A journey by stage coach in these days, when railroads are fast
penetrating to the remotest corners of our country, has already become a
somewhat novel experience. In the course of comparatively few years,
even the 'air line' will have given place to an international railway,
connecting us immediately with New Brunswick, and the stage coaches of
this region will be among the reminiscences of the past.
The circumstances under which this journey of mine was performed were
most painful. Still, through that remarkable power of the human mind,
which seems to act independently of volition, that mysterious duality of
being which observes, discriminates, and remembers, while at the same
time preoccupied by an overwhelming grief, I was enabled to note each
little incident with more than usual intensity.
Was it that they stood out in bolder, more sharply cut relief, because
of the dark background of emotion behind?
There had been little, if any, snow on the island all the winter, and
the morning of the 26th of January was bright and mild as April. Indeed,
it was difficult to imagine it winter.
'Come, Fred,' said I to my second little boy, 'We must take a walk to
the batteries this fine morning.'
As I stood upon the height, while the little fellow frisked about among
the rocks, I stretched my eyes westward toward the hills and forests of
the mainland, and thought of my father and mother, and of the letter
which I almost knew was on its way to me then. Ah! little did I dream
that at that very moment the gaunt sentinels of the telegraph were
tossing from one to another, with lightning speed, a message of woe for
me. Its long journey of four hundred miles was accomplished in less time
than my short walk. I had just returned when it arrived.
I saw by my husband's countenance as he read it, and by his extreme
tenderness of manner toward me, that a great misfortune had befallen me.
I sank down on the floor beside him, trembling with apprehension, yet
longing to know the worst. 'Is it mother?' I gasped. He handed me the
telegram, which was directed to him:
'Your father-in-law died this morning. Can Elsie come to the funeral? If
so, what day? Telegraph immediately.'
And this was all. My father was _dead_! How long he had been ill, or
what was his disease, I knew not. 'Why did they not send for me sooner,
that I might have seen him alive once more?' I asked, in the first
unreasoning agony of grief. But he was _dead_. All I could do for him
now was to yield him my last tribute of reverence and affection.
'Can Elsie come to the funeral?' Yes, I could go. It was all I could do
for my father now; I knew that. My family would be well cared for in my
absence. My husband did not oppose me, though he could not approve. But
he exerted himself in every way to further my plans.
There were difficulties at the outset. The regular morning stage had
already left. The 'air line,' as it is called, was the only route
remaining to me. Now this 'air line' started from a point thirty miles
north of us, and lay through ninety miles of wilderness. I had heard of
it before I ever came to the island, and had been told a wild story
about a stage coach having been chased by a pack of wolves for several
miles on this route a few years before. The innkeeper, too, spoke very
dubiously about it to my husband. But what were the hundred and twenty
miles between me and the cars--the four hundred between me and my
father, then! Should these few miles of earth detain me? No! It was
possible for me to go, and go I must.
My preparations were soon made; but I found, to my dismay, on applying
for a passage in the stage to C----(where the journey proper would
begin) that all the seats were taken. The innkeeper sent me word,
however, that he would furnish me a private conveyance, if I _must_ go.
So at two o'clock, P.M., an open, low-backed buggy appeared at my gate.
I kissed my little ones, who gathered wonderingly around to 'see mamma
go away,' and wrapping my old plaided cloak about me (the cloak I wore
when a child), I seated myself beside the buffalo-bundled driver, and
was soon whirling out of town.
The air was soft and mild, and no snow was to be seen except a little
here and there by the roadside as we advanced northward. The sky had
become overcast, and showed signs of an approaching storm. The scenery
was generally bare and uninteresting. We followed the St. Croix river in
its course. Opposite St. Andrews it widens into a broad bay. It was then
near sunset, and the clouds broke away a little and gave a cheery, rosy
flush to the calm water.
Night soon settled down upon us. It was dark when we arrived at the ----
Hotel, after a drive of five hours. I had never been in C----, and this
was my first experience in hotel life alone.
I was ushered into a large, lonesome room, in total darkness except for
the light from the hall burner, which streamed dismally into its depths.
A tall, black shadow soon announced himself as the landlord, to whom I
made known my wants. His wife, a kind-hearted, energetic woman, took
compassion on me, and showed me into her own private parlor to get
warmed, for I was very chilly. Here the good lady's curiosity was piqued
somewhat to find that the young man who accompanied me was _not_ my
husband, and that I proposed to go on the next morning to Bangor alone.
