YAMBOO.
A TALE.
Lane, Darling, & Co. Leadenhall-street.
YAMBOO;
OR,
THE NORTH AMERICAN SLAVE.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
THE BRAVO OF
Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit Nature’s claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in black and white the same.
COWPER.
VOL. I.
PRINTED AT THE
Minerva Press,
FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.
LEADENHALL-STREET.
1812.
DEDICATION.
TO
MAJOR-GENERAL HUNTER,
President of his Majesty’s Hon. Privy Council,
and Commander in Chief of the Province
of
SIR,
As, at the present period, no one can be more interested in the welfare of this little Colony than yourself, whose zeal for your country’s good, independent of the honourable situation you fill, has led you daily to the establishment of whatever could promote the interest of the province, or tend to the comforts of its inhabitants; to you I would dedicate the amusement of my leisure hours, during a short residence in it.
But in acknowledging that, were the trivial production for which I claim your patronage to be weighed in the scale of merit, I have too much reason to fear it would be found wanting, I may be accused of vanity in thus intruding it upon a generous public, who, continually regaled with works of genuine taste, can have little relish for that which falls even below mediocrity; nor will my presumption be less questioned, for attaching your name to a work of acknowledged inferiority: but as neither vanity nor presumption are the leading motives by which I am actuated, I will trust that, as a tribute of respect, you, Sir, at least, will not reject my humble offering; while the lenity already experienced from a liberal public, induces me to be so far sanguine of their indulgence, that if, on a perusal of the following sheets, there should be found little to approve, they will forbear, where they are privileged to condemn, to do so harshly.
Should you, Sir, as a military character, derive one hour’s amusement from the incidents of a tale so simple—as a father, feel interested in the fate of its hero—or, as a Christian, deign to approve the sentiments it contains, I shall be more encouraged to stem the tide of censure, which an Author, conscious of her own demerits, is perhaps justified in expecting. I have the honour to be,
SIR,
With the greatest respect,
Your most obedient humble Servant,
THE AUTHOR.
YAMBOO.
CHAP. I.
“POOR Mary!” said the little Emmeline, as she stooped to pluck a weed from a new-made grave on the remote shores of New Brunswick, in North America—and “Poor Mary!” was repeated with still more energy by Mrs. Beresford, as she stood silently contemplating the same grave, in which were interred the remains of a faithful servant, who had accompanied her from England. The busy day was succeeded by that tranquil period which gives rest to the hardy sons of Labour—patient industry had completed its daily task, and, retired within its rude-built hut, rested in supine ease.
The setting sun, still more glorious in its decline, hovered over the summit of the forest pines, and tardily withdrew its soul-inspiring beams at the approach of sober Eve, who softly shaded, as she advanced, the surrounding beauties of Nature. Celestial agents of your Maker’s will! each equally important to the children of earth—each alike emblematical of life’s closing scene. Cheerful as the welcome herald of the coming day, we enter on its morning hour, and, buoyant on the wings of Hope, run the transient course allotted—a short, but certain span—at most, a few fleeting years, and we find our sun also setting, the shades of evening closing fast upon the existence which we must resign! To this succeeds a long and fearful night, more durable than that which wraps the sleeping world; it is the night of death, the dark, and too often dreaded grave, which for a time conceals us from the eye of sorrowing friends, shields us from the calumny of harsh, unpitying enemies, veils us from the cruel shaft of satire, and, in short, consigns to oblivion our virtues and our vices.
But the night, so essential to the repose of weary nature, is transient; returning morn furls the sombre shade, and forth from the purple east the heavenly messenger hails the new-born day, nothing diminished in that glory which can end but with eternity! And just so, a day will dawn on the silent mansions of the dead, when the grave can no longer promise a refuge to the sinner; its boasted victory over the trusting Christian will have ceased, since each—awful thought!—each must enter upon that hour which precedes not a short-lived day, but an eternal, an endless age!
It was these reflections which occupied the mind of Mrs. Beresford, as she emphatically pronounced “Poor Mary!”
Not a breeze whispered among the trees which shaded Mary’s grave, not a voice broke upon the stilly silence, save that of the children speaking to each other, as they employed themselves in taking out the thistles which grew upon it; while their mother, abstracted from the busy world, and retired within herself, dwelt upon the merits and sufferings of her once affectionate and grateful servant, who had endured a long and painful illness with Christian fortitude; during which she gave birth to a lovely babe, who was never permitted to reward one pang of its suffering mother, by those infantine smiles so dear to a fond parent.
Such was Mary—but three short weeks consigned her cherub to that grave she had prophetically pointed out for herself, and returned to the bosom of its God the little being, spotless as he gave it. Nor did the mother long survive. As she had sustained her heavy affliction without a murmur, so in her last moments was she resigned and patient, expressing but one earthly wish, and it was accomplished—her dying head was supported, and her eyes closed, by the hand of that mistress whom, living, she had served with fidelity, and blessed with her expiring breath; and over the spot which, at the age of twenty-two, inclosed the fragile form of Mary and her child, that mistress now bent, totally unconscious of the heavy dews which had already collected on the high grass, till, roused from her reverie by the sound of footsteps, she took a hand of each of the children, and returned towards the little town of which she was then an inhabitant.
But, on quitting the burial-ground, their attention was arrested by the audible sobs of a boy, stretched on the damp earth. His tattered clothes too plainly bespoke him the child of poverty; the situation left little room to doubt of his being friendless: each were claims upon the humanity of Mrs. Beresford, and never was her charity more laudably exercised. Her inquiries were answered by a short and simple story, which awakened an interest in his hearers, not easily eradicated from hearts susceptible as theirs.
He was one of those unfortunate beings, brought into the world only to be stigmatized with the opprobrious epithet which at once reveals the indiscretion of the parents, to bear the keen rebuffs of a misjudging world, to suffer through life, perhaps to die unpitied and unknown. He knew no father; and the wretched mother to whom he owed his being, careless of a mother’s rights, willingly resigned to an unfeeling master the helpless offspring, for whom she was too idle to work, too proud to beg.
But this was not all: Nature had fixed on him an indelible mark; she had given him a heart, that, if known, might have ranked him with the fairest of her sons; but, alas! that heart was enshrined in an ebon casket, and shewed not, in the dark lineaments of his fine features, the workings of a generous and noble mind: chill penury had damped the genial current of his soul, and tyranny had nearly suppressed the ardour of that spirit, which now refused to justify his conduct at the expence of truth. The master, to whom he had been sold when an infant, treated as a vile slave the fellow-creature who, save in colour, was his superior—and, regardless of the consequences, he had fled from him. To kindred affection nature had closed every avenue—he had no relative, since even the mother who had abandoned him was now dead—and to the houseless child of misery, who will open the door? Again, he was black, and who believes a negro’s story?
All this, from fatal experience, Yamboo knew—yet all were light, compared to the past evils, which in succession passed through his vivid mind, till hunger pressed hard on his exhausted frame.
He had reached this solitary spot, to pass the hopeless night, when the full sobs, which betrayed his enfeebled mind, caught the attention of Mrs. Beresford. “Are you very hungry?” said her eldest daughter. “Do, mamma,” she continued, “let him return with us, that we may give him food.”
“ ’Tis two days, Missy, since Yamboo eat,” he replied, “and then poor Indian boil rice for him.”
“And why,” asked Emmeline, “did you not remain with the good Indian?”
“Him no stay on this side the water, Missy, but travel long, long way off, where Yamboo must not go with him.”
“You shall go with me,” said Mrs. Beresford, after a moment’s pause; “at least we will take care of you for the night.”
Unused to the voice of kindness, save from those of his own colour, the grateful creature could only weep his thanks, as he followed his benefactress to her hospitable roof.
