without putting one's self in
the position of the person that makes it. You imagine happiness
consists in witnessing the shock of armies, whilst I fancy enjoyment
to consist in the calm tranquility of one's home. You see our views of
felicity are widely different."
"Not so very widely different as you seem to think, Miss Wolston. As
yet my victories are _nil_; I have not yet come to an issue with my
allies; to put my troops on the peace establishment I have only to
disembody myself, and I disembody myself accordingly."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mary, "you are very easily turned from your purpose."
"Easily! no, Miss Wolston, not easily; you cannot admit that an
objection urged by yourself is a matter of no moment, or one that can
be slighted with impunity."
"Ah! here we are at the end of our journey."
"Already! the road has never appeared so short to me before."
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Wolston, coming up to her daughter, "you appear
very merry."
"Well, not without reason, mamma; I have just restored peace to the
world."
The pinnace was soon launched, and, under the guidance of Willis, was
making way in the direction of Waldeck. The sea had not yet recovered
from the effects of the recent storm; it was still, to use an
expression of Willis, "a trifle ugly." Occasionally the waves would
catch the frail craft amidships, and make it lurch in an uncomfortable
fashion, especially as regarded the ladies, which obliged Willis to
keep closer in shore than was quite to his taste. The briny element
still bore traces of its recent rage, just as anger lingers on the
human face, even after it has quitted the heart.
Whilst the pinnace was in the midst of a series of irregular
gyrations, a shrill scream suddenly rent the air, and at the same
instant Fritz and Willis leaped overboard.
_Mary had fallen into the sea_.
Becker strained every nerve to stay the boat. Mrs. Wolston fell on her
knees with outstretched hands, but, though in the attitude of prayer,
not a word escaped her pallid lips.
The two men floated for a moment over the spot where the poor girl had
sunk; suddenly Fritz disappeared, his keen eye had been of service
here, for it enabled him to descry the object sought. In a few seconds
he rose to the surface with Mary's inanimate body in his left arm.
Willis hastened to assist him in bearing the precious burden to the
boat, and Becker's powerful arms drew it on deck.
The joy that all naturally would have felt when this was accomplished
had no time to enter their breasts, for they saw that the body evinced
no signs of life, and a fear that the vital spark had already fled
caused every frame to shudder. They felt that not a moment was to be
lost; the resources of the boat were hastily put in requisition;
mattresses, sheets, blankets, and dry clothes were strewn upon the
deck. Mrs. Wolston had altogether lost her presence of mind, and could
do nothing but press the dripping form of her daughter to her bosom.
"Friction must be tried instantly," cried Becker; "here, take this
flannel and rub her body smartly with it--particularly her breast and
back."
Mrs. Wolston instinctively followed these directions.
"It is of importance to warm her feet," continued Becker; "but,
unfortunately, we have no means on board to make a fire."
Mrs. Wolston, in her trepidation, began breathing upon them.
"I have heard," said the Pilot, "that persons rescued from drowning
are held up by the feet to allow the water to run out."
"Nonsense, Willis; a sure means of killing them outright. It is not
from water that any danger is to be apprehended, but from want of air,
or, rather, the power of respiration. What we have to do is to try and
revive this power by such means as are within our reach."
The Pilot, meantime, endeavored to introduce a few drops of brandy
between the lips of the patient. Fritz stood trembling like an aspen
leaf and deadly pale; he regarded these operations as if his own life
were at stake, and not the patient's.
"There remains only one other course to adopt, Mrs. Wolston," said
Becker, "you must endeavor to bring your daughter to life by means of
your own breath."
"Only tell me what to do, Mr. Becker, and, if every drop of blood in
my body is wanted, all is at your disposal."
"You must apply your mouth to that of your daughter, and, whilst her
nostrils are compressed, breathe at intervals into her breast, and so
imitate the act of natural respiration."
Stronger lungs than those of a woman might have been urgent under such
circumstances, but maternal love supplied what was wanting in physical
strength.
The Pilot had turned the prow of the pinnace towards home; he felt
that, in the present case at least, the comforts of the land were
preferable to the charms of the sea.
"This time it is not my breath, but her own," said Mrs. Wolston.
"Her pulse beats," said Becker; "she lives."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Fritz and Willis in one voice.
A quarter of an hour had scarcely yet elapsed since the patient's
first immersion in the sea; but this brief interval had been an age of
agony to them all. As yet, her head lay quiescent on her mother's
bosom, that first pillow, common alike to rich and poor, at the
threshold of life.
The%signs of returning animation gradually became more and more
evident; at length, the patient gently raised her head, and glanced
vacantly from one object to another; then, her eyes were turned upon
herself, and finally rested upon Fritz and Willis, who still bore
obvious traces of their recent struggle with the waves. Here she
seemed to become conscious, for her body trembled, as if some terrible
thought had crossed her mind. After this paroxysm had passed, she
feebly inclined her head, as if to say--"I understand--you have saved
my life--I thank you." Then, like those jets of flame that are no
sooner alight than they are extinguished, she again became insensible.
