I looked around the place in which I was; I lay on a bed of coarse materials, in a small but airy chamber. By slow degrees I regained my ideas of my own existence and identity, but I was still totally at a loss to comprehend by what means I came into such a situation; of my sailing on the river, of my fears and unpleasant sensations, and of being dashed down the falls of Ohiopyle, I retained not the slightest recollection. I cast my eyes around, in hopes of seeing some person who could give me some information of my situation, and of the means by which I was placed in it; but no one was visible.
My next thought was to rise, and seek out the inhabitants of the house, but, on trial, my limbs were, I found, too weak to assist me, and patience Was my only alternative.
After this, I relapsed into my former insensibility, in which state I continued a considerable time; yet I had some occasional glimpses of what was passing forward about me. I had some floating reminiscences of an old man, who, I thought, had been with me, and a more perfect idea of a female form which had flitted around me. One day, as I lay half sensible on my bed, I saw this lovely creature approach me; I felt the soft touch of her fingers on my brow, and though the pressure was as light as may be conceived from human fingers, it thrilled through my veins, and lingered in my confused remembrance; the sound of her voice, as she spoke in a low tone a few words to the old man, was music to me; her bright eyes, tempered with the serenity of a pure and blameless mind, beamed upon me with such an expression of charity and benevolence as I had never before beheld. During the whole time of my illness, those white fingers, those bright blue eyes, and the sound of that voice, were ever present to my diseased imagination, and exerted a soothing influence over my distempered feelings.
At length the darkness that had obscured my mind and memory passed away. I was again sensible, and could call to mind, with some little trouble, a considerable part of the accidents that had befallen me. Still, however, the idea of my passing over the brink of the rocks over which the river precipitates itself; of the shock which I experienced, when dashed down the cataract, and of my terrible feelings, I had a very slight and confused idea. I now longed more ardently than before for some one from whom I might gather information concerning those things which were unknown to me. My strength being in some degree recruited, I endeavoured to rise, and succeeding in the attempt, I examined the room in which I lay, but no one was there; my next labour (and a work of labour I found it) was to put on some clothes, which I found deposited on a chair; being equipped, therefore, as fully as circumstances would admit, I commenced my operations. My first step was to enter into an adjoining room, which, fearful of trespassing on forbidden ground, I did with some trepidation. This room was, however, likewise destitute, as I thought, of inhabitants, and I was about to retire, when the barking of a dog arrested my attention; and, turning rounds I beheld, with no small satisfaction, my old fellow-traveller, Carlo. Shall I attempt to describe our meeting? It was the language of the heart, inexpressible in words, that spoke in the sparkling eyes and joyous gambols of my dog; and I was busily engaged in patting him, when, turning round, I perceived that our privacy had been intruded upon. The beautiful creature, on whom my wandering fancy had dwelt, stood looking at us, supporting, with one arm, the old man, her father; while on the other hung a basket of flowers. I stood gazing at them without speaking; I know not what magic made me dumb, but not a word escaped my lips. She was the first to speak, and expressed her joy at seeing me able to depart from my couch, chiding me, at the same time, for so doing, without leave. “I,” said she, smiling, “am, at present, your physician; and, I assure you, that I shall exercise the power which I have over you as such, in as rigorous a manner as possible.”—” Aye,” added the father, “like all your sex, you love to make the most of the little power you have. But,” added he, “we should not thus salute a guest, by threatening him with subjection; he is our guest, and not our captive.” — By this time, I had recovered the use of my tongue, and began to express my gratitude for their kindness, and my sorrow at the trouble which I was conscious I must have occasioned to them: but my politeness was cut short, by the frank assurance of my host that I was welcome, reiterated more gently, but not less warmly, by his lovely daughter. Carlo and I were now separated, much against the wishes of both; but my fair physician was inexorable, and I was compelled to turn in again, in seaman’s phrase, till the morrow, and to suspend, for the same time, my curiosity.
The next day, at length, came, and I requested my entertainers to favour me with answers to the questions which I should propose to them. They smiled at my eagerness, and promised to satisfy my curiosity. It was easily done. The old man had a son, who, passing by the falls of Ohiopyle, some nights before, in the evening, was attracted by the moanings and lamentations of a dog, and, descending to the bottom of the fall, perceived me at the river side, where I had been entangled among some weeds and straggling roots of trees. From this situation he had great difficulty, first in rescuing me, and, having succeeded in that point, in conveying me to his father’s dwelling, where I found I had lain several days, till, by his daughter’s unremitting attention (the old man himself being unable materially to assist me, and the son compelled to depart from home, on urgent business) I had been restored, if not to health, to a state of comparative strength, which promised to terminate in complete restoration. Such were the facts which I contrived to gather from the discourse of my host and his daughter, notwithstanding their softening down, or slightly passing over every thing, the relation of which might seem to claim my gratitude, or tend to their own praise. As to themselves, my host was a Pennsylvanian farmer, who, under pressure of misfortune, had retired to this spot, where the exertions of the son sufficed for the support of the whole family, and the daughter attended to the household duties, and to the comfort of the father.