It was not the novelty of a grateful pensioner beneath their roof, which actuated the children in the thousand inquiries they were so anxious to make; for many were the wanderers whom the bounty of their good mother had relieved; but Yamboo’s language was altogether new to them; and having seen him enjoy a comfortable meal, they would have wearied him with questions, only to hear him, had not Mrs. Beresford suppressed their ill-timed curiosity, by dismissing them for the night, with a gentle reproof on the impropriety of their conduct; and having done so, her next consideration was, what plan she should pursue for the future advantage of poor Yamboo. It was easy, from her ample board, to recruit his exhausted strength, and equally so to provide him, in an adjoining out-house, such a bed as he had never reposed his weary limbs upon; and to clothe him in a plain homely garb, suited to his present situation, was a matter as easily accomplished in her liberal mind: not so the task of emancipating him from the hard master he was destined to serve; yet to give him up to that master, after what she had heard, was repugnant to her generous feelings; to thrust him out again to penury and famine, an idea not to be tolerated.
Colonel Beresford was absent on public duty; she was therefore deprived of his excellent advice; but his unexpected return on the following day removed every difficulty. Mrs. Beresford reigned in the heart of her husband; her influence in his affection was unbounded; for years of mutual happiness had taught him the full value of such a partner: they had married early in life, when the gay world offered for their enjoyment her delusive scenes, fraught with transient pleasures, pleasing to the senses, but dangerous to its votaries. The colonel, then young in rank, but gay as the halcyon tide of youth could render him, entered with avidity on the busy scene, and embarked with the thoughtless many, who glide down the stream of life, unconscious of a coming storm. Not so his Emily: a correct sense of her duty as a wife suppressed even a gentle reproof, and the conduct she could not approve, she forbore to condemn. Thus far she acted up to her moral character, and thus far her conscience acquitted her, as having done right: but her views were not confined to mortal life; she had been early taught to rest her hopes on that other and better world; and to inspire him for whom she lived with those hopes, was the spring of every action; increasing affection laid him more open to her efforts; the serenity of her pure mind led him to examine more minutely the cause from which it sprung: from silently admiring the virtues he despaired of imitating, he questioned the foundation of them, listened attentively to the truths which came mended from her tongue, wondered that he had so long idly disregarded them, and at last embraced, on the surest grounds, that faith which, like a true mirror, shewed him the vain folly of past pursuits, and the endless rewards of a well-spent life.
For this he was indebted to the wife of his bosom, the mother of his children; and thus it was that, convinced of the rectitude of her heart, he could oppose no plan which she pointed out, or reject a proposition made by her.
Even such an advocate was now to plead the cause of Yamboo, strengthened by the entreaties of “Dear papa, do let Yamboo live with us!” alternately from each of the children. Merely to prove their zeal in the humane cause, the colonel appeared irresolute, asserting, that provided Yamboo’s master was inclined to part with him, which he much doubted, he might demand a larger sum for his ransom than it would be convenient for himself to pay.
“But we will help you!” replied each of them in the same breath.
“To what extent?” said the colonel, smiling at their eagerness.
“Oh! I have several pieces of money which
I brought from dear
“And I have still more than Emmeline,” added the elder.
“But, by expending all your little stock on this one object, however worthy your bounty, remember, my children,” returned their delighted father, “you deprive yourselves of the power to assist another, perhaps equally deserving, whom chance may ere to-morrow throw in your way.”
This for a moment made them thoughtful; but Yamboo was the present subject, and they endeavoured to persuade themselves it would be easy to recruit their little purses before they were again called upon; and with an assurance of being very saving in future for that purpose, again they entreated papa to purchase Yamboo.
“I must first see this black favourite,” he replied, “before I can decide what is to be done.”
But Yamboo’s countenance, when summoned, could not fail to strengthen the warm interest excited by such powerful pleaders in the colonel’s breast.—In his manner there was a marked humility, but it arose from respect to those in whose presence he stood, not the result of mean cowardice, while the large expressive eyes he fixed upon Colonel Beresford, seemed to ask, if from him also he was to expect kindness; but the half-raised hope was crushed by the tone in which, for many reasons, the colonel chose to address him.
“You have ran away from your master, I find, my lad?” was the first salutation.
Yamboo modestly bowed down his head.
“I hope,” he added, “you have been correct in your story to this lady,” pointing to Mrs. Beresford; “for I shall certainly make it my first business to investigate the truth.”
The soul which scorned a falsehood flashed in his eyes, and conveyed perhaps too much severity to the tone of his voice when he answered—“Yamboo never tell a lie!”
“I am glad of it,” replied the colonel; “but perhaps your master was obliged to be severe with you, at least you should have borne much before you left him in the manner you did.”
“Me served him faithful, masser—me often try to love him—but Yamboo’s scars will shew how much he suffer; this but one,” pointing to a wound recently healed in his forehead. “Strip him, and then masser see how hard him used.”
“But had you no friend to take your part—no pitying fellow-creature to rescue you from such cruelty?” said Colonel Beresford, while his own heart glowed with the divine emanation.
“Yamboo never know one friend!” he
replied; “no one love black man, no one pity him!”
“But suppose,” said the colonel, interrupting him, “I should be enabled to purchase you of this hard master, what would you say?”
“Say!” he returned with energy, “Yamboo have no say; but here,” laying his hand on his heart, “here him feel what he never forget!”
“But if I fail,” added his new friend, fearful of encouraging hopes which might not be realised, “how will you act? Perhaps your master will demand you at my hands; in which case, I must give you up.”
“Then Yamboo have only to bless good white people, and die!” he replied, mournfully crossing his hands on his breast, while the big tear rolled down his dusky cheeks.
Mrs. Beresford, unable longer to conceal her emotion, arose to quit the room; and Yamboo was for the present dismissed, with an assurance that every effort should be made to get him released; and, at all events, justice done him, if obliged to remain in his former service.
CHAP. II.
ON the following morning, Colonel Beresford dispatched his own servant with a letter, in which he explained the circumstance that had placed Yamboo under his immediate protection; requested to know if Mr. Reid had lost a servant answering the description given of him; and, without dwelling upon the motives of his desertion, finally concluded by asking if he was disposed to part with the boy? in which case, the bearer of his letter had full authority to treat with him upon the terms of Yamboo’s release. But though the common cause of humanity made him thus circumspect in his communication, from the probability, that, should Yamboo return, his having dared to complain might add much to the severity of his treatment with such a master, he felt justified in endeavouring to obtain every information that might satisfy him as to the boy’s rectitude, and prove how far he was worthy his future care; and, for this purpose, his messenger had orders to make every possible inquiry, as to the real character of both Reid and his negro.
But the former had no longer a character to sustain, or the latter a harsh unfeeling master to demand (which he would have done) from Colonel Beresford the hapless victim, whose tears of agony and bleeding stripes would alone have appeased his eager vengeance. The Being who knows no distinction of colour, and to whose throne alike ascend the voice of Nature from Africa’s burning soil as Zembla’s ice-bound shore—that Being, who breathed into every breast the love of freedom, and disdains the compact of blood made by man for his fellow-creature, had dissolved the base covenant—Yamboo was no longer a slave. The man who had lorded it over a few wretched creatures, too weak to oppose his tyranny, was in turn subdued, not by man, but the last and common enemy, death. A few hours illness had consigned him to the narrow space of earth, from whence there is no appeal—short warning to him whose accounts with his Creator are unclosed, when he must leave that world in which alone he could hope to make his peace. Lengthened years had but served to increase the catalogue of his vices; and while every neighbour he had left could testify proofs of his known inhumanity, not one could be found whose memory had on record a single instance of his having performed a good or worthy action; the sigh of regret consequently followed not his remains; nor could the tear of affection bedew the grave which contained a being hateful to all who knew him!
If he had relations, they were unknown in the province, where he had resided many years, and were unacknowledged by himself, as the property he possessed, which, though not considerable, far exceeded his unworthy deserts, he had, while living, bequeathed to a man who neither required nor felt gratified by the donation, and who, possessing principles diametrically opposite to his own, had of all other least reason to expect it; on the contrary, he had never concealed the contempt in which he held him, and never failed openly to reprobate his conduct, whenever palpable acts of violence or injustice gave him an opportunity of doing so. Yet in the last closing scene, when the vicious are too commonly forsaken (by the good, because unknown to them,) by their former companions in vice, when they can no longer join in the commission of sin, the worthy Leslie alone was heard to administer consolation, and soothe, by kindness and attention, the convulsive pangs of expiring nature, rendered more poignant by an accusing conscience—he only dared to speak of a God, in whose presence the half-repentant trembling sinner was shortly to appear, without a hope of pardon! for he had never solicited it, and now but faintly inquired if it was possible mercy could extend to him?
