CHAPTER XIII.
Friendship! thou sovereign balm of every care. When all serene and placidly appear; Domestic happiness! of that possessed, Then may we leave to Providence the rest.
The father of Alida now thought proper to enter into a second marriage.A lady of worth and understanding had wrought upon his fancy, and wonhis particular regards. Her elegance of manner and dignified deportmentengaged general attention; and although she was rather advanced in life,yet "the remains of former beauty were still visible in her appearance."
She was honourably descended from English parents, who had resided inNew-York since the revolution. Her father had been actively engaged inbusiness there, which had been ultimately crowned with the successfulgifts of fortune.
Her education had been governed by the strictness of the Englishdiscipline. A foundation laid in early piety continued to influence hermind with unaffected ardour, blended with a generous benevolence, thegenuine effects of the inexhaustible goodness of her heart. She was onewho manifested to the world that a "doer of good" is far preferable toany other character, and in a superlative degree above those whomaintain high principles in theory, without ever once reducing them topractice.
This lady had an only sister, who married a native of Ireland, and afterthe course of a few years went to reside there, where she had recentlydied. The children returned to this country, having lost their fatherlong before, and several of her nephews now resided in the city. Havingbeen always accustomed to reside in town herself, where her manyexcellent qualities had endeared her to numerous friends andacquaintances, who would now feel themselves lost without her society,therefore the parents of Alida formed the conclusion to pass theirwinters in the city, and return to the country in the summer season.
In the mean time, Alida's father thought the event fortunate, and waspleased at this time to remove his daughter from the place where thelate scenes appeared so trying and afflictive, with the hope that inmingling her with the gay world she would in a while forget Theodore,while he in his turn would be induced to leave the neighbourhood.
It was now at that season when weary summer had lapsed into the fallowarms of autumn, and was approaching to the chilly breezes of winter. Themorning was clear, and the light gales bore invigorating coolness ontheir wings as they tremulously agitated the foliage of the westernforest, or fluttered among the branches of the trees that surrounded themansion. The green splendours of the lawn had faded into a yellowlustre; the flowery verdure of the fields was changed to a russet hue.
A robin chirped in a favourite tree in the yard; a wren chatteredbeneath, while some few solitary birds still continued to warble theirnotes among the leaves of the aspen.
The surrounding groves partially rung with melody; while deep in theadjacent wilderness the woodpecker, hammering on some dry and blastedtrees, filled the woods with reverberant echoes.
The face of the Sound was ruffled by the lingering breezes, as they idlywandered over its surface. Long Island was thinly enveloped in smokyvapour; scattered along its shores lay the numerous small craft, withlarger ships, of the hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing andre-passing the Sound. Several American war-sloops lay on a point whichjutted out from the mainland into the river.
Alida walked leisurely around the yard, contemplating the variousbeauties of the scene, the images of departed joys (that she was nowabout to leave). The days when Theodore participated with her inadmiring the splendours of rural prospect, raised in her bosom the sighof deep regret. She entered the garden, and traced the walks, nowovergrown with weeds and tufted grass. The flower-beds were choked withthe low running brambles, and tall rushes and daisies had usurped theempire of the kitchen garden. The viny arbour was principally gone todecay, and the eglantine blushed mournfully along the fences.
Alida continued to walk the garden until the servant informed her thatthe carriage was waiting to take her to the city.
Although they set out rather late in the day, they arrived in town somehours before sunset. They drove immediately to their dwelling, which wassituated in a pleasant part of Greenwich-street, near the Battery.
Alida, after she had thrown off her travelling apparel, seated herselfby the window in silence. Her mind was absorbed in deep reflection andthoughtfulness. She watched the slow declining sun, as it was sinkingbeneath the horizon. Pensive twilight spread her misty mantle over thelandscape. The western sky glowed with the spangles of evening;deepening glooms advanced. The last beam of day faded from the view, andall was enveloped in night. Innumerable stars glittered in thefirmament, intermingling their quivering lustre with the pale splendoursof the milky way.
When Alida was summoned to tea, her parents made various observations toendeavour to amuse her thoughts, and draw her from her taciturnity.After tea she again returned to the window, where she sat till a latehour, apparently in deep meditation, till at length growing weary andrestless, she retired to her room.
