Winter had gradually melted away before the genial sun and warm rains of
spring, till the snow had entirely disappeared, and the fields began to
wear a tinge of green, with many other indications that summer was about
to revisit the earth. There is something very cheering in the return of
spring after enduring for a lengthened period the rigors of winter. The
waters are loosed from their icy fetters, and sparkle with seemingly
renewed brightness in the glad beams of the sun, and all nature seems
to partake of the buoyant spirit called forth by this happy season. The
song of birds fill the air, and they seem in their own way to offer
their tributes of praise to the kind and benevolent Father, by whose
direction the seasons succeed each other in their appointed order. All
were busy at the farm. Uncle Nathan was beginning to look up his "help"
for the labors of the summer, and my aunt was equally busy within doors.
Grandma is still there, always contented and always happy, for the
old-fashioned leather-covered Bible, which lies in its accustomed place
by her side, has been her guide through the period of youth and
middle-age, and now, in extreme old age, its promises prove, "as an
anchor to her soul, both sure and steadfast." The Widow Green is at
present an inmate of the dwelling, as she often is in busy seasons. A
letter has lately been received from Cousin Silas, saying he hoped it
would afford them no serious disappointment if he postponed the
proposed journey to Canada for a time, and added, by way of explanation,
that his wife was anxious to revisit the scenes of her childhood in the
State of Maine, before removing to Canada, and, as he considered it
the duty of every man to make the happiness of his wife his first
consideration, he was for this reason obliged to defer the proposed
removal for the present. Had he seen the look of relief which passed
over my aunt's countenance as she read the letter, he certainly would
have felt no fears of her suffering from disappointment by their failing
to arrive at the time expected. "I only hope," said she, "that his wife
may find the ties which bind her to the scenes of her childhood strong
enough to keep her there, and I am certain I shall not seek to sever
them." "I am afraid Lucinda," said her mother, "that your heart is not
quite right." "Perhaps not mother," she replied, "I try to do right, but
I can't help dreading the arrival of that lazy Silas Stinson and his
family; he was always too idle to work and when they are once here we
cannot see them suffer, so I see nothing for us but to support them."
"Let us hope for the best" said the old lady, "he may do better than you
think, and it's no use to meet troubles half way."
The preceding winter had been one of unusual severity, and, as is
often the case in the climate of Canada where one extreme follows
another, an early spring had given place to an intensely hot summer.
The school had closed, but I was to remain with Uncle Nathan till autumn,
when I was to return to my home at Elmwood for a short time before
seeking a situation. It was the tenth of August, a day which will be long
remembered by the dwellers in and around Fulton. For many weeks not a
drop of rain had fallen upon the dry and parched ground, and the heat
from the scorching rays of the sun was most oppressive. Day and night
succeeded each other with the same constant enervating heat. Sometimes
the sun was partially obscured by a sort of murky haze, which seemed to
render the air still more oppressive and stifling, and all nature seemed
to partake of the universal languor; not a breath of air stirred the
foliage of the trees, and the waters of the river assumed a dull
motionless look, in keeping with the other elements. "This day does beat
all," said the Widow Green as she came in, flushed and heated from the
dairy room. "I thought," replied my aunt, "I could bear either heat or
cold as well as most people, but this day is too much for me. I cannot
work, and I would advise you to give over too." "I remember a summer
like this thirty years ago," said Grandma, "the same heat continued for
nine weeks, and then we had a most terrible storm, and after that we had
no more to say very warm weather the rest of the season; and I am pretty
sure there is a tempest brooding in the air to-day, by the dull heavy
feeling about my head, which I always experience before a thunder-storm."
The heat had become so intense by noon that Uncle Nathan and his hired
men did not attempt to go back to the fields after dinner, but sat
listlessly in the coolest part of the house; they made some attempt to
interest each other in conversation, but even talking was an exertion,
and they finally relapsed into silence, and, leaning back in his chair,
Uncle Nathan's loud breathing soon indicated that in his case the heat
as well as all other troubles were for the present forgotten in sleep.
A change came over the heavens with the approach of evening, a breeze
sprung up, scattering the misty haze which had filled the air during
the day, and disclosing a pile of dark clouds in the western sky, which
seemed to gather blackness as they rose. "It's my opinion," said
Grandma, who had carefully observed the weather during the day, "that
the storm will burst about sunset," and true enough it did burst with
a violence before unknown in that vicinity. I had gone to the far-off
pasture to drive home the cows at the usual time for milking. The huge
pile of clouds, which for hours had lain motionless in the west, now
rose rapidly toward the zenith, and hung like a funeral pall directly
over our heads. The tempest burst in all its fury before I reached home,
clouds of dust filled the air, which almost blinded me, and almost each
moment was to be heard the crash of falling trees in the distant forest.
The thunder, which at first murmured faintly, increased as the clouds
advanced upward, till by the time I reached home it was indeed terrific.
They were all truly glad when I burst suddenly into the house drenched
with rain, and completely exhausted. The cows remained unmilked for that
night, a thing which Aunt Lucinda said had never happened before since
her recollection. Flash after flash of vivid lightning filled the
otherwise darkened air, succeeded by the deep heavy roll of the thunder.
It was noticed by those who witnessed this storm, that the lightning had
that peculiar bluish light which is sometimes, but not often, observed
during a violent summer tempest. The inmates of our dwelling became
terrified. The Widow Green crept to the darkest corner of the room and
remained with her face bowed upon her hands. "I am no safer," said she,
"in this corner than in any other place, but I do not like to sit near
a window while the lightning is so bright and close at hand." Even my
aunt, self-possessed as she usually was, showed visible signs of alarm,
and truly the scene would have inspired almost any one with a feeling of
terror, mixed with awe, at the sublime but awful war of the elements.
The wind blew a perfect hurricane, and the rain fell in torrents, and,
quickly succeeding the flashes of forked lightning, peal after peal of
thunder shook the house to its foundation. Grandma Adams was the only
one who seemed to feel no fear; but there was deep reverence in her
voice as she said, "Be not afraid my children; for the same Voice which
calmed the boisterous waves on the Sea of Galilee governs this tempest,
and protected by Him we need not fear." The storm lasted for hours and
increased in violence till Grandma said, "the storm of thirty years ago
was far less severe than this." The rushing of the wind and rain, the
deep darkness, except when lighted by the glare of the vivid lightning,
with the awful roll of the thunder, altogether formed a scene which
tended to inspire a feelings of deep awe mingled with terror. There had
been a momentary lull in the tempest, when the air was filled with a
sudden blaze of blinding light, succeeded by a crash of thunder which
shook the very ground beneath our feet. "That lightning surely struck
close at hand," said Uncle Nathan, as he opened the door and looked out
into the darkness, and a few moments after the cry of "fire" added to
the terrors of the storm. A barn belonging to a neighbor who lived a
mile distant from us, had been struck by that flash, and was soon
wrapped in flames. It was a large building, with timbers and boards like
tinder, and was filled with hay, and it was well-nigh consumed before
assistance could reach the spot, and it was with much difficulty that
the flames could be kept from the other buildings on the premises,
indeed several of the neighbours were obliged to remain on the spot
most of the night. The storm continued with unabated fury till after
midnight and then gradually died away, and from many a home a prayer of
thanksgiving ascended to Heaven, for protection amid the perils of that
long-to-be-remembered storm.