Anxious to explain the boundless attribute, and unveil the mysteries of redeeming love, Leslie was eloquent; but his zeal in the pious cause, fervent as it was, came too late; pain pressed hard on the earthly frame, and ere the unbeliever had formed his lips to prayer, the disembodied soul had taken its unknown flight.
Happy to learn Yamboo had found such an excellent friend, the good Leslie readily acceded to the colonel’s proposal of taking him into his service, and cheerfully resigned every claim to him, save the warm interest which he averred he must ever feel in the welfare of the faithful creature, whom he was convinced a succession of unmerited hardships had alone driven from his former allegiance; and having, with the warmth of sincerity, enumerated every good quality of which he knew him possessed, and strongly recommended him to the favour of his new master, by a letter, of which Colonel Beresford’s servant was the willing bearer, the latter returned to communicate a degree of pleasure to every part of the family, since Yamboo had already found a passport to the favour of every individual beneath the colonel’s roof.
Mrs. Beresford’s arose from the heartfelt
satisfaction of having rescued a fellow-creature from distress, and contributed
so much to his future comfort as she had done, in securing him the warm
interest of such a master: the colonel, on the other hand, happy to have so
easily accomplished his Emily’s wish of emancipating Yamboo, and delighted in gratifying
at the same time his deserving children, could only now attend to their
unfeigned joy, and the extravagant gestures of their grateful favourite: nor were the servants less sincere in their
congratulations on his release from slavery.
He danced, sung, kneeled to Mrs. Beresford, wept, laughed—in short, committed every absurdity of which excessive and ungoverned joy is capable, even in stronger minds than Yamboo’s; but a moment served to alter the scene, for he at once became thoughtful, trembled, and in the next instant threw himself at the colonel’s feet, where, though it was evident he strove to speak, his feelings proved too powerful for utterance. Astonished at a change so sudden, Colonel Beresford, in the kindest accents, demanded the cause.
“Him say,” replied the afflicted creature, bursting into tears as he pointed to one of the servants, “that Yamboo no longer a slave! then what him be, if masser no obliged to keep him? Perhaps get angry, bid him go away, and young misses never beg so hard again for Yamboo; lady, all, all get tired of black boy. Oh, masser!” he continued, “Yamboo no live, if he no slave; make him slave—he serve you, work for you, die for you, only say him your Yamboo, your own slave!”
“Why, my good boy,” said the colonel, “all this you can do without being a slave. I promised to take you into my service, to provide for you, and I shall certainly keep my word. You are now my servant, and while you are deserving of my favour and protection, that is, while you are honest, faithful, and diligent, you shall continue to serve me; but you are free, as every other servant I have, to leave me whenever you can do better for yourself.”
“Oh! that it be,” he returned, after listening with profound attention while his master was speaking: “You no pay money for Yamboo, and when him do wrong, you bid him go leave you; and Mr. Leslie say Yamboo still my slave, and him never see his good colonel again!” Again the tears rolled down his cheeks; nor was it till Mrs. Beresford undertook to satisfy all his doubts, by explaining the business more fully, that he could be persuaded Mr. Leslie might not demand him whenever he thought proper; and though he allowed him to be a kind, good master, who had often fed him when very hungry, still his only wish was to stay with his new friends; and liberty had no charms, since it was to render him independent of the colonel’s power. But when he more perfectly understood that his dismissal from the family to which, from the purest motives of gratitude, he was already so strongly attached, depended upon his own conduct, and found his fellow-servants were so perfectly happy, that most of them had lived many years in their service, and still hoped to live many more, the smile of cheerfulness again played over his dark features; for he believed nothing could ever induce him to offend those, whom he was far more inclined to worship as superior beings; and whole days, weeks, and months, rolled over the delighted, happy negro. His benefactors had no reason to regret the incident which had apparently added a valuable domestic to the number they already possessed.
One of those long and severe winters to which the inhabitants of New Brunswick are habituated, had succeeded the autumn which marked the pleasing change in Yamboo’s fate, and was in turn giving way to a milder season; Nature, as if weary of the chill embrace, impatiently broke from its stern form, and prepared to lead forth her embryo blossoms, so long concealed beneath dazzling snows, to scent the morning zephyr, and revel in its playful sunbeams; while the forest pines, shaking from their lofty heads the flaky vesture, resumed its many shades of native green, and gave to the delighted eye a surety of approaching summer; for so sudden are the transitions of cold and heat, that spring, sweet emblem of life’s morning hour, which in other countries advancing with sober pace, leaves so much for pleasing anticipation, is never seen to smile upon its rock-bound shore—since no sooner has the hoary monarch closed his frigid reign, than vegetation, fruits, and flowers, steal imperceptibly upon the sight, and leave the wondering mind to gaze with astonishment on the fertile scene.
The period so desirable was now fast approaching; the ice, which for six tedious months had transformed one of the most beautiful rivers known in America to a glacier substance, on whose hardened surface men and horses travelled with equal facility, divested of its power to suppress the lucid stream, snow, in mountain piles, glided over the no longer captive waves, to hide, in the vast ocean, its vanquished strength, and open to the expecting inhabitants the welcome communication with the sister kingdom.
Expectation lightened every countenance on the arrival of an English mail, since there were but few among them whom private or public concerns did not in some measure interest, as all were liege subjects of the same king, either loyalists who, at the conclusion of the American war, had retired to the province, or those employed in government service, whose residence in it, like Colonel Beresford’s, depended upon fortuitous circumstances. But, as few parts of the world are so little indebted to the historian’s pen as New Brunswick has hitherto been, whether from its remote situation, or that the country is yet too young to afford sufficient subject for travellers who delight in the marvellous, we presume not to say, there may be some who peruse this simple tale, to whom a few sketches may not be unacceptable; nor will it trespass in a great degree on those more interested for the fate of Yamboo, as the conclusion of one chapter will find him no less a favourite in the Beresford family, than where we now leave him.
CHAP. III.
THE
The latter cannot fail to excite our astonishment. We view the remains of stupendous buildings, raised by the united efforts of strength and ingenuity, and imagination is carried back to the period in which they were inhabited by those long since forgotten, save where their virtues or their vices are recorded; and for a while these reflections amuse. If the remains of an amphitheatre, once dedicated to the barbarous diversions of past ages, we rejoice that such savage customs no longer exist to render them needful. If edifices erected to more noble purposes, we are left to regret that they, like the founders, must decay.
To the
They are very partial to dress, and
usually blend the French and English fashions together; the former of which
they import from
The church, their only public building, is a neat superstructure of wood, painted white, and raised upon a stone foundation, near the centre of the town; but they have omitted two external decorations, which would add much to its appearance—there are no trees to shade the hallowed spot, or spire to raise its “taper point to heaven;” but the interior is prettily finished, and contains an excellent organ—by which, however, the congregation profit little, as the almost constant want of an organist obliges them to exert their vocal powers, unassisted by its melody.
The peninsula is defended by several small
batteries, placed around it, for the purpose of repelling the attack of an
enemy from the harbour; these are, in their
construction, too simple for any comments, but are kept in tolerable repair,
Fort Horn excepted, if that can be termed a fort, on whose site there is no
longer a vestige of its former works, save a ruinous building, occupied as
barracks, and capable of containing about two hundred men, but which have no
other claims to notice than the height on which it is situated, being upwards
of two hundred feet from the low water-mark, giving it a command of the harbour, that must have rendered it a most desirable
position for its original purpose. There is a signal-post upon the same
eminence, which communicates with a second, erected on
The harbour, though small, is an exceeding good one, and when (as it sometimes is) full of shipping, has a pretty appearance: but nothing can be more bold and romantic than its rugged coast, where, as if placed by nature as its safeguard, huge mountains of rock meet the eye in every direction, while from their shelving sides and lofty summits, towering above each other, the spruce and pine tree flourish in wild disorder.
Mrs. Beresford was delighted with the rude scenery, and in their frequent rambles through it, often seated herself on the projecting point of a cliff, from whence she could look down upon the calm waves that washed its white base; while the children’s chief amusement consisted in gathering wild strawberries and raspberries—the former of which, during the season, spring up in every part of the ground, and bushes, bending with the latter, present their luxuriant fruit on every side.
