On entering, I found Francis sitting on his mother’s bed, telling her
the story of the lightning, of the wire which was called _a conductor_,
of the figs that he was going to gather for her, and that papa had
called him—little Francis—_the preserver of the whole family_. Having
briefly explained to them the results of Francis’s fortunate device, I
procured some raw potato to apply to Ernest’s hand, which still gave him
great pain, and bathed my wife’s foot with some _eau d’arquebusade_,
which I procured from my medicine-chest; here I also met with some
laudanum, a few drops of which I infused into the lemonade, wishing her
to sleep till her sons returned. She soon was in a sweet slumber; the
boys followed her example, and I was left alone with my anxieties;
happy, however, to see them at rest after such an evening of agitation.
The hours passed, still my children returned not. I was continually at
the window, listening for their steps or the sound of their voices; I
heard only the rain falling in torrents, the waves breaking against the
rocks, and the wind howling frightfully. I could not help thinking of
the danger they ran, having twice to cross the river, which was
doubtless swollen by the rain. I was not so much alarmed for Fritz, a
strong, bold youth of nineteen years of age, and a determined hunter: as
for poor Jack, bold even to rashness, and having neither strength nor
experience to secure him, I could not help fancying him carried away by
the stream, and his brother not daring to return without him. My wife
occasionally awoke, but the narcotic stupified her; she did not perceive
the absence of her sons. Francis slept tranquilly; but when Ernest
awoke, and heard the tempest so terribly augmented, he was almost
distracted; all his selfishness, all his indolence disappeared. He
entreated me to allow him to go in search of his brothers, and with
difficulty I detained him. To convince him that he was not the sole
cause of the danger of Fritz and Jack, I related to him, for the first
time, the history of the boat and the vessel, and assured him that the
great cause of their anxiety to go over to Tent House, was to search for
some traces of the unfortunate seamen and their vessel, exposed to that
furious sea.
“And Fritz, also, is exposed to that sea,” cried Ernest. “I know it; I
am sure that he is at this moment in his canoe, struggling against
the waves!”
“And Jack, my poor Jack!” sighed I, infected with his fears.
“No, father,” added Ernest; “be composed; Fritz will not be so
imprudent; he will have left Jack in our house at the rock; and,
probably, seeing the hopelessness of his undertaking, he is returned
himself now, and is waiting there till the stream subsides a little; do
allow me to go, dear father; you have ordered me cold water for my burnt
hand, and it will certainly cure it to get well wet.”
I could not consent to expose my third son to the tempest, which was now
become frightful; the sailcloth which covered our window was torn into a
thousand pieces, and carried away; the rain, like a deluge, forced
itself into our dwelling, even to the bed where my wife and child were
lying. I could neither make up my mind to leave them myself in this
perilous situation, nor to spare my boy, who could not even be of any
use to his brothers. I commanded him to remain, succeeded in persuading
him of their probable safety, and induced him to lie down to rest. Now,
in my terrible solitude, I turned to Him, “who tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb;” who forbids us not to address Him in the trials he sends
us, to beseech Him to soften them, or to give us strength to bear them.
Kneeling down, I dared to supplicate Him to restore me my children,
submissively adding, after the example of our blessed Saviour, “Yet, not
my will, but thine be done, O Lord.”
My prayers appeared to be heard; the storm gradually abated, and the day
began to break. I awoke Ernest, and having dressed his wounded hand, he
set out for Tent House, in search of his brothers. I followed him with
my eyes as far as I could see; the whole country appeared one vast lake,
and the road to Tent House was like the bed of a river; but, protected
by his good gaiters of buffalo-skin, he proceeded fearlessly, and was
soon out of my sight.
I was recalled from the window by the voice of my wife, who was awake,
and anxiously inquiring for her sons.
“They are gone,” said I, “to gather the leaves of the karata for
Ernest’s burnt hand, and he wished to go too.”
Her deep sleep had entirely chased from her memory all the events of the
previous evening, and I was glad to allow Francis to repeat his little
tale of the burn and his _conductor_ in order to gain time. She was
astonished and uneasy to hear of Ernest’s accident, and was afraid they
would _get wet_ in searching for the karata, little aware of the hours
of anguish I had endured waiting and watching for those she believed had
only just left home. At that moment, the dear and well-known voices were
heard under the great window.
“Father, I am bringing back my brothers,” cried Ernest.
“Yes, papa, we are all alive, and as wet as fishes,” added the sweet
voice of Jack.
“But not without having had our troubles,” said the manly voice of
Fritz.
I rushed down the staircase to meet them, and, embracing them, I led
them, trembling with emotion, to the bed of their mother, who could not
comprehend the transport of joy I expressed.
“Dear Elizabeth,” said I, “here are our sons; God has given them to us a
second time.”
“Have we then been in any danger of losing them?” said she. “What is the
meaning of this?”
They saw their mother was unconscious of their long absence, and
assured her it was only the storm which had so completely wetted them,
that had alarmed me. I hastened to get them to change their clothes, and
go to bed a little while to rest themselves; as, however anxious I was
myself, I wished to prepare my wife for their recital, and also to tell
her of the vessel. Jack would not go till he had produced his bundle of
the karata-leaves.
“There is enough for six-and-thirty thunderstorms,” said he; “and I will
prepare them. I have had some experience with my own, and I know the
best method.”
He soon divided one of the leaves with his knife, after cutting away the
triangular thorn from the end, and applied it to his brother’s hand,
binding it with his handkerchief. Having completed this dressing, he
threw off his clothes, and, jumping into his bed, he and his brothers
were sound asleep in ten minutes.
I then sat down by my wife, and began my tale; from my first view of the
vessel, and my anxious watching for intercourse with it, in order that
we might take the opportunity to return to Europe.
“But why should we return to Europe?” said she; “we want nothing here
now, since I have got flax, cotton, and a wheel. Our children lead an
active, healthy, and innocent life, and live _with us_, which they might
not do in the world. For four years we have been happy here, and what
shall we find in Europe to compensate us for what we leave
here?—poverty, war, and none of those things which we have here
abundantly.”
“But we should find grandmamma,” said little Francis; and stopped,
recollecting my prohibition.
He had, however, said sufficient to bring tears to his mother’s eyes.
“You are right, my darling,” said she, “that is my sole regret; but my
dear parent was aged and infirm, in all probability I should no longer
find her in this world; and if removed to Heaven, she watches over us in
this island, as well as if we were in Europe.”
After my dear wife had subdued the agitation this remembrance caused
her, I pursued the conversation as follows:—
* * * * *