CHAPTER XXI.
"Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns, called you forth, Down those precipitous black-jagged rocks, For ever shattered, and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam?"
COLERIDGE.
William Bernard had, of late, been more than usually attracted to thesociety of Faith. In habits of familiar intercourse with the familyof the Armstrongs, from his childhood, and admitted to almost the samedegree of intimacy which exists between brothers and sisters withthe little black-eyed girl whom, in winter, he drew on his sled, withAnne, to school, and, to fill whose apron, he shook chestnuts andwalnuts from the trees, in autumn, he and Faith had never had, duringthe earlier period of their acquaintance, feelings other than thoseattaching one to another, members of the same household. The fact thatFaith had no brother, taken in connection with her love for Anne, hadcaused her to lean more on William, and be willing to call upon himfor a thousand little services, which he was as ready to grant as sheto ask. These, in the years of childhood, were rewarded by a kiss, orpermission to ride on her rocking-horse, or to make calls, with Anneand herself, on their dolls, and so forth; but as years rolled on,and vague feelings and shadowy intimations assumed definiteness, adelicate veil of reserve imperceptibly interposed itself, as effectualto bar the former familiarity as if a Chinese wall had been builtbetween them. Yet, for years, no warmer sentiment succeeded; and,though William Bernard felt pleasure in the society of his beautifulneighbor, he experienced no uneasiness in her absence.
But a change was destined to take place which, indeed, it issurprising had not sooner occurred. William found himself, he hardlyknew how, more frequently in the company of his sister's lovelyfriend, notwithstanding it was with a more timid step he sought thedwelling of Mr. Armstrong. For it seemed to him as if the littlecommunity were beginning to suspect the existence of those feelingswhich, like the morning glory, shrink from the rays of the sun. Theywere too delicate for inspection. They were like the wing of thebutterfly or the plumage of the humming-bird, which cannot be handledwithout being tarnished. Hence, though longing to enter the house asin his school-boy days, were it only to catch for a moment the soundsof Faith's voice or a glimpse of her face, he would content himselfwith merely passing by, deriving a satisfaction from the consciousnessof being nearer to her, and of gazing on the house beautified byher presence. Besides, as his feelings became more interested, hisdistrust of himself increased. The heart of the bold, young man, whichreal danger had never disturbed, fluttered like a caught bird at thevoice of Faith, more and more, and he hesitated to make an avowalwhich might, indeed, crown his hopes, but which might, also, dash themto the ground. For he could not conceal from himself that Faith, sofar from giving him encouragement as a lover, had never even appearedto suspect his feelings. Her conduct had always been the same, thesame unreserved confidence, the same frank, unconstrained deportment.She spoke to him as freely as ever of her hopes and fears; she tookhis arm as readily, nor did a blush welcome his coming or a tremor ofthe voice signalize his departure.
Young ladies are usually sharp-sighted enough in detecting admiration,and fathoming the heart of a lover, and some may think her want ofpenetration strange. If so, I must entreat indulgence for my simpleFaith. Be the circumstances remembered in which she was placed and hadgrown up; her child-like innocence and purity, unacquainted withthe world, her seclusion from society, the intimacy that had alwaysexisted between her and young Bernard, which continued to makemany attentions that would have been marked in another, natural andexpected from him, and the want of all preoccupation in his favor,and the surprise of the keen-sighted will diminish. Is not aninexperienced and modest girl slow to suspect in another, emotionstowards herself of a kind which she has never felt?
William Bernard, then, had never told his love, nor did MissArmstrong dream of its existence. To her he was the dear friend ofher childhood, and nothing more. His mother and sister suspectedthe condition of his heart, and it was with calm satisfaction in theformer, and a glow of delight in the latter, that they looked forwardto the time when the attentions and amiable qualities of the son andbrother should ripen the friendship of the unimpassioned beauty intolove. Of this result, with a pardonable partiality they did not doubt.With this explanation of the feelings of the two young people towardseach other at this time, we will accompany them on a morning walk tothe Falls of the Yaupaae.