At the close of day, their favourite walk was on that part of the pebbled beach which afforded them a full view of the Falls, or Rapids: here they beheld an immense sheet of water, bounded on each side by its native rocks, one of which, in its centre, split in various directions, extending to either side of the land, in which, far above the surface of the water, there are two apertures, through one of which only a row-boat can pass, and no vessel larger than a sloop through the other, nor then but at high water, when the surface of the stream is perfectly calm; but, as the tide turns, the scene is totally changed—the so late passive waves gradually collect, and at last appear to boil with incredible fury, during which time the whole river is covered with a white foam, and the noise occasioned by the violence of the surge may be heard at a considerable distance. During these periods, nothing dare approach the spot, as inevitable destruction must be the consequence, from the various experiments which have been made, by setting boats adrift filled with empty casks; but these, long before they reach the dreadful spot, have been caught by the current, whirled round and round with irresistible force, and carried down the fearful vortex; after which the shattered wrecks have floated, to proclaim the resistance they must have encountered beneath the agitated waters: but, notwithstanding the precaution usually taken, accidents sometimes occur from boats not saving the tide.
Near this phenomenon of nature they frequently loitered, listening to the soft murmurs of the silver stream, and watching the busy fisherman, as he prepared to close his evening’s task, by hauling the full fraught net, rich with the scaly prize, which was to reward him for his day’s toil; and this it seldom failed to do, as, though the river every where abounds with the finest salmon, they are usually found in greatest plenty near the Rapids—the common price is half a dollar each, and many of them weigh from fourteen to sixteen pounds: there are also other kinds of fish, of an inferior quality, and some lobsters, but these are by no means plentiful, and are never caught at any distance from the city, though the river continues its fertile course till it reaches the grand Falls in Canada, and to which it is navigable with canoes; but the passage-boats from St. John never go higher than Frederictown, the seat of government situated upon its beautiful banks, owing to the number of small Rapids between that town and the grand Falls.
Than this river nothing can be more picturesque—cultivated lands, good farms, and verdant hedges, while they give a happy assurance of a promising colony, cannot fail to please the sight; and these form the whole scenery on either side, but leave the mind to regret that it is still but a beautiful border, as the background presents a continued line of impenetrable woods, whose darkened shades, awfully grand, serve but to soften the pleasing landscape which flourishes below, while their majestic heads, vieing with each other in stately pride, are lost in clouds that skim above them. The town of Frederictown, more resembling a beautiful English village, is built upon a fine level, and contains about one hundred and twenty houses, which are almost invariably painted white, and, for the greater part, have green Venetian shutters to every window, as the sun is intensely hot during the summer months; and this precaution not only gives a refreshing coolness to the room, but adds much to the external appearance of their houses, which are altogether in the cottage style.
The streets are mostly covered with a fine green sod; and the church, which stands nearly in the centre of the town—a very neat building—is, like the houses, white, and, like them, stands on a level green; but its appearance, as well as that at St. John, might be much improved by the addition of a few trees round it; at present, it is not even allowed a railing or fence of any description, as the burial-ground is some distance from the town: neither have they been more liberal in its interior decoration, as nothing can be more neat and simple—two plain black monuments, melancholy records of the loss the inhabitants sustained in the death of a favourite rector and his son, a very worthy young man, who were both drowned crossing the river to their own house in a canoe, with the king’s arms placed over the president’s seat, are the only ornaments it boasts.
The court-house, or province-hall, is a very handsome elevation, and, from the water, has a pretty effect; but the barracks are still more worthy the notice of strangers—they form a range of buildings, sufficiently large to contain a complete regiment of men and officers, having a very neat parade in front of them, inclosed by a railing, like the barracks, painted white, as is also the government-house, which, with the grounds attached to it, form a picture of elegant neatness.
Of the inhabitants, who have before been named, it remains only to say, they are not less attentive to strangers, or hospitable in their manner, than their neighbours in the city, and, like them, fond of company and dress, but adopt only the English fashions, to which they are uncommonly partial. Notwithstanding they are situated so far from the great world, as almost to exclude a knowledge of what is passing in it, they are equally gay; a continued round of visiting is kept up throughout the year, and many of the most valuable hours in the day passed in morning calls; but the greatest œconomy is observed in every family, which probably arises from their having in general very large ones, among whom the most perfect unanimity prevails. They are uncommonly fond of dancing, an amusement they do not confine to winter; nor are they less fond of cards, but do not (at least the ladies) play high.
Of the Indians, who originally inhabited alone the province, a very inadequate number remain, and these have degenerated into a weak, inactive race of beings, seldom exerting themselves farther than to provide just what will suffice nature, possessing no longer the warlike spirit which characterized their ancestors. They are all Catholics, and stand much in awe of their priest. Some of them talk very good English, but there are others who have no idea of the language. In general, they are too much addicted to the abominable practice of drinking rum, otherwise they certainly could avoid the extremes of poverty which mark their appearance, as they carry on a great traffic with the owners of stores, in furs and skins of various kinds. During the winter months they reside altogether in the woods, and in the summer bring their moveable habitations to the skirts of them, along the borders of the river—these are made of bark, built in a conical form, with long poles; and in these dwellings, with no other furniture than an iron pot to cook their victuals, a few rude implements to carry on their basket-work, which they can bring to great perfection, a fowling-piece to destroy the winged tenants of the forest, and a blanket which covers them at night, and usually wraps them in the day, they pass the greater part of their time.
The most industrious are very successful in hunting and fishing. The latter is only useful to them during the salmon season, but the former is a constant revenue, as the bear skin, beaver, and martin, independent of various other kinds, fetch them good prices; but they have few among them who work the bark like the Canadian Indians. Each family is provided with one or more canoes, made by the females, whom they call squaws; for no one can marry till she has made this essential article, as, from their residing always on the banks opposite to the town, they have no other mode of conveyance across the river during the summer; but in the winter, whole families travel about on a sledge, drawn over the ice by horses.
Towards the latter end of June, they journey in large parties to an island at some distance, for the purpose of manufacturing maple sugar, which is a curious process. After sunset, they bore a hole in the maple tree, and fix a tin tube into the bark, through which a glutinous kind of substance issues, and which they allow to flow the whole night, but stop it, by carefully filling up the aperture, in the morning, opening it again in the evening; and this they continue doing until they have extracted as much as the tree will afford, without injury to its future growth; and of this they make a sugar, very hard in substance, but of a pleasant flavour. It is considered as an effectual remedy for colds, coughs, and hoarseness. But there are families, independent of the Indians, who, having maple trees on their own lands, make it for common use, and prefer it in tea or coffee to any other kind.
Of the maple tree, there are two sorts growing in the province, viz. the rock and bird’s eye; the latter, when good, is uncommonly handsome, far surpassing the satin wood; but it rarely happens more than one tree out of six will prove of any value.
The black birch is also a native of
In the vegetable world they are still more favoured, having an abundance of every sort that can be named, and of excellent quality, especially potatoes.
Indian corn is brought to great perfection; they have also a grain called buckwheat, of which the inhabitants are very fond; and their oats in general are good.
Of birds there are various kinds, but none which sing beside their robin, in size resembling the English thrush; but its notes, though very sweet, are greatly inferior to the melody of that warbler. The only sort worthy observation for their plumage, are the humming-birds, which vary both in size and colour, though all are beautiful.
In their climate there is seldom a medium. During the summer months, the glass is not unfrequently at 90, often up to 100; but this excess of heat seldom lasts more than two or three days together: and nothing can be more beautiful than the fall of the year; neither can that season be called short, since the winter does not commence before December; in November the weather is in general so fine, as to produce what is called the Indian summer; this lasts near three weeks, and is extremely pleasant: but the inhabitants can hardly be said to feel the real enjoyment of summer, as the constant dread they express of the severe winter, which they know must follow, mars every pleasure they ought to derive from the transient season; and were it not for the beautiful sun which constantly enlivens the atmosphere, and by its inspiring beams compensates for a thousand privations, they might indeed justly dread the long period which, by encompassing them with walls of snow and ice, excludes them from the whole world.
