CHAPTER LXXVII. AT HADDON'S FERRY.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 248, 21 March 1888, Page 8

CHAPTER LXXVII. AT HADDON'S FERRY.

Wo leave Our homo in youth, no matter to what end — Study, or sti ire. or pleasure, or what not : And earning luuk. in a few short years sve flncl All as wo l«»lt itout-side ; iho old trees, The hoiKO, thti j^ra^s. the f;aU\*, the latehets BoK-samo eUe!c W f e lift the latehot— Baii.cy. Mrvwwir.r. Gertrudo drove back to tho hotel, almost reconciled to her temporary disappointment in missing (Colonel Fitzgerald at tho Imrrackb, and to tho slioit delay that would give her the much more .satisfactory meeting with him in the prhacy of their own beautiful home at Summit Manor. She know now tVuib he was living, and that he was -well, and she felt perfectly ecu re iti her faith that she should certainly find him at the Summit. " It would bo se much sweeter to meet him there tliri anywhere else, and I know that 1 can get there by this hour to-morrow morning — in twenty-four heirs or less," she mm mured to herself. Poor dull! She was happily unconscious that tho mission of Gerald Fitzgerald down into Wilde county was to marry his C'jusin Gerddine ; that their wedding was fixed to take place on that very same morning to which she was looking forward u ifch so much eager delight in the anticipation of meeting her beloved husband at last, atVr so long a separation and so many cruel disappointments. When she reached the Bald Eagle Inn, she alighted from the carriage and went into tho parlour, wheie she found the elderly couple, with their sons and daughters, who had been her fellowtra\elleis from Black wile, seated in their travelling clre^es, and evidently, from theirconvcrsation, waiting most impatiently for the arrival of their family coach, which was to meet them here and take thorn home. Gertrude bowed courteously to this party as she entered, and then without seating herself, she went and rang the bell. A coloured waiter promptly answered the summons. " How far is it from this place to Wildoville, do you know ?" £>he inquired. ' Well, from thirty to thirty-five miles, Miss ; tome say one andsomesay t'other,'' replied the man, in a hesitating and uncertain manner. <! Is there any public conveyance thither ?" " Well, no, Miss, not without 3'ou went a very roundabout way ; indeed, Miss, going all the way back to Blackville, which is about double the distance, Miss, being about seventy mile<* off, and taking the Washington and West Virginia coach from that {/Dint, and then going thirty miles farther to Wildeville," explained the man. "Oh, that would not do at all," exclaimed Gertrude, " to travel one hundred miles to reach a place that is only thirty miles distant ! Besides, I only came from Blackville this morning. Oh !if I had only known that Colonel Fitzgerald had left Wendover, I could have gone on from Blackville last night, and I should by this time have reached the Summit, and met my husband !" she added, mentally. " Well, Miss, there ain't no other public conveyance," paid the waiter, answering j her first objections " Can I procure a private conveyance to take me to Wildeville to-day, then?" bhe anxiously inquired. " I don't know, Miss but I can see." " Do so, if you please." The waiter left tho room to perform his errand. His exit was soon followed by the entrance of the landlord, a big behemoth of a man, with fair hair, florid complexion, and beaming blue e\cs, otherwise, a regular specimen of the old-fashioned country host. "You were wanting a conveyance to, Wildeville, joung lady?' he blandly inquired. '• Ye 3, if you please," answered Gertrude gently. "Almost anything would do. I oame'in the Blackville coach this morninj?, and expected to &cc a friend here whom I have f uled to meet. I must, therefore, go on to Wildo county at once. Can I have a conveyance " Well, yes, Miss ; you can have the carriage you had this morning. It is not a vciy nice one, but it is the best we've got. The hoi»e isn't ta=t, but he is strong, and good for a long journey, and the driver isn't very spiy and active, but he i 3 old and steady." "That will do very well, indeed. How soon can it be ready V" "In half-an-hour, Mhs — as soon as the hor.se takes a teed, and the driver gets his breakfast." "Thanks; \ cry well. One word mo'-e I shall leave my heavy luggage