As soon as they reached the shore, Fritz hastened to Rockhouse, and
made up a sort of palanquin of such materials as were at hand, into
which Mary was placed, and thus was conveyed, with all possible care
and speed, on the shoulders of the men to Falcon's Nest. A few hours
afterwards she returned to consciousness and found herself in a warm
bed, surrounded with all the comforts that maternal anxiety and
Becker's intelligent mind could suggest.
Fritz was unceasing in his exertions; no amount of fatigue seemed to
wear him out. As soon as he saw that everything had been done for the
invalid that their united skill could accomplish, he bridled an
untrained ostrich, and rode or rather flew off in search of the land
portion of the expedition.
"Mary is saved," he cried, as he came up with them.
"From what?" inquired Wolston, anxiously.
"From the sea, that was about to swallow her up."
"And by whom?"
"By Willis, myself, and us all."
The same evening, the two families were again assembled at Falcon's
Nest, and thus, for a second time, the long talked-of expedition was
brought to an abrupt conclusion.
"Ah," said Willis, "we must cast anchor for a bit; yesterday it was
the sky, to-day it was the sea, to-morrow it will be the land,
perhaps--the wind is clearly against us."
How often does it not happen, in our pilgrimage through life, that we
have the wind against us? We make a resolute determination, we set out
on our journey, but the object we seek recedes as we advance; it is no
use going any farther--the wind is against us. We re-commence ten,
twenty, a hundred times, but the result is invariably the same. How is
this? No one can tell. What are the obstacles? It is difficult to say.
Perhaps, we meet with a friend who detains us; perhaps, a recollection
that our memory has called, induces us to swerve from the path--the
blind man that sung under our window may have something to do with
it--perhaps, it was merely a fly, less than nothing.
It is not our minor undertakings, but rather our most important
enterprises, that are frustrated by such trifles as these; for it must
be allowed that we strive less tenaciously against an obstacle that
debars us from a pleasure, than against one that separates us from a
duty--in the one case we have to stem the torrent, in the other we
sail with the current.
When we observe some deplorable instance of a wrecked career--when we
see a man starting in life with the most brilliant prospects
collapsing into a dead-weight on his fellows, we are apt to suppose
that some insurmountable barrier must have crossed his path--some
Himalaya, or formidable wall, like that which does not now separate
China from Tartary; but no such thing. Trace the cause to its source,
and what think you is invariably found? A grain of sand; the
unfortunate wretch has had the wind against him--nothing more.
Rescued from the sea, Mary Wolston was now a prey to a raging fever.
Ill or well, at her age there is no medium, either exuberant health or
complete prostration; the juices then are turbulent and the blood is
ardent.
Somehow or other, a good action attaches the doer to the recipient;
so, in the case of Fritz, apart from the brotherly affection which he
had vaguely vowed to entertain for the two young girls that had so
unexpectedly appeared amongst them, he now regarded the life of Mary
as identical with his own, and felt that her death would inevitably
shorten his own existence; "for," said he to himself, "should she die,
I was too late in drawing her out of the water." In his tribulation
and irreflection, he drew no line between the present and the past,
but simply concluded, that if he saved her too late, he did not save
her at all. Hope, nevertheless, did not altogether abandon him. He
would sometimes fancy her restored to her wonted health, abounding in
life and vigour. Then the pleasing thought would cross his mind that,
but for himself, that charming being, in all probability, would have
been a tenant of the tomb. Would that those who do evil only knew the
delight that sometimes wells up in the breasts of those who do good!
The first day of Mary's illness, Fritz bore up manfully. On the
second, he joined his father and brothers in their field labors; but,
whilst driving some nails into a fence, he had so effectually fixed
himself to a stake that it was only with some difficulty that he could
be detached. The third day, at sunrise, he called Mary's dog,
shouldered his rifle, and was about to quit the house.
"Where are you going?" inquired Jack.
"I don't know--anywhere."
"Anywhere! Well, I am rather partial to that sort of place; I will go
with you."
"But I must do something that will divert my thoughts. There may be
danger."
"Well I can help you to look up a difficulty."
Every day the two brothers departed at sunrise, and returned together
again in the evening. Mrs. Becker felt acutely their sufferings. She
watched anxiously for the return of the two wanderers, and generally
went a little way to meet them when they appeared in the distance.
"She does not run to meet us," said Fritz, one day; "that is a bad
sign."
"Not a bit of it," replied Jack. "If she had any bad news to give us,
she would not come at all."
FOOTNOTES:
[C] The constellation known in astronomy as the _Great Bear_ is in,
some parts of England termed the _Plough_, and in others _Charles's
Wain_ or _Waggon_. It may be added, that the same constellation is
popularly known in France as the _Chariot of David_.