During these inclement seasons, and nothing can be more severe, even milk is carried to table in cakes, bound impenetrable as their rocks; in short, as in Canada, scarce any thing of a solid nature will yield to less than the saw or hatchet; and of liquids, few are to be seen in their fluid state, hot water excepted. Still the inhabitants have many pleasures, many comforts; their houses are provided with stoves suited to their climate, which diffuse a regular and pleasant warmth through them; they have abundance of fuel, and that attainable even by the indigent tenant of the mud-raised hut, who is also, from the moderate price of provisions in general, enabled to avoid the dreadful extremes of hunger and cold, so piercing to the houseless child of penury, even in milder climates.
They are seldom confined by weather, when inclination prompts them to leave home, as every family is provided with a cabriole, or sleigh, like their Canadian neighbours; and, like them, dressed in furs, they travel equally on the land or river, frequently making excursions for pleasure on the latter even as far as St. John’s a distance of ninety miles; and their winter machines, or rather the horses, are decorated with many bells; the different sounds of each add cheerfulness to the novelty, for such this singular mode of conveyance, with its amazing velocity, cannot fail to appear to those strangers who have only travelled southern climes.
CHAP. IV.
IN this secluded little spot (Frederictown), Colonel Beresford’s family had passed three fleeting years; but knowing the many and various changes to which a military life is destined, he expressed, nay felt, no surprise, when the letter which contained his order to return was, among many others from England, delivered to him.
Blest in the society of parents so devoted
to their happiness, the children knew no difference of place: with Mrs.
Beresford it was far otherwise; she knew the ardent disposition of her husband
led him to prefer a station where he was liable to actual service, and knew
that on which he then was had, on his promotion to a colonelcy, been given to
him but as a preparatory step to such a one: to her, their present residence
was no otherwise endeared, than as it promised the society of her husband
during their stay in it; nor was it without regret she saw the period of
felicity thus long enjoyed about to fade from her view. Already her active
imagination had passed the vast
War still raged—still demanded husbands, fathers, brothers, sons; and already she saw the dreadful mandate which exposed him to its horrific scenes; thither in imagination also she followed him, and, as a wife, gloried in his dauntless bravery, shared—proudly shared the triumphs of his victory; but, as a mother, she looked on her lovely girls, and trembled. Yet from these beloved pledges every maternal anxiety was carefully concealed. To strengthen their minds for the trials which more or less might await them in their journey through life, was with her an essential point; and well knowing how much more is effected by practice than theory, she never allowed her own fortitude to give way in their presence; and was still more circumspect in betraying the least symptom of that weakness which, as being natural to the sex, is considered warrantable, before her husband. The smile which ever greeted his approach continued to animate her countenance through every hour passed in his society; and whatever her own apprehension that those hours of enjoyment, so highly and justly prized by herself, might be circumscribed in future by their removal from Frederictown, no external shade of anxiety betrayed to his tenderly inquiring eye the internal struggles of her resolute mind, as she made the necessary preparations for their departure.
“And where
“Surely, Yamboo,” she replied; “ ’tis my native land; I have many valuable friends there, whom I shall hope to see on my arrival.”
“Then Yamboo very, very glad he return; now him sure he never leave his colonel, because him no send poor blacky in ship all the way back to Brunswick, and all him servants say he never go there himself again.”
“But you will be sick at sea, Yamboo,” said Emmeline; “for almost every body is who have never been in a ship.”
“And will you be sick too?” inquired the faithful creature, looking at her with emotion.
“Yes, very sick,” she replied.
“Then Yamboo forget him sick to nurse Miss Emmeline!” he said; “and he bid Lion dance, kneel down, play many tricks, to make her laugh!”
This was a Newfoundland dog, in whose tuition Yamboo had taken great pains; and so great was Lion’s proficiency, that few of his species could achieve greater feats of agility, or more punctually fulfil the commands of those who ordered him to fetch or carry whatever article they might put down for that purpose.
Emmeline smiled her thanks for his promised attention, and left him to accompany her mother in making their round of farewell visits; for as an immediate opportunity offered for their returning to England in a vessel then fitting out at St. John’s, the colonel lost no time in securing passages for himself and family, who shortly afterwards embarked once more upon that world of waters, whose then propitious waves had before wafted them to the hospitable shores they were now quitting for ever.
The children, as Emmeline prophesied, felt the usual inconvenience of being on ship-board; but a very few days restored them to perfect health, and enabled them to accompany their good father on deck, where great part of their time was spent, to the no small joy of Yamboo, who was spared the punishment of a sea-sickness, and who devoted every moment of his time to the amusement of his young ladies, to which Lion contributed no inconsiderable share.
Mrs. Beresford remained a close prisoner in her cabin, as not even her persevering resolution could surmount the difficulty to which every succeeding voyage, and that the whole of it, saw her subject.
Notwithstanding the favourable weather, which promised an auspicious and speedy passage, their little bark glided over the trackless ocean as if in full security of reaching its destined port, and, as she spread her white bosom to the propitious gale, nothing could be more beautiful; to Yamboo the ship was a new world; and, while he delighted every sailor on board by his odd remarks and facetious humour, he was in turn no less pleased himself with their rough jokes, and great agility in the performance of their nautical duties.
The beauty of a cloudless moon, whose beams, in wanton dalliance, sported upon each mountain wave, as they dashed against the vessel’s side, had detained Colonel Beresford on deck one evening, in the third week of their voyage, long after the children had retired to their beds; feeling disposed to enjoy his own reflections unmolested, and which the scene he then contemplated favoured, he dismissed his servants for the night, and continued to pace the quarter-deck, almost unconscious of his own motion. The night-watch was set, and only those of the ship’s crew who composed it remained on deck, all of whom, save the man at the helm, were lolling, in listless ease, over the bows, or reclining in different parts of the forecastle, when the helm-man called his attention to the moon’s halo aspect, no less sudden than unexpected, and which he averred foreboded an approaching storm. The colonel’s unquestionable bravery had ever seen him dauntless in the field of battle, and, as a soldier, fear was a stranger to his soul; but the danger which threatened his wife and children, and which he had no power to ward, roused all the feelings of a father, as he gazed wistfully on the fatal omen, which increased with incredible rapidity. The seamen, too well versed to mistake the warning, lost no time in collecting their slumbering messmates, who in the next moment assembled upon the deck, but to confirm the dreadful prognostic, from which there was no appeal; while Colonel Beresford hastened below, to prepare his little family, who slept unconscious of the threatened danger. He had lingered above till hope no longer left him a pretext for doing so—when not a dissenting voice dared to whisper it might pass over; and he now remained by his beloved Emily, equally unwilling to disturb the sweet sleep which wrapped the peaceful mind in security. His dear girls also slept, and from their guileless slumbers it was his task to awaken them, only to witness a scene of horror, to which even the present confusion on deck was but a mournful prelude. The vessel’s course lay due east, and directly to that point the wind, hitherto so favourable for their voyage, had veered, increasing to a height which verified their worst fears. The boatswain’s commands for all hands aloft to reef maintop-sails was unavailing; for in one instant every sail then set was torn in pieces; and the dreadful crash caused by the canvas thus shivered, mingled with the awful roaring of the agitated waters, could not fail to murder sleep.
Mrs. Beresford started from her pillow in breathless astonishment; at that instant pressing her trembling hand in his, the colonel said—“Emily, I know your resolution, but we must prepare the children.”
“Is there then no hope?” she replied, conceiving at once the cause of all she heard.
“Yes, much, my love,” he tenderly answered, concealing his own emotions; “but it will need all their strength of mind to combat such terrors.”
Matilda’s scream at that moment caught their ears; and before the anxious father could cross the cabin, he found himself encircled not only by his children, but their faithful servants, who, believing all was over, in frantic eagerness sought their master and mistress, determined at least to die with them, and who now vainly called upon the former for that protection he needed no less than themselves.
Yamboo’s voice had been clearly distinguished among the group, when they first entered—not like the rest, in fruitless lamentation, but entreating by turns his good lady, his kind Misses Emmeline and Matilda, not to be afraid; but each were too much absorbed by their own terrors, too much distressed, to hear the voice of consolation, even from lips more eloquent than those of the untaught Yamboo. Nor were they sensible that he no longer remained with the wretched party, who had all seated themselves on the cabin floor, in fearful expectation of the fate which awaited them.