As she had for several nights in succession slept but little, she soonfell into a slumber, and did not awake till near the dawn of day. Shedid not close her eyes again to sleep. Daylight soon appeared, and thecheerful sun darting his enlivening rays through the windows of thisantique mansion, recovered her exhausted spirits, and dissipated, insome measure, the cheerless reflections that still continued to hoverabout her imagination.
She arose, and went down to breakfast with spirits somewhat revived,and changed to a temporary resignation to past events and recentoccurrences. A thought impressed her mind which gave her newconsolation.
"Who knows," said she, "but that the sun of peace may yet dispel theglooms of these distressful hours, and restore this throbbing bosom toits former serenity?"
In the meantime, Theodore remained in the neighbourhood of Alida untilhe heard the family had left and gone to the city. He then preparedhimself to set out early the next day for the habitation of his parents.
He informed Raymond of his promise to write to Alida, and to transmitletters through his agency for her inspection every convenientopportunity.
After passing a weary watchful night, he arose at the first dawning ofday, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painfulreflections.
After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained thebridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournfulfarewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separatedforever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a longdelay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.
Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star,having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessivelustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon's decrescent form. Low,hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops fromthe intermingling foliage.
The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns ofthe wilderness. The American lark soared high in the air, consecratingits matin lay to morn's approaching splendours.
The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun's firstray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with avarying brightness.
It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father's. Hefound his parents contented and happy at their present residence, whichwas extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.
"You have been long gone, my son," said his father: "I scarcely knewwhat had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little ofwhat is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives.We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessingsof health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account,Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as youcould wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairerprospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those whosubmissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence anddependence on the Supreme Being," said his father, "and the triumph offortitude and resignation will be yours.
" His father paused. Hisreasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal thewounds of Theodore's bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happinessas earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which couldrepair to him her loss.
Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish toacquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, thatperhaps all might yet be well; that, however, in the present state ofhis mind, he thought a change of place and scene might be of advantage.He said, moreover, that he no longer had an excuse, and thatcircumstances now compelled him to join the army.
A sorrow unknown before seized upon the minds of his parents as Theodorerepeated these words. Sad and dreadful ideas crowded their imaginationat this gloomy period, when in the war's dread emergency they must riskthe life of an only son, to march to the field of battle. 'Tis true, hemight be again restored to them, but were there not a thousand chancesto one? They were overwhelmed with sorrow at these thoughts, till atlength they finally felt themselves obliged to consent to what theyconsidered his inevitable destiny, leaving the result of their unitedwishes and prayers for his safe preservation to an over-rulingProvidence.
His father then offered him money he had on hand to defray his expenses.Theodore refused, saying, his resources had not yet left him. He thendisposed of his horses and carriages, the insignia of his better days,but now useless appendages.
After taking an affectionate leave of his parents, he set out theensuing day to join his companions on their route to meet the army,which was far distant. When hostilities first commenced, Theodore hadsaid, that when it became actually necessary, and his father's affairswere settled, he would enlist in the service of his country.Nevertheless, he journeyed with a heavy heart and an enfeebled frame ofspirits, through disappointment, vexation, and fatigue. The scenes hehad so lately experienced moved in melancholy succession over his mind,and his despondency had not abated, even in a small degree, when hereached the army.
He now joined the forces under Colonel Van Renssalaer, "who, with adetachment of about one thousand men, crossed the river Niagara, andattacked the British on Queenstown heights. This detachment succeeded indislodging the enemy, but not being reinforced by the militia from theAmerican side, as was expected, they were ultimately repulsed, andobliged to surrender. Eight hundred British soldiers now came to the aidof the others, and pressed on to renew the attack. The Americans for atime continued to struggle against this force, but were finally obligedto surrender themselves prisoners of war."
The fate of war was hard for Theodore, on his first expedition. He wastaken, and carried among the rest on board a prison-ship, and sent witha number of others to England.
This disastrous event, however, was shortly followed by one morefortunate for the Americans. "General Dearborn embarked at Sackett'sHarbour, with sixteen hundred men, on an expedition against York, andsucceeded in the capture of that place.
"York was the seat of government for Upper Canada, and the principaldepot for the Niagara frontier. More naval stores were taken by theAmericans than could be carried away. The government hall was burned,contrary to the orders of the American general."
Alida; or, Miscellaneous Sketches of Incidents During the Late American War. Page 16