I shuddered when she told me the journey was usually made in an open
conveyance. Think of riding all day and all night on a board slung
across an open wagon! And what if it should _rain_!
I bethought myself of two friends of mine who were visiting in C----,
and to them I despatched my cards. After tea, when I was seated quietly
in my room, Aunt Carter came. She is one of those good, kind souls who
are always aunts to everybody. She came to me with hearty sympathy. The
evening passed pleasantly away, for her simple words of faith and hope
cheered and consoled me.
I slept but little that night. I lay thinking of my father, and of the
morrow's journey, and listening to every sound. I fancied I heard it
raining. At last I was almost sure of it. When I peeped out of the
window in the gray of the dawn, the ground was white, and it was snowing
fast.
Soon after breakfast my kind friends appeared, and the good clergyman
also, who went down to make some inquiries about the stage coach for me,
and, returning soon, announced with a very grave countenance that it had
not connected with the cars at Bangor for nearly a week. In fact, that
it was unusual for it to do so at this season.
'It seems to have set in for a storm,' said he. 'All our storms this
winter have terminated in rain. There is a uniformity in storms,' he
added, lugubriously, 'and if this should turn to rain, you cannot
possibly get through.'
For a few moments my purpose was shaken. If I did not succeed in
reaching the cars the next morning, I would be too late for my father's
funeral, and my journey would be all but in vain. There was my mother,
to be sure, but my whole heart turned to my father now. Could I, ought I
to run this risk?
But, on the other hand, how could I relinquish my object when thus far
on the way to it?
Blessings on Aunt Carter! She came to the rescue.
'Now,' said she, 'I have found that a good Providence always took care
of me, and _I_ believe He will take care of you. You've begun your
journey and got thus far safely, and _I_ believe you'll get through to
Bangor in time. At any rate, if you don't, you will have the
satisfaction of comforting your mother. I've been about the world
considerable,' she continued, 'and I've always found a _man_ to take
care of me. Now you shall have _my man_ to take care of you.'
Reassured by her hopeful words, I exclaimed:
'Enough, I will go! If there be any power in will, or any speed in
horses, I will get there!'
The minister sighed, but I commenced putting on my cloak. Just then, the
young man who had driven me up from the island the day before, came to
take my parting commands.
'Tell Mr. K.,' said I, 'that I start under favorable auspices. Is any
one going through?'
'Two passengers, but no ladies,' he replied.
'Who are they?' I inquired.
'They are both strangers, from the 'other side''--(the Maine cognomen
for the neighboring British provinces).
'What do they look like?'
'Well, they _look_ like gentlemen, and we _hope_ they are so,' he
replied, with dubious emphasis.
And these were my favorable auspices! A doubtful snowstorm and two
doubtful gentlemen! Nevertheless I spoke the truth.
At length I was all ready, and the landlady, who was quite interested in
me by that time, took me once more into her parlor with my friends,
while waiting for the stage. Again the thought of my travelling
companions occurred to me. I inquired if the landlady knew aught of
them.
'Nothing but their names,' said she. 'Neither of them was ever here
before. They look a little rough, but you cannot always tell about these
province people, they dress so differently from our folks. I dare say
they are real gentlemen.'
It was decided, with the concurrence of my friends, to request an
introduction to one of them through the landlord, as I was travelling
alone, and might need some aid. If they were as it was 'hoped,' this
would be an advantage; and if they were not, the formality might be some
protection.
I confess I was not strongly prepossessed in their favor when I
confronted them at the door of the hotel; the one a short, fat figure in
a coarse blue coat, with a hood of the same, lined with scarlet; a flat
cloth cap, and long heavy boots, reaching above the knee. An ugly
red-and-green woollen scarf tied around the waist enhanced the oddity of
his appearance. The other was taller and more slenderly built. His
complexion was decidedly 'sandy,' with short, curling hair and a
prodigious mustache. His countenance, like his dress, was grave, the
latter being an iron-gray travelling suit.
With a low bow the landlord presented me to the former. It was a kindly
voice that said, 'Excuse my mitten,' as, instinctively drawing off my
own, my hand rested a moment in his big, shaggy palm. There was
good-nature in the face too, from the roguish dark eyes to the genial,
laughter-loving mouth.