here until I send for it." " All right, Miss," said the landlord, loa\ingthc room to give his orders in the •>„ ible-s, muttering to himself : "Now, I wonder who she is? There's no name on the mink, only two letters — (J F. And, above all, I wonder what her friends can be thinking about, to let a chit \A a child run around the country alone like that ? If it were t'>o holidays, now, I should think she was some school-girl coming home." While the cauiage was being prepared xor he., Gertrude took her keys from her pocket, and went into the stage-office, opened her large trunk, and took from it aeh an -re of clothing, her water-proof cloak, (foi the heavy clouds still threatened rain), and a few other articles, all of which she nude up in a compact bundle, to be placed in the carnage with her. Then she relockcd her trunk and returned to the pailour, where she found the landlord standing by the table with a covered basket befoie him. "It is your dinner, Miss, for your road to Wildeville lies through a wilderness, where there is not a house you could stop at to get a mouthful to eat," he explained. " Oh, thank j'ou very much, indeed. And now please let me pay your bill, including the hire of the carriage also," she feaid. The landlord took pencil and paper from his pocket and summed up the items and gave it to her. "Ten dollars," she said— "that is very reasonable." And from the purse so libeially replenished by she advances of good Captain Wailes, she settled her bill. The landlord now told her that her carriage was ready, and took up the basket, the bundle and the hand-bag to carry them out for her. "By the way," she said, after ahe had taken her seat, and while the good man was putting in her belongings and arranging them around her — " by the way, which is fche nearest point irom this place, Wildeville or Huddon'a Ferry ?"

"Haddon's Ferry is about throo miles nearer, Miss." 4 'oh, indeed ! And it is also nearer to the Summit," she mentally added. " Had'u Fay good fibe mile uighesfc, Marso Tom," put in tho old negro driver. "And is the road as good as that to Wildevillo?" inquired Gertrude. "Samo road ail de way till you gits to Cave Court Cross Roads, which is where do road forks out, an' de right lian' one go to Hadn'n Fay, which is on'y fibo mile oil", an' good trab'ling, an' do let' hand go to YVildc\illo, which is ton mile off, an' mighty bad trab'ling." "Then 1 will go to Haddon's Ferry instead of to Wildevillo. 1 am sorry to havo kopt you out so lontr, sir. Hood morning-," said Gertrude, courteously. The landlord lifted his hat. and the old coachman drove oiT. Gertrudo was pleaded to see that, in oaso rain should fall, ho was well protected from the weather, as his seat was under the front roof of the carriage, and luV limbs woro covorcd with the leathor apron of the same. Their' road, on leaving the town, lay for miles along the banks of the " Wend," and then turned off into a deep forest, that grew deeper and darker as they penetrated faithei into its shadows. Gertrude had lecovcicd fiom the fiist shock of her disappointment, and was really calmer now than she had been .since she had landed in the country. There were many reasons why &he should be so. She had now the first certain intelligence of Colonel Fitzgerald that she had received since bhe had left London, twelve months before. She now knew that he was alive and well, and at his own homo, where she expected to see him the next morning, and whore, indeed, under all tho circumstances, it would be so much better to meet him than at the barracks, as to be quite worth tho disappointment of not rinding him at his quarters, and the delay of twenty-four hours. The solitude of the forest, too, had a composing influence on her. The old, white-haired negro who sat before her leisurely holding the reins of the horse, who never moved out of his pace, was in perfect keeping with the scene. The landlord of the Bald Eagle rightly characterised this route as an old road through a wilderness ; but it was a lovoly old road, through a grand old wilderness. Gertrude had passed through many vicissitudes, and seen many places, since she first left Wilde county as tho bride of Gerald Fitzgerald, but there was on this long, quiet day's drive through the still, old forest something so peaceful, soothing, comforting, that it lived in her memory