When the old man and his daughter had answered my queries, I renewed my thanks, which were, however, again cut short. If they had been of service to a fellow-creature, it was in itself a sufficient reward, even if they had suffered any inconvenience from assisting me (which they assured me was not the case). Many other good things were said at the time, which I forget; for — shall I confess it? — the idea that all that had been done for me was the effect of mere general philanthropy, displeased me. When I looked at the lovely woman who had nursed me, with sisterlike affection, I could not bear to reflect that any other, placed in a similar situation, might have been benefited by the same care; been watched over with equal attention, and greeted with the same good-natured smile: in short, that I was cared for no more than another, and valued and taken care of merely as a being of the same species with themselves, to whom, equally with any other, their sense of duty taught them to do good.
In a day or two, my health was so much improved, that I was permitted to walk out in the small garden, which surrounded the cottage. Great was my pleasure in looking at this humble dwelling. Its thatched roof, with patches of dark green moss and beautiful verdure; its white walls and chimney, with the wreaths of smoke curling above it; the neat glazed windows, the porch and its stone seat at the door; the clean pavement of white pebbles before it; the green grass plat, edged with shells, and stones, and flowers, and gemmed with “wee, modest” daisies, and the moss rose in the middle, were to me objects on which my imagination could revel for ever, and I sighed to think that I must shortly part from them. It remained for me, in some manner, to shew my gratitude before I parted from my benevolent host, but I was long before I could settle the thing to my mind. I felt unhappy, too, at the thought of leaving the old man; his white-washed cottage, his garden, and his beautiful and good daughter:—” And yet it cannot be helped,” I repeated again and again. “How happy I should be,” I thought, “in this lovely spot, and perhaps the daughter — dare a man at first acknowledge, even to himself, that he is in love? — And why should I not be happy?”
I am married — need I say to whom? — and the white-washed cottage, with its mossy thatch, have the sam
e attractions for me — nay, more, for it is endeared by the ties of love, of kindred, and of happiness. I have lived in it nine years; my children flock around me, my wife loves me, and her father is happy in seeing her happy. Her brother is flourishing in his business, and none in our family are dissatisfied, or in want. Often do I thank God for my blessings, and look back with pleasure to the day when I passed the Falls of Ohiopyle.
THE ENGLISHER’S STORY.
— When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
CYMBELINE.
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away?
THE ENGLISHER’S STORY.
I am dead to all pleasures, my true love is gone —
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing O the green willow shall be my garland!
OLD SONG.
AT the latter end of the year 1819, I accepted an invitation to pass a week at the habitation of a friend, in Scotland; and, accordingly, made all due preparations for the journey, and took my place in the vehicle, which commences its periodical excursions from the small town containing my residence. It is not needful to describe the busy preparations for the event, the fidgeting of my aunts (for I am blessed with three!), the rising at four o’clock to set off at seven, and the endless train of et-ceteras, which every traveller is well acquainted with. I departed in the Velocity, for so the vehicle was named — lucus a non lucendo, I presume — in company with a French dancing-master, a Scotch merchant, and the wife of a Welsh curate. Nothing remarkable happened during the journey, which was performed in mute silence, except when an extraordinary jolt of the carriage drew forth an occasional ejaculation from my fellow-travellers, and I at last arrived at the place of my destination. My friend’s house — a marvellous ill-fashioned edifice — stood upon the top of an eminence, at the foot of which a muddy pool, passing by the name of pond, served as a school to initiate some young of the duck tribe in the art and mystery of swimming. The house itself, though completely void of all shape, was large, and the hospitable reception within, made ample recompence for the uncouthness of the exterior. I was ushered, by a servant in ancient livery, into a parlour, where, seated around the fire, I found the laird, Mr. M’Tarragon, his wife, and only daughter; two neighbouring gentlemen, Mr. Whappledoun, and Mr. Baldermere; a young English lady, Miss Somerset, with her brother; and an elderly dame, Mrs. Tiverton; all of whom were, like myself, visitors. Being somewhat tired with my journey, and the evening far advanced, I retired early to rest, to sleep off the fatigues of the day.
The next morning I took a survey of my friend’s castle. It was, as I have before said, not remarkable for its elegance, or the harmonious proportion of its parts. The body of the building had been originally of a square shape, but it abounded with wings which had been appended to it by succeeding occupiers, and was accommodated with numerous high and narrow apertures, filled with minute panes of glass, which served as an apology for windows, though the architect seemed to have been perfectly ignorant of any such thing as regularity in their disposition. The roof was adorned with towers of all descriptions, some round, some square, and some of a shape which would have baffled the skill of the most experienced professor of octahedrons and polygons to give a name to, and which sprouted out in beautiful confusion, like the horns of the beast in the Revelations.
The day passed pleasantly in conversation and various amusements, for the weather prohibited all excursion beyond the walls, and, in the evening, we told stories; the first of which, related by Henry Somerset, the young Englishman, I here introduce.
