CHAPTER XXXV.
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:—