long after more important scenes had faded out. Her white-haired coachman had not the gatrulity of his race, but was ready to answci any questions she might put to him. They travelled slowly, for the beautiful road was rather rugged under the wheels, and tho horse was old, so their journey took a longer time than it should have done. It was ten o'clock whon they loft Weudover ; it was two o'clock when they stopped to lunch in the heart of the forest, and it was four o'clock when they reached the Cave Court Cross Roads, and j took the road along the east base of Eagle Roost Ridge, and entered tho pass which, by many circuitous turns and twi&t^, ascents and descents, was to take them down to the banks of the Wild© River, opposite Haddon's Ferry This perilous path required the most careful driving, and took so much time that it was six o'clock and quite dark when they reached the last declivity. Here the cautioup old coachman drew from his pocket a box of matches, with one of which he lighted the carriage lamps. Then he carefully descended to the water's edge and drew up. Gertrude gazed once more in breathless joy upon the scene of her childhood's life. With what strange sensations sho gazed upon it. All the years of absence, the wondious sce»c3 through which she had passed, her adventures by sea and land, her perils, her sufferings, her long endurance, seemed now a dream from which she had awakened, and nothing was real but the scene before her. There, at her feet, was the little Eagle Roost boat-house, with its lighted lantern swinging over the door. There, below her, j rolled tho Wilde, her own bright river, her frolicsome playmate, her faithful servant, her capiicious tormentor, now, indeed, dark with night and cloud, as she had often seen it before. Beyond the water towered the black heights of Wildcat Cliffs against the gloomy sky. At their base stood the white walled old ferry house, faintly gleaming through the darkness. Nearer glimmered the lantern of the big boat-house. The voice of the old coachman broke the spell that bound the littlo lady, " Weil, Mi3s, here we id, safe and sound, and not a diap o' rain yet, thank the Mar.ster ! Now, what^you do, Miss ? Get out'n de caniage, or git in it (ill I go down clere to the boat-house and blow de horn for de ferry ?" " I will get out, it you please, and go and call the boat myself. I have been u&ed to doing so," said Gertrude. And she gave him her hand to help her from the carriage, and sprang- lightly to the ground. " We have been so much longer coming than we expected that it is now too late for you to go back to Cave Court Crosa Roads to put up, so IBhall call the flat-boat to take the horse and carriage over," said Gertrude, as the old man took one of tho lamps from the carriage to light her to the boathouse. "No, mist'ess ; please don't call no flatboat. 1 got a good frien' and brudder in de church, lib long o' Marse Sain Hall, little piece down de ribbor, an' I go stop long o' him to-night, and 1 know I kin put up de horse and carriage in de stable dere. Dore'a plenty o' ro>m," eagerly replied the old man. " Well, if it isn't too far." "On'y 'bout half a mile, young mist'ess." " Very well, then," said Gertrude. They had now reached the little boathouse. Gertrude, looking down, made an exclamation of surprise, for there lay her own j little boat, the Water Lily, freshly painted white as snow, and rocking on the edge of the river, as if waiting for her. The oars were laid along the cross-seats. And in the boat was another article that explained it& presence there — an old glazed jacket and hat belonging to John Brooks, which that stalwart oarsman only used when on the water, and always left in the boat when he had an errand on land. '•John Brooks, the boatman, ia on this side. lam glad that you have got a good friend to go to to-night, for I could not get the fl»fc-boafc over, or any other boat, indeed, for there is no one there to bring it. i 1 shall take this boat and go over." "You, Miss? Don't please! You'll be drowned !" anxiously exclaimed the old coachman. "Not tho leas bit of danger. I was brought up at the ferry, and have been used to rowing ever since 1 was ten years old." "That, indeed, mist'ess ! Well, but if I dared to leave the horse I would go 'long to take care of you, dough I nebber tefcehed an oar in all my life."