I trembled, though, as, bidding farewell to my friends, I stepped into
the coach.
'Take good care of this lady, driver,' said Aunt Carter, 'for she's a
precious charge.'
My good friend the clergyman was the last one to bid me good-by. He
reached into the coach and shook hands with me, wishing me a prosperous
journey.
At last we were off. The snow fell thick and fast and moist. What if it
should turn to rain? But it was not cold, and I at least was
uncomfortably warm, for my kind friends had provided me with a
well-heated plank for my feet, and a brick for my hands. It was heavy
sleighing, and we dragged along at the rate of four miles an hour for
the first twelve or fifteen miles. Occasionally the object of my journey
and the novelty of my situation would come over me like a dream; but I
resolutely buried my grief away down in my heart, and lived on the
surface.
I entered into conversation with my travelling companions, whom I
scrutinized narrowly.
We had not gone very far before the Englishman unbuttoned his overcoat
and produced what is technically called a 'pocket pistol.' It was a flat
flask of generous proportions, encased in leather, fitting into a silver
drinking cup below, and with a stopper of the same screwing on the top.
At any rate, however questionable its contents might be, its appearance
outwardly was highly respectable.
'By your permission, madam,' said he, pouring a portion into the cup.
'Certainly,' said I, significantly, 'within reasonable limits.'
'Of course,' said he, pleasantly, as he offered it to the other
gentleman, since I declined it. I learned to bless them both, and the
brandy flask into the bargain, before I got to the end of my journey.
But I will not anticipate.
They were intelligent and well-educated. Occasionally the conversation
took a solemn and earnest tone. We touched on many topics. We discussed
the Queen and royal family; the Prince of Wales; his visit to this
country; his intended marriage, &c.; the prospect of Prince Alfred
becoming King of Greece; the condition of these United States; the
rebellion, &c., &c.
I was sorry to find that the young Englishman was strongly tinctured
with the prejudices now so prevalent in the provinces against
emancipation. He frankly acknowledged that at the time of the 'Trent
affair' his sympathies turned toward the South, but that since he had
read more and thought more on the subject, he had become decidedly in
favor of the North.
The other gentleman was a Scotchman, born and brought up near Gretna
Green. His recollections of the renowned blacksmith and the runaway
couples he had often seen riding posthaste to the smithy, with pursuers
close behind perhaps, were very interesting. He was recently from New
Orleans, where he had resided for several years. He was there through
the blockade, and served in the city troops several months, though,
being a foreigner, he could not be impressed into the regular army on
either side. He was reserved, of course, concerning his opinions, but it
was easy to see that he regarded General Butler, whom I lauded highly,
with no friendly eye.
At one o'clock we stopped at a dingy little cottage to dine. Here the
Englishman took me under his special charge, assisting me into the
house, while the Scotchman followed after with my plank and brick, which
were duly set up before the blazing open fire to warm for the next
stage. Here I first saw the Frenchman, who had ridden outside in order
to enjoy his pipe. He was sitting by the fire wringing the moisture from
his long black hair, and wondering if he could get any 'rum.' On seeing
the lady he courteously made way, and, after, laying aside my wrappings,
I seated myself before the fire, while waiting for dinner. It was a dim
little room, uncarpeted, and poorly furnished with a looking glass, a
map, and a few wooden chairs, and ornamented by a 'mourning piece,'
which hung over the mantel, representing a bareheaded lady with a
handkerchief at her eyes, standing beside a monument under a weeping
willow.
But the open fire was a sight worth seeing in those days. How it roared
and blazed and crackled and hissed and diffused its hospitable warmth
and ruddy glow all over the little brown room! How cheerfully it
contrasted with the storm without!
Dinner was soon announced, and as Mr. K.'s last injunction had been to
'be sure to eat, whether I wished to or not,' I prepared to pass through
the first ordeal of eating against my inclination. There was little to
excite appetite. The room was browner and dimmer than the one we had
just left; the table was spread with a coarse brown cloth; the bread was
brown, not honest 'rye and Indian,' but tawny-colored wheat, and sour at
that; the thick uncomely slices of corned beef were brown too, and the
dishes and plates were all brown. The Englishman looked despondingly on
the repast, and ventured to inquire if the landlady, a quiet body in a
brown dress, had any eggs.