It was one of those bright, glorious days which the poet Herrick callsthe "bridal of the earth and sky." From a heaven intensely blue, thesun, without a cloud, "looked like a God" over his dominions. Somerain had fallen in the night, and the weather suddenly clearing uptowards morning, had hardened the moisture into ice. Every bush, everytree, the fences, were covered with a shining mail, from whichand from the crisped surface of the snow, the rays of the sun werereflected, and filled the air with a sparkling light. Transmuted, asby a magician's wand, the bare trees were no longer ordinary trees.They were miracles of vegetable silver and crystal. Mingled amongthem, the evergreens glittered like masses of emerald hung withdiamonds. Aladdin, in the enchanted cavern, saw not so brilliant aspectacle.
The narrow road which led to the Falls descended a declivity, where itleft the main street until it came to within a few feet of the surfaceof the river, then curving round the base of the hill, it skirted thewinding margin of the stream until it ascended another hill, on thetop of which, from a platform of level rock, one of the finest viewswas commanded. The path was slippery with ice, and in descending thedeclivity the arm of Bernard was necessary to support the uncertainsteps of his companion. It was with a sort of tremor he offered it, ofwhich Faith was all unconscious. She took it without hesitation, andstepping cautiously over the glazed surface, and laughing at eachother's slips, the young couple pursued their walk. On their right wasa steep hill, rising in some places to a height of one hundred feetabove their heads, covered over, for a considerable distance along theroad, with the perennial beauty of the graceful hemlock and savin, nowresplendent in jewels; and on the left the Yaupaae, its frozen levelhid in snow, out of which the trees and shrubs on the little islandsraised their silver armor glittering in the sun. In the distance,and visible from the greater part of the road, the river, in a narrowchasm, dashed down the rocks. An unusual quantity of snow had latelyfallen, which, having been succeeded by heavy rains, had swollen thestream to more than double its ordinary size. It was evidentthat, what in the language of the country is called a freshet wascommencing. Such is the name given to those swellings of the water,the most formidable of which commonly occur in the month of February,or early in the Spring, when the overcharged rivers, bursting theirboundaries and overflowing the neighboring lowlands, sometimesoccasion great damage to property, sweeping away bridges, and mills,and dams, with irresistible violence.
The roaring of the Falls had been long distinguishable, but, it wasnot until the first curve in the road had been turned, that they cameinto sight."
"Look! Faith," cried Bernard, as they burst into view; "did you eversee them more magnificent?"
The attention of the young lady had been, hitherto, too much engrossedby the necessity of watching her footsteps down the descent, to givemuch heed to surrounding objects; but, now, she looked up, havingreached the comparatively level spot, which extended as far asthe second hill or rising ground above mentioned, and felt all theadmiration expressed by her companion.
"They are grand," she replied. "I have beheld this view a thousandtimes, and never weary of its beauty. I do not know whether I love itmore in summer or in winter."
"How would you express the difference of your feelings, then and now?"
"I am afraid I have not the skill to put the feeling into words. But,the impression, on a day like this, is of a magnificence and splendorunusual to the earth. In summer, the beauty though less astonishing,is of a softer character."
"You would
rather listen to the song of the robin, and of our northernmocking-bird, than to the roaring of the angry river?"
"There is no anger in the sound, William," she replied, looking upinto his face; "It is the shout of praise to its Creator, and thedashing of the torrents over the rocks are the clapping of its hands."
"You are right, Faith. How much better you are tuned to the meaningsof nature than I?"
"You do yourself injustice. It was your love of all this beauty thatinduced you to invite me to this walk. Without you I should havemissed it, nor known what I had lost."
William Bernard sighed. She has not, he thought, the least suspicionthat I love her. She does not know, and would not care if she did,that, by her side, the only prospect I behold is herself, and theinvitation to this stroll but a pretext to approach her.
"Your presence, dear Faith," said he, "imparts a double charm to thescenery."
"It is sweet," she answered, leaning, as it seemed to him, at themoment, more affectionately on his arm, "to have one to whom we cansay, how lovely is all this loveliness."
"The sentiment of the Poet never seemed so true before," said Bernard,looking at her with admiration.
She made no reply, for her whole soul was absorbed by the view beforeher.