The shock Mrs. Beresford received on first opening her eyes had for some minutes annihilated the powers of recollection; but she was no sooner sensible of her husband’s presence, and clasped her agitated children to her maternal arms, than her fortitude returned. Despair would have taught her that all was lost, but that her pious soul cherished a fairer guest, who had not illumined her breast through life to forsake her at that moment, when only its divine power could support the Christian; and she became sufficiently collected to join Colonel Beresford in persuading their fellow-sufferers, that the time they were spending in excessive grief might be more essentially devoted to prayer.
He was anxious to reascend the deck for information, which he even ventured to hope might also afford them comfort; but their affecting entreaties that he would not forsake them at such a moment, obliged him to relinquish the design, and the painful suspense still continued; for every one above was much too deeply engaged to remember the distressed family, till the carpenter entered the cabin, accompanied by two of the sailors, for the purpose of putting on the dead-lights; this was productive of fresh alarm, for it bespoke increasing danger; nor did they lose a word of the mournful intelligence, given in answer to the colonel’s inquiry as to the weather.
“It can hardly be worse, your honour,” said one of the men; “and if it lasts much longer as it is, the vessel can never outlive the storm; for every thing has been thrown overboard to lighten her, and the rigging is almost all destroyed.”
The candle, which one of them held, threw its dim rays around him; and the colonel now, for the first time, observing the absence of Yamboo, anxiously inquired for him of the seamen; one of them answered, they had left him very busy above; that the captain had in vain persuaded him to go below, from a fear of his being hurt, if not washed overboard in the confusion; but he persisted in saying, “he stay to help work.”
“And indeed,” added another of the men, “it seems as if he thought your honour’s safety depended on him alone, for he is here, there, and every where in an instant.”
The colonel faintly smiled at this account; and the sailors having completed their work, returned to the deck, leaving the solitary inhabitants of the cabin to listen in silent anguish to the howling winds, whose fury evidently increased, while the heavy seas they every moment shipped threatened little short of instant destruction.
Yamboo was, as had been reported, actively employed, for the emergency of the moment allowed no one on deck to remain an idle spectator of the perilous storm. During the only short interval in which the captain of the vessel had time to notice any thing not more immediately connected with the duties of his ship, he had observed Yamboo standing sorrowfully near the binnacle, and knowing how great a favourite he was of the family whom he served, as well as from an impulse of humanity, entreated him to go below, adding, “You will only be in our way, my good boy; and we must have nothing useless on deck.”
“Make Yamboo useful then, captain,” he replied with eagerness; “he do any thing him bid, work very hard, so him not see the young ladies cry.”
At that moment hands were ordered to the pump, as it was discovered she had sprung a leak, and Yamboo no longer wanted employment.
On this scene of increasing horrors morning at length dawned, but it only served to make their hopeless situation more visible, when the wind again on a sudden shifted, and the helm-man assured the captain the vessel would certainly lay to her right course in a few minutes; nor was he disappointed—her motion became less violent; and this alteration, though the gale still continued strong, left them much to hope.
Yamboo had been relieved at the pumps, and, anxious to catch even the sound of information, for which alone he lingered near the captain, was standing upon the companion steps, when his eager ears caught the joyful exclamation, and the next moment saw him with breathless haste at Mrs. Beresford’s feet—“Live! live! lady,” he cried, clasping his hands with energy; “Miss Emmeline, my colonel, all, all live! the ship goes right, the wind sink, and then they stop the leak!”
The last dreadful word sunk deep in the colonel’s mind, for till then he knew not the extent of their danger. Great as were his apprehensions for their safety, Mrs. Beresford faintly articulated, “Then we have no longer any thing to hope;” and the children, regardless of Yamboo’s offered consolation, again wept in agony.
Astonished that he had failed to impart the comfort he expected to give, he was attempting fresh assurances of the storm’s abating, when a violent surge forced its way over the quarter-deck, and rushed with such violence into the cabin, as nearly to wash them out of it. Yamboo, more than ever dismayed by this unexpected check to his new-formed hopes, stood speechless; while the colonel, unable longer to endure the tortures of suspense as to the real state of the ship, once more entreated his afflicted companions to allow him only a moment to ascertain, if possible, the general opinion of their present situation, promising to return the instant he had done so.
Their harassed spirits and exhausted frames had by this time rendered them indifferent almost to life itself, and they no longer resisted his wish of leaving them to seek the captain, whose presence among his men contributed much to their exertion; and ordering Yamboo to remain with his family, he ascended the deck, which presented a scene equally distressing with that he had left, though of a different nature—the shattered canvas hung in fragments upon the destroyed rigging, which was become altogether useless, and not a vestige remained upon the deck which the fatal waves had power to sweep from it; the quarter boarding had already been carried away, and the creaking masts almost promised to become the next victims of the storm’s relentless fury: still the captain averred he was not without hope, since the wind, though still raging, was in their favour; but the heavy clouds which gathered over their affrighted heads foretold the torrents of rain, which now poured upon the weary mariners, who became no less the sport of hope and fear, than they had for many hours been that of the tempest. They succeeded in stopping the leak, which, upon examination, proved trivial; the vessel also lay her due course, neither of which at one time they had dared to expect: but the pleasing hope which began to warm their chill bosoms was in one instant crushed, by the altered aspect of the storm; the rain continued to descend, accompanied by loud peals of thunder, which appalled every sense; sheets of lightning crested the angry billows, as they wafted its blue flames in every direction around the distressed ship.
Again the disconsolate father returned to his family, hopeless as he left them; and again the disappointed Yamboo, unable to endure their lamentations, sought the deck, from whence, in the next moment, issued a shriek of horror, that no sooner reached the hapless Beresfords, than every idea of their wretchedness or danger was lost in total insensibility. The colonel and his valet alone retained the faculty of speech or thought; and the former believing, from the dreadful crash which accompanied the shriek, that the vessel must have struck upon a rock, almost rejoiced that his ill-fated companions were no longer sensible of the misery which had now reached its climax; and, while his vacant eyes rested upon them in paternal anguish, his parched lips implored the mercy of his God!
CHAP. V.
NEARLY two hours had elapsed, when Mrs. Beresford opened her eyes, to behold the glory of that sun on which it was believed she had closed them for ever; faint recollections of a fearful dream floated on her yet disordered imagination; and scarcely daring to hear the answer, she inquired, in faltering terms, for Colonel Beresford? He was kneeling by her, and raising her cold hand to his lips, pronounced her name. “My children,” she next still more faintly articulated; the lovely Emmeline smiled upon her; while the delighted Matilda in turn presented herself, and pressed her lips to the pale ones of her mother, who made an effort to rise; but a giddiness seized her head, and she fell back upon her pillow; when a voice, of which she had no recollection, declared her recovery even now depended wholly upon her being kept very quiet, and prohibited every one speaking till she had taken some rest; at the same time assuring the colonel, the giddiness of which she complained proceeded entirely from loss of blood, and would be no otherwise attended with danger than as she might be disturbed.
Unconscious what it all meant, yet hearing her recovery depended upon rest, she endeavoured to compose herself, and at the same time collect her scattered thoughts, which, with returning reason, brought a perfect recollection of the dreadful storm; the fatal words, all is over! accompanied by the fearful scream, still vibrated on her ears; and it occurred to her, that having caught her children to her breast, the vessel had certainly gone down: yet now she had pressed her husband’s hand, had seen her children, all were in perfect safety, and she alone appeared to have suffered any thing. She would then have inquired the cause of that blood which she observed on the bedclothes, but a profound silence reigned in the cabin, where she discovered she still was, notwithstanding the change of scene. All was dark when she had closed her eyes to misery, now a beautiful morning illumined it, whose light was even too powerful for her weakened sight.
Emmeline stole softly to the door, to inform Yamboo, who stood centinel at it, that her dear mamma had spoken, and entreated him to keep every body from the cabin, as the least noise would now distress her. Tears of gratitude dimmed his eyes, and not daring to trust the sound of his own voice, lest it might disturb his benefactress, he made a thousand dumb signs, to shew how joyfully he should obey her orders.