'Yes,' she replied, with a strong nasal twang, 'but they ain't very
fresh. I shud be 'fraid to resk b'ilin' 'em. I could fry some, ef yer
liked.'
'It's of no consequence, madam,' said the Englishman; but the good
woman, bent on being accommodating, and observing, ''Twouldn't take but
a minute to do 'em,' disappeared into the kitchen, and returned in an
incredibly short space of time with a plate of eggs swimming in grease.
I did the best I could to obey my husband's orders, but with poor
success.
We were soon on our way again. At every solitary house along the road we
stopped to leave a mailbag. Whom could the letters be for? we wondered.
At one place a pretty girl ran out bareheaded through the snow to take
the mail. She was neatly dressed, and wore a pretty, bright-colored
'Sontag' over her shoulders, but she spoiled her good looks by chewing
vigorously a mouthful of spruce gum, a custom which prevails in this
region, probably borrowed from the Indians.
Here we met the 'return stage' from Bangor--a rough, uncovered sleigh.
There were two or three province men in it, whom the Englishman
recognized.
'I say,' cried he, 'if you see any of my people, tell them you saw me
about three days out from Bangor.'
We passed on, and met nothing more the rest of the journey. The snow
shut off the distant views from us, but, clinging to every twig and rock
and stump, gave a fairy-like beauty to the otherwise dreary scene. The
alder bushes were particularly beautiful, filled as they were with balls
of snow, resembling large bunches of white flowers.
The forest was mostly small second growth. Much of the country was
partially cleared, and long logs lay by the roadside, some of which we
were several minutes in passing. The stumps had been left three or four
feet high. These, blackened by fire or storms, and crowned with snow,
inclined their square heads forward, as if seeking to catch a glimpse of
us as we passed.
The way grew more lonesome and dreary every mile, and the snow more fine
and moist. Would it turn to rain? There were no bells on the horses, and
the driver, a surly, silent fellow, had not even an encouraging
'chirrup' for them, while the muffled crunching of the soft snow by the
runners seemed to have a somnolent influence upon them, judging from our
progress. Occasionally the gentlemen would get out and run up the hills,
and once the Englishman fell full length, and jumped in again, his blue
coat and peaked hood well frosted with snow, looking, were it not for
his youthful face, the very impersonation of Santa Claus. He had a
powerful physique, and was full of vitality. These runs in the snow
seemed to refresh him greatly, while they exhausted the more delicate
Scotchman.
In vain we looked for the wolves. We half wished they might appear, that
the horses might quicken their paces. Not a sign of life was anywhere to
be seen, except one flock of snow-birds on the top of a hill.
Conversation still went on, but the intervals of silence were longer and
more frequent, and the burden of my sudden grief would press upon me
heavily at times. My anxiety and excitement, too, lest I should not make
the connection with the cars, increased as the day advanced. At last the
monotonous motion of the stage coach, added to the agitated state of my
nerves, began to affect me like the rolling of the sea. The trees of the
forest seemed to waltz around me in mazy circles. Faster and faster they
whirled, till my sight grew dim and I could scarcely distinguish them at
all. My senses were winding up. I felt them slipping from me in spite of
the strongest effort of my will to hold them. A confused sound filled my
ears; my strength failed me; I drooped heavily; but Aunt Carter's 'man'
was by me, sure enough. His protecting arm supported me, and his calm
and steady voice penetrated even my deadened hearing, as he asked my
permission to apply some snow to my forehead. I uttered an almost
inarticulate assent. There was one blank moment, and then the refreshing
coolness on my brow and on my hands revived me. I apologized for the
trouble I had given. 'We all have mothers and sisters,' he replied,
quietly, as he poured a draught from his travelling flask for me. My
distrust of him and his 'pocket pistol,' too, had vanished.
The Scotchman also was unwearied in his attention to my comfort. Did the
snow blow in upon me? He would lower the curtain. Did I wish more air?
he would raise it again. Were my feet becoming chilled? He would tuck in
the buffalo. Between the two I fared certainly as comfortably as
circumstances would permit.
The weather was still mild, though colder than before. As the day wore
on, the wind began to rise, and I observed frequent eddies and
whirlwinds of snow and ominous grooves around every wayside stone. Would
the storm increase and drift? In that case my chance of getting to
Bangor in time was doubtful enough.