'"Then you would only mako the boat heavier for me. I shall be quite safe. Hold the lamp a little nearer." The old man lowered tiio lump to her lovel, and she took a piece of note-paper and a pencil, and wroto : John : lam obliged to take the boat,. Call who n you come, aud I will return and folch you. U. ]i\" This she pinned conspicuously on the boatman's glazed jacket, and then hung it, | with the hat, undor the boat-house lantern. Then she opetiod her purso and gave tho old coachman a half oaglo, saying : "That is for youiself, Unclo Gideon, and 1 thank you for all your attention to me." " Lord Mcs you, young misfc'oss, I'm so much obliged to you. I gwino stop and Avait horc till you get across safe, and don wave a light, or blow a horn, or someiin to lot me know, will you, mist'oss V" '• Ceitainly : but there is no danger. I am as much u-fc homo on the water as on the land— as safo in a boat as in a house. Now hand me that bundle irom the carriage Unclo Gideon." The old man hastoned to do her bidding, and brought her the parcel. She took from it her waterproof cloak, and then threw tho bundle- into the boat. Thon she drew the cloak on over her other dress, and drew the hood o\er her hab, and detached tho lantern from tho hook over the door of tho boat-house and fastened it on the boat. Noxt she untied tho little skiff, entered it, and seated herself and took up tho oars. " Good-byo, Uncle Gideon !" she exclaimed, as she shot out into tho water. " Lord bless you, young mist/ess ! Good- : bye ! Hooray !" shouted the old man, waving his hat about hi 3 head. 1 Guided by the light on the opposito shore, Gertrude sped over the dark river, making little phosphorescent glimmers with her oars as they flashed up and down, back and forth, in the water. Sho neaied tho shore, touched the sands ; then drew in the oars, laid one in the bottom of the boat, and using the other as a pole, struck it into the sand, and pushed the pretty Water Lily up high and dry. Then she stepped out, secured the skiff, took tho lantern in her hand, wavod it as a signal to the watcher on the other side, and finally opened tho back gate of tho gaiden, and walked towards tho house. There she was again — waterproof cloak, hood, lantern, and all — walking the old road once more, just as sho had S3en herself in her inner sight, even while, dressed like a prince-s, she had been promenading the grand saloon at the ball at the Tuileries. She thought of thafc no*v, and smiled to think how harmlessly her alarming second sight had been realised. But indeed it seemed now as though but yesterday since she had left the ferry ; yet she had been away two years and five months. What had happened there in tho meanwhile ? Everything as usual, as far as she could see in the darkness. Had anything happened ? Was old Jess still living ? A pang of fear smote her for the first time thafc the old ■woman might have died. It had been more than two years since she had seen her, and more than twelve months since she had heard from her. But as she drew nearer to the dear old house her fears were set at re3t. She saw a cheerful light burning through the north window of the old kitchen, and she heard a weird voice singing the refrain of a campmeeting hymn. " Oh. that will be joyful ! Joyful ! joyful ! ioyful ! Oh, that will be joyful, When we meet to part no more ! When we meet to part no more On Jordan's happy shore, Where avo shall meet At Jesus' feet, And meet to part no inoro I" Gertrude walked around the house, and looked in at the north window. There sat Jess in her old flag-bottomed chair before the blazing kitchen fire, with an open hymn-book in her lap, and with her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, singing herself into a religious rapture. Not that Jess could read a line ; yet neither could she sing, comfortably, without her hymn-book. Gertrude retreated, went to tho front door, opened ib softly, and passed into the house. Oh, how familiar ! how home-like ! how sweet ! No ono appeared to welcome her, yet it seemed as though invisible friends met her, invisible love surrounded and enveloped her. She passed down tho central passage, and opened the back door on the right, and cnteied the kitchen. Jess, sitting before the fire, had her back towaids the door, but on hearing the sound, she looked over her shoulder, got one glimpse of Gertrude standing there "in her habit as she lived," waterproof cloak, hood, lantern, and all ! — took her for a ghost, uttered an ear-splitting shriek, sprang up, dropped her hymn-book and fled to tho farthest corner cf the kitchen, where she stood at bay. "Jess! Aunt Jess! don't be frightened ! It is I !" said Gertrude, gently approaching the panic-stricken woman. But an awtul howl from Jess arrested her footsteps. i ' • Don't come near mo no further ! Dl^apteak ! ! In de name ob de Lord — JJit>apPEAR ! ! !" yelled the frenzied creature, shaking from head to foot, as with an aguo lit, and ashen grey with terror, as