It was on the close of a fine day in July, and I walked out to enjoy an evening ramble. The day had been warm, and the breeze that rustled amongst the leaves, with “cooling melody,” was inexpressibly grateful. The sun was just sinking behind the mountains, whose dark masses bounded the view on the west, and lighted up the clouds that gathered round him with a blaze of glory, which glittered through the trees with the most delightful splendour. The inhabitants of the neighbouring villages had retired to rest, and no sound interrupted the silence which brooded over the scene, save the gentle murmurs of the wind, and the occasional bark of the distant watch-dog.
It is sweet to walk in places and at times like these; when the mind, loosened from the weight of subjects which have oppressed it during the busy day, springs with renovated buoyancy to commune with the spirit of Nature; when, shaking off the cumbrous load of earthly inquietude, she roams in freedom through the boundless expanse, not fettered to the present. Memory kindly lends her aid to conjure up the past, and Fancy leads her on to contemplate the future.
I arrived, in my ramble, at a spot which nature seemed to have chosen, to blend all her powers of charming. The dark foliage which grew around, threw a soft and melancholy shade upon the scene; the beautiful wild flowers loaded the air with their simple perfume; while the wind, which here sighed with a deeper murmur, accorded well with the rippling of a brook that rolled over the white and shining pebbles, winding along in intricate mazes, till the eye lost its track among the thick underwood, which flourished on its margin. It was a spot which a poet would have hung over with rapture, a painter would have loved to delineate on his canvas, and which an angel might have lingered to gaze upon, and thought it Eden.
So intent was I in admiring this natural garden, that it was some time before I perceived a cottage, which reared its thatched roof under the shade of a venerable chestnut, that spread its giant arms far abroad on every side. I wished to know who were inhabitants of this terrestrial paradise, and therefore approached, and knocked gently at the door, the threshold of which was embroidered by honeysuckles, that twined around it, and kissed the projecting cottage roof. It was opened by an elderly woman, the very personification of hospitality. She invited me to enter, which I did, after apologizing for my intrusion, and offering my long walk as an excuse for resting myself. I had now an opportunity of observing the interior of the building, or, at least, of the part where I sat. It was a small, low apartment, but the white-washed walls, the clean windows, whose small panes of glass were partly obscured by the shrubs which climbed around them, and the bright rows of well-polished pot-lids, and other culinary utensils, gave an air of neatness and industry to the room. Near the fire-place sat an old man, seemingly much oppressed by age and pain, but his welcome was hearty, though unpolished, and his furrowed cheeks and snowy locks gave him a reverend and pleasing appearance. My hostess seemed, about fifty; her features were rather of a melancholy cast; a clean cap restrained her grey hair, which time had much thinned, and from her waist hung a pincushion and pair of scissors. She placed refreshment before me, of which I partook most heartily, and answered my questions with civility, and even politeness. After recompensing the aged couple for my entertainment, I at length departed, with many thanks and renewed apologies for my intrusion.
From a farmer in the neighbourhood I inquired concerning this family, and he told me that they had once a son, a most promising young man, their chief, and, indeed, their only delight: he had been pressed on board a ship of war, and, as he had never been since heard of, it was conjectured that he had either fallen in some engagement, or been lost in the waves. He shewed me also a likeness of him, which he had received from himself, a great friendship having existed between them; but, as I soon after went to a distant part of the kingdom, I speedily forgot the cottage and its inhabitants.
I exchanged the calm repose of the country for the bustle of a seaport town, and the songs of birds for the creaking of cordage, and the melody of the boatswain’s whistle. One day, turning hastily round the corner of a street, I was struck by the figure of a man, who sought relief from his distress in the charity of his fellow-creatures, but his wan countenance and extended arm alone pleaded for him with mute eloquence. I thought I knew the features, but vainly endeavoured to recollect where; and, giving him a few halfpence, passed on. This idea st
ill haunted me, and I returned in the afternoon, resolving to inquire who he was; but he was not there. The next day, however, I was more successful. He thanked me for my assistance the day before; his name, he told me, was S — . It struck me in a moment; it was the son of my old cottagers. I took him home to my lodgings, and, telling him what I knew respecting his family, desired to hear from him the remainder of his history. “It is a narrative of little but misfortunes,” he answered, “but if the relation will, in any way, please you, Sir, I owe it to your kindness not to refuse.
“The night when I was pressed, I was as one stupefied; the next day, however, I became composed. I prevailed on a friend, who had obtained leave to see me, to carry a message to a young woman, whom I was attached to, and to desire her, if possible, to visit me before my departure. He did so, and to the last moment I cherished the hope of seeing her; but it was in vain; she did not come, and our vessel set sail. The neglect from one I had so tenderly loved was more cutting than all the rest. I believed her unfaithful; I deemed myself cast off by all mankind, and left unfriended and alone, to traverse over boundless seas. My dejection of spirits, together with the new life I led, destroyed my health, and I lay for weeks a prey to a raging fever, during which I was nursed, with the greatest care and attention, by a young man, with whom I had contracted a friendship, on board the ship in which I was. He seemed ill suited to the life he had chosen, for he was extremely delicate; but he had something in his countenance which reminded me of Elinor, and this, perhaps, attracted me to him; for I still loved her, notwithstanding her neglect. Under his care, I at length recovered, and was allowed to venture upon the deck, to inhale the refreshing breeze.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 831