We reached our next stopping place at half past four, P.M. It was a
weather-stained house, which we must have entered by the back door, for
we passed into the kitchen at once, where were a stout, pleasant-faced
woman, with two stout, pleasant-faced daughters, and a big fat yellow
dog, who sat up in a chair beside them at the window, as though he were
indeed a part of the family. We were ushered into a small room beyond,
which rejoiced in another glorious wood fire, before which the
Englishman duly planted me, and the Scotchman my plank and brick. Over
the mantel was another version of the sepulchral monument with the
weeping woman and willow, in whimsical contrast with the jolly,
rollicking fire beneath, which gave us such a hearty welcome.
As we sat luxuriating in the warmth, the two fat girls in the kitchen
began to vocalize with low sweet voices that harmonized pleasantly, 'Do,
re, mi, si, la, si, do.' Evidently there had been a singing school in
the neighborhood. Presently they struck into 'Marching Along,' which
they sang with considerable spirit.
In the mean time, an overgrown youth, apparently belonging to the house,
who sat in one corner, tilting his chair, said, addressing all of us at
once, 'Wal, you've got the wust half the road before yer now. Thur's a
hill a mile an' a half long, jest out here a little ways. You'll have to
break yer own roads, I reckon; there's nothin' else goin' along to-day.
Storm's gittin' wuss.'
We looked dubiously at each other, and he, probably observing my anxious
countenance, endeavored to reassure us by saying, in an uncertain tone,
'But I _rayther_ guess you'll git through.'
We were soon off again on the next stage, which was to be twenty-four
miles, without any stopping-place or village between. We ascended many
hills, in fact there seemed to be no going down to any of them; but when
the horses came to a dead halt, and the coach began to slip backward,
and the driver called out, 'I guess, gentlemen, you'll hev to git out
here for a spell,' we knew we had come to the hill 'a mile an' a half
long.' I kept my place, for my weight was too inconsiderable to make
much difference. The Englishman, taking hold of the coach, helped the
horses to start again with a vigorous push, and then the three
passengers went plunging through the snow till the driver stopped and
took them in again, quite out of breath.
We were now in the depths of the forest, many miles from any house.
Occasionally we passed a deserted lumberman's hut by the wayside, and
discussed the liability of a breakdown or an overturn in that wild
region.
The white-headed, square-faced stumps which abounded in the partially
cleared tracts, peered in upon us for mile after mile with haunting
repetition.
The trees were heavily laden with snow, which they shook down upon us as
we brushed along beneath their low-bending branches. In the dim twilight
they assumed every variety of fanciful form. There were gaunt old trees,
with gnarled and twisted branches, outstretched like arms in deadly
Laocoon-like struggle with the writhing winds and storms; there were
delicate birches, each slender twig bearing its feathery burden; and
there were spruces and hemlocks, regal in snowy splendor. It lay upon
them in heavy masses, and gave their bending boughs a still more
graceful dip. There was something which harmonized with my grief in the
silent snow and the drooping trees. They sank beneath the snow as the
human heart sinks beneath its burden of sorrow. Yet it fell gently and
beautifully upon them, as affliction falls from the hand of our Father,
'who chasteneth whom he loveth.' One tree, which bent completely over in
a perfect abandonment of grief, particularly impressed me. There was
something in the sweep of the branches which suggested the utter
prostration of the heart beneath the first shock of a great affliction.
How still it was! It was not dark, for the moon had risen, and the
clouds were thin. The snow, too, made it lighter.
It was at this solemn, awe-inspiring hour that my companions first
learned the object of my journey. The sympathy with which they met me
did honor to human nature.
'I thought,' said the Englishman, 'that the urgency of my own journey
was great, but it is nothing compared to yours.'
He apologized for any light or careless conversation in which they had
indulged, not knowing the circumstances of my journey, and entered fully
into the sentiment which had prompted me to undertake it. He assured me
that he would see that I got through in time for the cars the next
morning, and begged me to feel no further uneasiness about it.
From that moment, both my companions were more assiduously devoted to my
comfort than ever. Their interest was increased on finding that my
father was the son of a well-known inventor.