They had arrived at the platform, which, somewhat higher than theFall, commands a prospect of the river and surrounding country. Belowthem foamed and thundered the torrent, which, first, making a leapsome twenty feet down, over large, irregularly-shaped boulders ofgranite, that strove to oppose its passage, rushed in a steep descentover a bed of solid stone, irregularly worn by the action of thewater; and, then, contracting itself between its adamantine walls,burst in distracted fury, like a maniac, from the narrow throat.Against the opposing rocks, which, perhaps, had fallen into theYaupaae, when the fierce convulsion of nature opened the chasm, andbade the river pour down the gorge--the water lashed with ceaselessrage, throwing the spray high into the air. This, freezing as itfell, encrusted the rough sides of the beetling crags with icy layers,covering them all over with plates like silver, and hanging them withstalactites. Right in front, and separated only by the narrow passfrom the ledge on which they stood, still higher than which it rose,towered a huge rock, perpendicularly, to a height of ninety or onehundred feet above the cataract. Its foam-beaten base, just abovethe water, was encased in icy incrustations, higher up, gray mossoverspread its flat side, and tufts of cedar struggled through thefissures, whilst its top was canopied with hemlocks and savins, andwhite oaks. Looking towards the left, the eye swept over the greenhill-side, along which they had walked, and, glancing over the islandsin the Yaupaae, followed the winding coarse of the river, catchinghere and there on ground, that sloped to the stream, the sight ofwhite buildings, with green blinds, till the surrounding hills shut inthe view.
They both stood silent, as they looked, she, unwilling, by anexclamation, to break the charm; and he, with his mind full of thelovely creature before him. Surely, never so angelic a being gazedupon that scene! As, with kindling countenance and suspended breath,her dark eyes flashing with enthusiasm, her soul drank in thesublimity and sparkling radiance that enveloped her, she seemedno being of mortal mould, but some celestial visitant. The raptexpression of her face gradually settled into awe, and she softlymurmured these lines, of the Russian poet, Derzhavin--
"God! thus to Thee my lowly thoughts can soar, Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good, 'Midst Thy vast works, admire, obey, adore; And when the tongue is eloquent no more, The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude."
The tears were indeed standing in her eyes, as she turned and placedher hand in that of Bernard.
"You must think it strange," she said, "that I, to whom all this is nonovelty should be thus affected. It is a weakness from which I shallnever recover."
"Not weakness, dear Faith," said Bernard, "but the impressibility of apoetical temperament. Only an insensible heart could be unmoved."
"If these rocks could speak, what legends they might tell of vanishedraces," said Faith. "There is something inexpressibly sad in the fateof those who once were the masters of these woods and fields, andstreams.
"They but submit to the common fate, which compels the inferior tomake way for the superior race, as my father says."
"How beautiful," she continued, "must this goodly land have seemed tothe Indian hunter, when, after the day's chase, he dropped the deerupon the ground, and, from this high point, looked over the greenforests and shining stream. I should not wonder, if now, in the voiceof the cataract, he fancies he hears the groans of his ancestors, andthe screams of demons."
"There are traditions connected with this place," said Bernard, "butthey are fast fading away, and promise soon to be forgotten."
"Are you acquainted with any?"
"A friend of mine has endeavored to rescue one from oblivion, but Idoubt if it would interest you."
"I am interested in everything that relates to this people. Tell methe story now. What more fitting place for romance!"
"A fitting place certainly, but no fitting time. Romance would hardlymitigate the keenness of the air, or diminish the probability oftaking cold, were you to stand here listening to Indian legends.Besides, the tale is in manuscript, and I should not be able, relyingon memory, to do it justice."
"You shall read it to me this evening, where you cannot make suchexcuses," she replied, taking again his arm, and resuming their walk,"by the light of candles, and near the parlor fire, where we may hear,and not feel the wind."
"But where would be the accompaniments of the tale? The framing I fearwould spoil the picture."
"You will have the benefit of contrast, which every great painterdesires."
"I am only too happy to please you," he said, with a sigh.
"My almost brother, William, I knew you would not refuse me thefavor."
Conversing in this manner, they had reached a turn in the road, whichled back to the village by a route different from that they had come,when they saw Esther approaching, with her son. The boy walked inadvance of his mother, who seemed to tread in his steps, while thatunfailing companion of the semi-civilized red man, a dog, lounged byhis side.
Quadaquina was a handsome child, of thirteen or fourteen years of age,with a perfectly oval face, and eyes deep set and keen, that glitteredlike a snake's, resembling his mother, from whom he inherited hisbeauty. His dress differed not from that of white boys, exceptthat there was thrown round his shoulders a piece of coarse bluebroadcloth, disposed like a shawl. Esther had on her head a darkcolored felt hat, such as is worn by laborers, from beneath which longblack hair fell down upon her shoulders. A shawl, like the boy's, wasthrown over her, a skirt, of the same material, extended half way downbetween the knee and ankle, and crimson leggins completed the dress.