A gentle slumber, the result of that fatigue she had endured, and the medicine administered, in a very short time enabled Mrs. Beresford to learn from her happy husband, as he fondly hung over her pillow, the elucidation of what even yet appeared to her a magic scene. The dreadful shriek, which had annihilated every faculty, was occasioned by the mainmast going overboard. A flash of lightning, which only shewed them more plainly the gaping waves, ready to swallow the already half-destroyed vessel, had struck its centre in the same moment, hurling it into the raging ocean, and with it a seaman, whom no efforts of his wretched messmates had power to save. From that instant, despair seized the whole crew, who became so panic-struck, that an almost instant change of weather, and which they had so long looked for, and anxiously implored, was now lost upon them; nor was it till Yamboo remarked the alteration, that they became sensible of it, and once more turned their thoughts to the course they were steering. The wind gradually died away in murmurs, the awful thunder no longer rolled over their defenceless heads, and the dreadful lightning gave place to the enlivening rays of the morning sun; while the faithless waves, having spent their fury, glided smoothly on. Losing with the danger their sense of it, the crew, animated to fresh exertion, employed every thought for the means of their further preservation, by adopting the most effective measures to render the shattered bark capable of completing her voyage; while the captain hastened below to visit his passengers, trusting the extreme danger, which had obliged him to remain with his men, would acquit him of intentional neglect in the liberal mind of Colonel Beresford: but though conscious they must have suffered every thing which terror could inflict during such a night as they had passed, he was by no means prepared for the scene which awaited his entrance; he had taken a sailor with him to remove the dead-lights; but the doing so presented a mournful spectacle—stretched on the floor, without any symptom of life, lay Mrs. Beresford, with her head rested on the colonel’s arm, as he sat in mute despair. On either side, the servants holding in their arms the children, just recovering from the swoon, which promised to be more fatal to the mother; while Yamboo wrung his hands in unutterable agony.
The captain, who had some skill in surgery, and was provided with excellent medicine, turned all his attention to Mrs. Beresford’s recovery, after assuring the yet affrighted children, and their anxious father, they had no longer any thing to apprehend from the late storm; adding, that it was most probable a very few days would bring them into the British Channel. Restoratives of various kinds were for some time unsuccessfully applied, and, on raising her for the purpose of conveying her to the bed, a quantity of blood was discovered to have issued from a wound received on the back of her head; this was examined, and proved to have been effected by the corner of a trunk clamped with iron, against which her head had struck when she first fainted; but although the moving her caused it to flow afresh, the captain ventured to promise, rest and proper applications would restore her in a short time, as her lengthened insensibility was the result of extreme fatigue, both of body and mind, aided by the loss of blood, which had been considerable.
Somewhat cheered by these assurances, and no longer oppressed by the late dreadful presages of impending fate, they were anxiously anticipating the promised restoration, when she first opened her languid eyes, and faintly pronounced the colonel’s name.
Upon examining the ship’s log-book, they were found to be long. 22º 4’, lat. 48º 52’, which, by the captain’s reckoning, might, with tolerable winds, enable them to run down their course in five days. The next step was to erect a jury-mast, in lieu of that which they had lost, and by partially repairing the shattered rigging, carry all possible sail. This done, hope became once more buoyant.
Mrs. Beresford daily recovered, hourly
regained strength; and the children were again permitted to taste the
refreshing sea-breeze on deck, and gladden the heart of Yamboo by their usual
notice of poor Lion, who had, though nobody could tell how, escaped the storm,
when a sailor at the mast-head vociferated land; with the swiftness of an
arrow, Yamboo flew to communicate the joyful intelligence to his lady; and
nothing but lively expectation was seen in every countenance, on which but so
lately only horror was depicted. Every eye was strained to catch the first
glimpse of the desired blessing; and when it teemed on their eager sight,
language could ill supply words expressive of their feelings; for only those
who have seen their own, their native land recede from the aching view, till
even imagination could be no longer deceived, whom a perilous storm, with its
accompanying horrors, has left hopeless of a return to that land, can feel,
much less express their feelings, upon beholding, even at a distance, the spot
sacred to remembrance, so long, so fondly desired. Favouring
winds still befriended them, and two days from that period saw their shattered
vessel safe in the welcome port, and the weary passengers provided with
comfortable lodgings at
Yamboo’s astonishment at every thing he encountered on the journey, could only be surpassed by the wonders which awaited him in the great metropolis; his bewildered imagination, unable to account for half he saw, obliged him every moment to apply to some one near him for the information he was so desirous of obtaining; and the questions he asked, together with the singular constructions he put upon sedan chairs, stage-coaches, &c. afforded no small diversion to those around him, particularly his young ladies, who were seldom so much amused as when Yamboo had a new history to give them of something which had struck his wondering mind.
But Mrs. Beresford, who still felt all the lassitude of her late indisposition, rejoiced when the colonel, having obtained six months leave of absence, engaged a very comfortable residence for them a few miles from town, to which they shortly after removed, to enjoy that uninterrupted felicity, known only to the happy few, whose every wish centered in their own little circle, who seek not, in a round of fashionable acquaintance, those resources they find in each other. Such were the Beresfords: the colonel had always devoted every moment he could spare from professional duties to the tuition of his lovely girls—a task the partial mother divided with him; but this pleasing employment, though constituting one of their chief pleasures, because they conceived it an essential part of their duty also, did not render them unmindful of what they owed to society, or regardless of its pleasures; hence their house was ever open to the friendly guest, whom they considered a desirable acquisition to their cheerful fire-side, in whatever part of the world destiny placed them: nor were there wanting in their new residence many families ambitious of their acquaintance, or unworthy the attention paid by them in return for civilities received.
But how rapid is the progress of time,
when we anticipate the period which must effect a change of scene! Mrs.
Beresford saw with reluctance the approach of that, which would too probably
destine her to a separation from her husband. The first battalion of the
regiment to which he then belonged had been some time in the
But from these reflections her mind was for a time diverted, by the sudden, and, as it was believed, fatal indisposition of Yamboo. He had accompanied one of his fellow-servants, for the purpose of seeing him bathe; but having himself an aversion to the amusement, he beguiled the time with dispatching his favourite Lion (at all times his constant attendant) on various errands for stones and sticks, which he continued to throw at a distance for that purpose, when the voice of his companion calling for help startled him; his eager eyes followed the sound, but the uplifted hands alone marked the fatal spot, when the water closed over them, though only a few paces from the shore. Self-preservation ever appeared with Yamboo of the least consequence, nor did he attempt to look around him for that assistance he believed his own arm able to afford, while, regardless of the result, he plunged into the water, just as the unfortunate lad rose to its surface, and having, in his agony, grasped his throat, again sunk with him, when both must decidedly have found that grave from which the waves had once spared them, but for the vigilance of Lion, who having playfully followed his master, now, as if sensible of his danger, caught his clothes, nor relinquished his faithful hold him till he had dragged them to the shore, where, senseless and clasped in each others’ arms, they lay till his incessant barking attracted the notice of some porters in a neighbouring warehouse. Yamboo was quickly recovered; but to the persevering assiduity of the humane strangers was Edward indebted for a life which long appeared doubtful.
Both were at length conveyed to Colonel Beresford’s house, where Yamboo’s attention to his yet feeble friend, and delight at seeing him so far recovered, rendered him altogether unmindful of the hours he had remained in his wet clothes, till the colonel, having learned the accident from a gentleman’s servant, with whose master himself and family had that day dined, hastened home, to learn the particulars of an account which, with many aggravations of danger, had been related to him (happily unheard by Mrs. Beresford), where he had the satisfaction of finding Edward and Yamboo in high spirits; but having accidentally lain his hand on the latter’s shoulder, he perceived his clothes were unchanged; and severely reproving each of his servants for their inattention to a matter so important, ordered him instantly into a warm bed; but the kind intention was frustrated.