His history was soon told. He had inherited his father's business (now
passed out of the family) with something of his mechanical talent. Of a
confiding disposition, he had been wronged by those whom he had
intrusted most extensively, and, property gone and strength failing, his
misfortunes, which he had at all times borne with exemplary patience and
fortitude, had culminated in the loss of his old home, the home of his
father before him, by the hand of the incendiary. He had left me a
precious legacy in his memory, to which my present journey was an
inadequate tribute.
The hours wore on. It did not grow much darker, but oh, it was so still!
You could hear the stillness when the coach stopped, as occasionally it
did.
It was there, in the depths of this remote wilderness, that our subdued
voices mingled in those grand old chorals which belong to the church
universal, and in which, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Unitarian as we
were, we could all heartily join: 'Old Hundred,' so full of worship;
'Dundee,' with its plaintive melody; and 'America,' breathing the soul
of loyalty, whether sung to 'God save the Queen,' or 'Our country, 'tis
of thee.'
My voice was feeble, and soon gave out. I had come near fainting
repeatedly, and had only been resuscitated by the snow and the
Englishman's brandy. I was now nearly exhausted.
'You had better make use of my shoulder as a pillow,' he said,
perceiving my condition.
'You had better, by all means,' chimed in the Scotchman.
I hesitated a moment. What would Mrs. Grundy say--and my husband? I was
too tired to care for the former, and the latter, I knew, would be only
grateful to my compassionate friends.
'Circumstances must dispense with ceremony,' I observed, suiting the
action to the word.
'Madam,' rejoined the Englishman, with warmth, 'I hope you will find,
before you get to the end of your journey, that you are in honorable
company.'
'I have found it out already,' I murmured, and then, committing myself
to the care and keeping of the Good Father, my last shadow of distrust
vanished.
I was too weary to hold my eyelids open, and too much excited to sleep.
At length I was aroused by a sudden stop. The 'whippletree' had broken.
In a few minutes we proceeded, the 'leader' being still driven loosely,
as before.
Again we came to a pause--this time to water the horses at a wayside
spring. While the others were refreshing themselves, the 'leader'
quietly walked off, to the great indignation of the driver, who began to
swear as he chased him through the snow. He was captured at last, and we
continued on our way.
The poor Frenchman had by this time become so chilled that he was glad
to come inside, though by so doing he felt obliged to give up the luxury
of his pipe.
All at once the striking difference in our nationalities occurred to me,
and I exclaimed, on the impulse of the moment:
'See, do we not represent the four leading nations of the
earth--England, France, Scotland, and America?'
'Yes,' replied the Englishman, with some hesitation in his manner;
'England is surely one of the leading nations; so is France;'--(here the
Frenchman broke in with some inarticulate jargon to the glory of
France)--'but Scotland--I don't know about that being a 'leading
nation.''
This roused the Scotchman. 'Scotland _has_ been a glorious nation! She
has proud memories for her sons!' he cried, with a fire of enthusiasm,
not without pathos, in its unavoidable admission that the glory of his
country as an individual power in the world was past.
'That is right,' said I, admiring his sudden warmth; 'cling to your own
country before all others, come what may.'
The Englishman then reverted to the present lamentable condition of
these United States, and with characteristic complacency pointed to the
stability and grandeur of his own Government.
It was in vain that I spoke of the future of our country, and
represented our present troubles to be, as I firmly believe, the means
of our regeneration into a nobler and truer national existence. His
English prejudices were not to be shaken. England was, and would remain
_the leading_ nation of the earth.
How much longer the discussion would have continued I know not, had we
not caught sight of lights, and driven up to a more pretentious mansion
than we had yet seen on our way.
Scarcely able to stand, I alighted, and the landlord, seeing the lady,
ushered us into the parlor, which showed signs of approaching
civilization in the large-figured Kiddermister carpet and the
'air-tight' stove.
A fine-looking young man, whom they called 'Doctor,' in a gray suit with
deep fur cuffs, sat at a table, looking over a volume of house plans
with a pretty young lady. Apparently the occupation had been of
absorbing interest, for the fire was nearly out, and the room was quite
cold, and the look with which they greeted our entrance betokened
surprise rather than pleasure.
The Englishman made himself at home, and, not waiting to call a servant,
procured three or four sticks of wood from some unknown quarter, and
began piling them into the stove. They burned feebly, for the fire was
very low indeed, and I still shivered; so, catching up the rocking
chair, he ran off with it into the other room.