As they came up, Faith and Bernard stopped to speak to them, andinquire after Holden. She had been apprised of his escape, and of thevisit of Pownal and Anne, but had refrained from going to his retreatin consequence of its being thought advisable to attract as littleattention to it as possible. To her inquiries Esther returned the mostsatisfactory answers. Holden appeared quite contented, and was engagedin preaching to the Indians, and teaching them the principles of theChristian faith.
"Do the Indians listen to what he says?" inquired Bernard.
"They listen; Indian always listen," said Esther, "and the wind blowthe words through the ears."
"I suppose so," said the young man, laughing. "Holden may nowtruly call himself the voice of one crying in the wilderness, and awilderness it is likely to remain."
There was something both in the manner and language that jarred thefeelings of Faith, and she said:
"I will never give up the hope that these poor people may beChristianized. Do you not think, Esther, that there has been animprovement in the habits of the tribe within a few years?"
Esther hung down her head, and only answered, "Indian will be Indian."
"I will not despair," said Fait
h. "Be sure, Esther, you come to thehouse before you return. I have something for you, and a message forFather Holden.
"I can conceive of no character," said Faith, after they had partedfrom Esther, "more noble than that of the Christian missionary. He isthe true redresser of wrongs, the only real knight that ever lived.You smile," she said, looking at Bernard. "Do you not think so?"
"I think with you," he replied. "There can be no nobler man than hewho submits to privation, and exposes his life to danger through loveto his fellow man. It is God-like. But I smiled at the association ofideas, and not at the sentiment. Think of Holden as a knight."
"To me there is nothing ludicrous in the thought. When I look at him,I see not the coarse unusual dress, but the heroic soul, that wouldhave battled valiantly by the side of Godfrey for the holy sepulchre."
"I am afraid he will meet with only disappointment in his efforts toreform the Indians."
"We cannot know the result of any labor. We will do our duty, andleave the rest to God."
"They have not the degree of cultivation necessary to the reception ofa religion so refined and spiritual as the Christian. They must firstbe educated up to it."
"But you would not, meanwhile, neglect the very thing for which theyare educated. Religious instruction must be a part of the education,and it brings refinement with it."
"Certainly, if it can be received; but therein consists thedifficulty. I am afraid it is as reasonable to expect a savage toapprehend the exalted truths of Christianity, as one unaquainted withgeometry, the forty-ninth proposition of the first book of Euclid."
"The comparison is not just. Science demands pure intellect; butreligion, both intellect and feeling, perhaps most of the latter.The mind is susceptible of high cultivation, the heart feelsinstinctively, and that of a peasant may throb with purer feeling thana philosopher's and for that reason be more ready to receive religioustruth. And who may limit the grace of God?"
"You have thought deeper on this subject than I, Faith. But howhard must it be for the rays of divine truth to pierce through theblackness of that degradation which civilization has entailed on them!The conversion of the North American Indian was easier at the landingof the Pilgrims than now."
"The greater our duty," exclaimed Faith, clasping her hands, "to atonefor the wrongs we have inflicted. But, William, some good has beendone. Look at my dear, good Esther."
"Esther deserves your praise, I am sure, because you say it. But it isyou that have made her good. She could not be with you, without beingbenefited."
"You are very kind, but no merit attaches to me. They were theprecepts of Christianity that softened her heart, though she wasalways gentle."
"It was the sweetness of religion she heard in your voice, itskindness she read in your eyes, and its loveliness illustrated in yourlife, that attracted and improved Esther"
"Were I to admit what you say, the credit would, after all, belong toreligion."
The sun had nearly reached his meridian, as the young coupleapproached the house of Mr. Armstrong. What a change had been producedin a few hours! The warm sunshine, while it glorified the landscapehad robbed it of its sparkling beauty. The trees no longer wore theirsilver armor; the branches, relieved of the unusual weight, hadlost the graceful curves and resumed their original positions; whiteblossoms no longer bedecked the evergreens; and all around,large drops were falling, as if lamenting the passing away of theshort-lived magnificence.
On parting from Bernard, at her father's door, Faith reminded him ofhis promise, and invited him and Anne to tea with her in the evening.Bernard accepted the invitation for himself, and conditionally for hissister.
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