Mrs. Beresford was informed, on her return, that cold shiverings had
seized his frame, into which every method tried to infuse a degree of warmth
had failed. In a few hours a fever, no less violent, and which the medical men
anticipated, shewed its first symptoms, baffling
every effort to subdue its fatal power; nor was it till the awful moment in
which the surgeon averred his recovery admitted not a hope, that one individual
beneath the colonel’s roof could ascertain the faithful Yamboo’s claim upon
their affection; though all had loved and respected his many virtues in the
hour of health, now every countenance pourtrayed, by
its marked dejection, how well they loved him; and many were the fervent
prayers breathed for his restoration. As the fever, though it evidently
threatened a fatal issue to its victim, was not of a malignant nature, Mrs.
Beresford would not be deterred from watching every turn of its progress. In
his
During those periods, he would fix his expressive eyes, rendered more bright by the consuming fever, upon her pitying countenance, as if from her benign features alone he derived an alleviation of his sufferings. Once he said, with a heavy sigh—“Lady, Yamboo die! but he have not live long enough.”
“I should be happy,” she replied, “very happy, Yamboo, to see you recover, nor do I yet despair of doing so; but, if it must not be, we dare not repine, for there is an appointed time for us all, and to that we must submit.”
“Yamboo not mean that he returned, him only grieve to die before him good colonel, before you lady know how much him love you both; had him live good many years, till him old, very old man, then you know him heart, and tell much people Yamboo live so many years, love us, serve us, all that time; now him old, and no able to work, we keep, love him—Ah, how happy! Then Yamboo bless you all, and die; now him must die, and soon every body forget poor black boy.”
“Never, my good little fellow,” said his kind mistress; “it is only bad people whom we wish to forget, and your gratitude will be long remembered, even should we lose you: but talking will fatigue you too much, and it is my request, therefore, that you remain perfectly quiet till my return, which I will do very shortly.”
Even her wishes were commands, and his parched tongue essayed not to utter another word, till reason was again lost in a wild delirium, which for many hours rendered him unconscious of her soothing presence, till at the expiration of a period, in which the surgeon asserted his fate must be finally determined by the state in which he awoke, for a sleep more resembling that of death than nature’s sweet restorative, had absorbed every faculty.
He raised his eyes to her face as she sat anxiously watching the promised crisis—heavy perspirations hung on his full brows, and chased each other from his face; for a moment she gazed upon him, and believing them the awful insignia of approaching dissolution, ventured to try how far he was sensible, by tremulously pronouncing his name; he smiled faintly, and entreated drink: elated by new hopes, she administered the desired nourishment, and a short time sufficed to prove there was a change, and that of a favourable nature; this was followed by others equally essential to his recovery; and a few days left no other trace of his severe indisposition than extreme weakness, the result of that struggle nature had sustained in so violent an attack.
Happy to have seen the completion of her warmest wishes in the restoration of this her deserving favourite, she next meditated a still more important task, that of impressing upon his hitherto untaught mind the sacred truths which illumined her own. From an infant, he had witnessed every enormity of which drunkenness is capable, in the wretch he called master—had been accustomed to hear only blasphemy issue from lips that knew not how to pray; of religion, therefore, he could have no idea; neither could he love or fear a God, of whom he had never heard, or whose name, when it did escape the unhallowed lips that dared profane it, was but the accompaniment of an oath, made more horrible by the union. Yet the heart thus cast off by every natural tie, bereft of every incitement to virtue, reared, educated but in vice, was incapable of performing a base or unworthy action, detested a falsehood, uttered no expression offensive to the chastest ear, was grateful, feeling, and humane; with such a talent, could he fail to become a profitable servant to his heavenly Master?
Various circumstances had hitherto prevented the commencement of Mrs. Beresford’s projected work. Their stay in Frederictown after he became one of her family, had not allowed her a sufficient knowledge of his character, though she saw it from the first in a favourable point of view; their subsequent voyage allowed no opportunity; and their short residence in England had not yet enabled her to pursue the laudable intention, when his almost miraculous recovery left a fair opening for it. She was still his chief nurse—still administered his medicine, because the surgeon had said much yet depended on their being punctually given—and still spent much of her time in the chamber he was not yet allowed to leave.
“Well, Yamboo,” she said one morning, while sitting by him, “now you have a chance of fulfilling your wish of living longer with us, than a few days since you had reason to expect, and are doubtless very grateful for the blessing of returning health.”
“Yes, lady,” he replied, “Yamboo not able to say how grateful.”
“You see,” she returned, “how much God can do for us.”
“God!” he exclaimed with apparent surprise; “he no nurse Yamboo; only him mistress and the good doctor save him life.”
From this it appeared plain, that all his short intervals of reason, during his indisposition, had allowed her to say, or him to listen to, the potent delirium had erased, and, without reverting to what had then passed, she said kindly—“But the doctor’s advice, or my care, Yamboo, could not have given you health, if that God of whom I speak had not thought fit to spare your life; we prayed for you, and he answered our prayer.”
“Prayer!” he repeated, putting his hand to his forehead, “how people pray? fall on their knees, and put hands so?” clasping his eagerly in each other.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Oh then, Yamboo know,” he returned interrupting her, “when the great waters rise at sea, and blue fire cut down the mast, all the sailors fall down, hide their faces, and say, ‘God! great God, save us!’ and the storm soon go. That same God save Yamboo?”
“The same.”
“Why they not call their God sooner, lady?” he inquired. “Yamboo not know such a God, or him pray too when him so ill.”
“But you can now bless him for his great goodness, and promise to serve him evermore,” said Mrs. Beresford.
“Yes,” he returned, almost unconscious of what he said; for a new idea had forcibly struck his mind, but, unable to comprehend it, he at last said—“If God save ships at sea, give Yamboo life, then him do every thing good?”
“He can only do what is good,” was her answer; “he is in himself all goodness.”
“Why then wicked men say his name so often?” he inquired eagerly. “The colonel not call God, Miss Emmeline, Matilda, no one in this house talk about God, and Mr. Reid always say him name when drunk, when him swear, when him beat Yamboo most, and sailors no swear but God’s name; perhaps there two gods then: which him lady pray to, him Yamboo serve always.”
“Listen then, my good boy,” she said, with a benevolent smile, “while I explain the nature of that Supreme Being whom I serve, and tell you how wicked men profane his holy name when they swear; if you had done so, you could never have remained with the colonel, for no blasphemer is suffered to reside under his roof: but you have a good heart, and I will tell you how to be happy.”
As if determined to understand all he was about to hear, his eager eyes were fixed in grateful attention upon Mrs. Beresford; nor did he interrupt her by one question, while in terms suited to his hitherto uninformed mind, she explained the leading traits of those gospel truths, so necessary to the salvation promised the believer, be his colour what it may. Aware of their importance to herself, she carefully cherished, but never made them subjects of conversation, nor gave the world an opportunity of censuring what they would have termed her fastidious notions; her religious opinions were never obtruded upon slight acquaintance, and it was only her more particular friends who, beside her family, could form any judgment of her principles, save from her moral conduct. Yamboo was now one of that family, and she considered herself in part responsible for his future happiness or misery.
With such valuable qualifications as he possessed, to render him worthy the character, he wanted only an explanation of the duties incumbent on the Christian, to become a zealous candidate for the eternal prize; and no sooner heard, than his flexible mind willingly received all that his limited capacity allowed him to comprehend; the veil of ignorance, which had hitherto obscured it, was cautiously withdrawn by his benevolent friend, who, with returning health, saw the promised harvest of her pious wishes, in his anxious researches after those truths, of which she had fully taught him the inestimable value: but, in so doing, she taught him also carefully to avoid those violent extremes, which too often, in illiterate minds, amount to absurdities, by the external professions they deem laudable convictions of their conversion to Christianity; hence Yamboo was the humble trusting believer, silently adoring that Power, whose gracious works he now delighted to trace in all around him, and to whom in secret the grateful effervescence of his pious heart was daily offered for the happiness of his benefactors.
But even theirs was not always to be uninterrupted; few indeed had been the thorns mingled with those roses which had hitherto strewed their path through life—and fewer still the shades which had ever threatened even a temporary suspension of the bright sun, that rose and set alike upon their felicity.
By anticipating the too probable event of
the colonel’s joining his regiment, Mrs. Beresford wished to believe herself
prepared for it; but the reality, by proving it otherwise, demanded an exertion
of fortitude worthy even herself. The orders were at
length received, which destined him, as was expected, to embark with the second
battalion for the