'There's a good open fire out here,' said he; 'it doesn't look quite as
tidy, perhaps, but I guess you'll get warm.'
That was the main thing, to be sure; so I followed on. Here the fire was
not so good as it might have been, but by dint of a little bluster, a
quantity of 'light-stuff' and more solid fuel was soon forthcoming, and
we shortly had a blaze almost strong enough to set the chimney and my
inevitable plank on fire. Here we wound our watches. After a little
delay supper was announced--fried beefsteaks, potatoes, and doughnuts.
This was the place where we were to exchange drivers, and where a delay
of several hours frequently occurred.
When we were about half through supper, which my travelling companions
discussed with enviable zeal, a short, stoutly built, sharp-visaged man
appeared in the doorway, and cried out, 'All ready!'
'Well, I'm not,' said the Englishman, looking up good-humoredly. With a
muttered threat about going on and leaving us, the new driver turned
away, and we thought the prospect of getting to Bangor in time had
decidedly improved. Still, there were more than forty miles between.
'I will take one of your doughnuts, madam,' said I, putting it into my
pocket, for I had been able to eat but little.
'Certainly,' said the landlady; 'take as many as you wish.'
There was something in her kindly tone that did me good. It cheered and
helped me more than she could know.
We were to pay our passage here to the returning driver. I had secured a
'through ticket' at C----, but my companions, having only English gold
with them, had not done so, having been assured by this same man that
they could just as well pay at Bangor, where they would obtain a higher
premium on their money. Now, however, he demanded his pay, and at first
was not disposed to allow any premium for the gold. This, of course,
excited their indignation, and some high words passed. However, the
matter was compromised by the driver giving them twenty per cent., when
gold was at that moment worth fifty at Bangor.
I had stolen from the room, and was hastily putting on my numerous
wrappings, when the Englishman came to me with what he called a 'dose,
which he thought would do me good.'
I took part of it, and then hesitated, for it contained strong
reminiscences of the 'pocket pistol.'
'Would you really advise me to take the rest?' said I gravely.
'I certainly would,' he replied, with conclusive solemnity. So I took
it, and I think it did 'do me good.'
'This is a hard journey for you,' said the landlady, compassionately
regarding my diminutive stature and frail aspect.
The driver was very impatient. She half apologized for him, saying, 'He
is very anxious to get through to-night. He doesn't like to go through
in the night always, for there are many dangerous places along the road;
but it is sleighing to-night, and not very dark, so he thinks he can do
very well.'
The urgency of my case, which the Englishman had represented to him,
with what other inducements I can only imagine, occasioned his unwonted
haste.
When we entered the coach once more for the long night ride, one of the
buffaloes was missing.
'It's over to the other stable,' said the driver, carelessly; 'twas left
over there by mistake. You shall have it when we get there.'
You would have thought, from his manner of speaking, that the 'other
stable' was just across the road, instead of being twenty miles away. As
we drove away, I observed, 'I have a doughnut in my pocket; the first
one hungry shall have it.'
The curtains were now buttoned closely down for the first time, and we
were in total darkness. We rode in silence for some time, each
resolutely trying to go to sleep. The Frenchman succeeded best. He had
served as a soldier on the Continent, and was evidently accustomed to
hardship. He slept as soundly as though he were on a down bed, instead
of riding backward in a stage coach.
Again insensibility threatened me. I could not speak, but my labored
breathing aroused my companions just in time to save me from entire
unconsciousness. The faithful Scotchman had raised the curtain, and the
air rushed in freshly upon me. It was very chilly, and much colder than
it had been. It had ceased snowing, and the moon was shining feebly
through the breaking clouds. We were going at a goodly rate of speed. By
and by I thought of my doughnut, and inquired who was hungry. The
Scotchman was not; the Englishman was not; the Frenchman still slept.
'Give it to me, if you please,' said the Englishman, a sudden idea
seeming to strike him.
'Here,' said he, making a thrust at the Frenchman; 'wake up! here's a
doughnut for you.' The old soldier muttered something drowsily. He was
not hungry. 'Won't you take it for the lady?' said the former, with a
dash of sentiment.
'I only eat for the satisfacti-on of mine appetit!' he exclaimed,
sulkily, settling himself back again to sleep.
The night wore on, interrupted only by frequent stoppages, when the
driver dismounted to apply the 'drags' in going down the hills. Before
this, we had seemed to be going up all the hills; now there seemed to be
a continual descent.
I was too weary to sleep. Let me change my position as I might, I could
not be comfortable. My mind was constantly busy, and, since outward
objects could no longer engage my attention, I could no longer escape my
thoughts. At one time I would think of my husband and my five little
ones at home, all sleeping quietly in their beds. I wondered if they had
all said their prayers to their father, and if he had tucked them all up
warmly. Then I would think of my mother. Was she expecting me? I
wondered. My poor mother! what a sad meeting that would be! And then my
dead father would come to mind. How sad, how strange it would seem, to
receive no warm greeting from him!
It was about two o'clock in the morning, when we stopped for our last
change of horses. The house stood black and sombre as a tomb in the dim
moonlight. The family had evidently retired to rest. At length we were
admitted into a dimly lighted room, where a table was spread with
substantial food. The old gentleman, whose slumbers we had so ruthlessly
disturbed, fumbled among a pile of letters and papers, which he
distributed in three monstrous mailbags, that flapped about on the floor
like so many whales out of water. His toilet had evidently been hastily
made, and he shuffled the letters and papers about with the manner of a
person half asleep. His hair, which was white and very abundant, stood
erect all over his head, and contrasted queerly with his nut-brown face,
which was strongly marked and deeply wrinkled.
We were all sleepy and stupid enough by this time, and, had the
Scotchman been a less chivalrous knight than he had proved himself, I
doubt not he would have experienced some satisfaction in placing my
plank and brick before the fire to heat for the last time.
We were none of us hungry but the sharp-visaged driver, who devoured his
supper, or breakfast, whichever it might be called, with the air of a
man who was determined to get through to Bangor before morning.
The Frenchman, who had been completely cowed down by the old gentleman's
indignant 'No, _sir!_ we don't keep no sich stuff abaout these
premises!' in reply to his demand for 'rum,' meekly took refuge in a cup
of coffee.
In the mean time a baby in the adjoining room, awakened by our
movements, began to cry. It was quite a young cry. It could not be more
than three or four months old, I thought, as I compared it mentally with
the efforts of my own youngest in that direction. But the baby shoe
which hung by the fireplace betokened an older child. It must have been
the old gentleman's grandchild. I pitied its mother, for it might lie
awake until morning.
Once more our resolute driver, with an authoritative 'All ready!'
summoned us to depart.
'Amaziah, bring the light around here!' cried the Englishman, who seemed
to know the names of every one at these stopping places by a sort of
intuition.
'Amaziah' promptly obeyed, and by the aid of his lantern I settled
myself for the last stage of my journey. To the Scotchman's comfort, the
missing buffalo was produced here, according to the driver's promise.
The Frenchman, who had been over the 'line' before, had hinted that four
gray horses were to take us into Bangor; but it seemed to be the fate of
three only.
It was then not far from three o'clock, and we had more than twenty
miles before us. As the distance lessened, my excitement increased. I
became so feverish that I could no longer bear my mittens on my hands.
Anxiety and fatigue produced a nervous exhaustion, and the harsh grating
of the 'drags' as we descended the oft-recurring hills, threw me into an
uncontrollable tremor. I was too tired to sleep--too tired, almost, to
think. Strength, sense, hope seemed to lose themselves in my utter
weariness. It seemed at times to become a question whether I should even
live to reach my destination.
My companions cheered and comforted me as best they could, with
never-to-be-forgotten kindness. We stopped once to throw out a mailbag,
and I thought, from the appearance of the place as well as I could see
it, that we were already on the outskirts of Bangor.
'What place is this?' the Englishman inquired.
'Eddington Bend,' replied the driver.
'How far from Bangor?'
'Sixteen miles.'
Toward dawn we all lost ourselves for a few minutes. I first aroused,
and, through the interstices beside the curtains, perceived the gray
light of morning. It was six o'clock, and we were but four miles from
Bangor, the driver informed us.
Only four miles! but how long they seemed! The cars left at half past
seven o'clock, and the daylight was fast advancing.
'Shall we after all get there in time?' said I.
'Not in time for breakfast, I imagine,' replied the Englishman,
resignedly.