the negroes grow when they turn pale at all. " But, dear Jess—" " I know what yer come for ! I know what's tis ycr oub'n yer watery grabe ! but it ain't no fau'b o' mine ! I couldn't help of it ! Go 'pear to lie! Go 'pear to the ! Don't 'pear to me ! /^'sap-VEAR ! ! ! Oh, my good laws a me, I'll go crazy ! Wanish ! in de name ob de Law— wan'lsTi !" "Jess! I am flesh and blood! feel me ! ' she s.iid, approaching the maddened woman. " Ah-ah-ah /-ah /// / /" yelled Jess, dropping down in the corner, and clapping both hands to hor ears — " Don't tctc-h me ! don't speak to me !" Gertrude was "perplexed in the extreme." Casting a dec- pairing glance around the kitchen, as it to lind some means of convincing her old nurse of her own continued existence in tho flesh, she saw on the clean pine table a white pitcher of milk, a plate of bread, a goblet and a knife— all probably placed there for tho refreshment of Mr John Brooks when he should return home. " Jess never heard of a ghost eating and drinking," she said to horself, as she put her lantern on the floor, sat down to the table, cub a slice of bread, poured out a glass of milk, and began to eat and drink. Jess watched the process until her ecstasy of terror merged into simple amazement. Then she began to mutter, as she gazed : "No, sho ain't a ghost, but she's the nightmare! — dab what she is— de nightmare ! I hadn't no business eatin' all dab dare b'iled pork and hominy for supper ! Lor' how dat nightmare did- scare me I 'Deed, it 'moat kill me ! I wish it would go way now," she ruminated. "Jess, are you now convinced that I am your child, Gertrude, and no ghost ?" inquirod the little lady, as she rose from the table. "I know you ain't no ghost, 'cause no ghost over could put away all dat milk , and bread as you've eat and drunk !—

'cause where could a ghost pub ib ? Bub I knows whab yer is fasb enough ! Yer's a nightmare, that's <vhab yer is ! I eat too much for supper and has gob do nightmare, and can'b wake uiyself up ! I wish John Brooks 'ud come home and wako me up ! I might die in my sleep of a popoplcxy, all along of such a nightmaro as dis on do brain." " \Vill you let me come near you now, Jess V" " Yes ; bub don't sib on my cheat. When pooplo gets do nightmatc on do top o' dc chest it turns to an old hag and chokes 'cm to deaf sometime. Mind you don't set on me." " I won't sit on you, Jess. Come now, stand up, return to your chair by the liio," said Geitrudo, taking the old woman by the hand and leading her back to her seat. " Now, I wonder if I is 'wake, arter all ! Dis seom monsous natural, and likowise monsous Mw-notoral," muttered Jess to herself, beginning to be shaken in her theory of the nightmare as she had been in that of the ghosb. Gertrude drew another chair to her side, and took her hand and said : " Jess, look at mo in the eyes while I speak to you. lam myself, Gertrude. I was not drowned. It was a false report. Do you understand that, Jess ?" " I—lI — I dunno !" mutteied the still amazed and bewildeiod creature. " False reports get out sometimes, you know. I wan not drowned, as everybody i believed me to have been. I was rescued j from the sea ; but I have suffered many misfortunes, dear Jerfs. Iha\e been twice shipwrecked — think of that ! — once by fire and once by ice. Tho first in the burning of tho Messenger in tho Straits of Dover, of which you have all heaid, when I was leally rescued by a dear, bravo boy, and afterwards picked up by a fishing smack and sheltered in a fisherman's cottage ; the second time was when I was coming home on tho Zanzibar, whon the ship was wrecked on an island of ice oft" the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. We were all pub in bhe life-boats, and the noxb day the boat that I was in was picked up by a meichantman, the Becky, Captain Wailes, God bless them both ! She was bound for San Francisco, the way of Capo Horn— nearly a twelve months' voyage, coming and going, Jess. So you sco I was carried all round the world ! And, oh ! Jess, in all that dreary i time. I was separated from my dear husband, and without tho means of writing to him to let him know that I was living i I love him so dearly, Jesa ; he is my very life and health, and absence from him is like a living death. I grieved and pined so, Jess, that i lost health and strength. That is the i reason why I look so pale and wan, and you tako mo for a ghost ; bub I shall grow bebter and better every day, for I am at home now and ab peace, lor I know that to-morrow I shall meet my husband, and all will bo well," she concluded, in her tender and pathebic voice. All this time the old woman had rej mained with her eyes immovably fixed on the face of the delicate creature before her, muttering inarticulately, in an awe struck j tone, until, at length, the deep love and [ compassion of her motherly heart helped I her sluggish intellect to comprehend the ! situation, and she clasped her hands and murmured inaudibly : "It is hc/'aelf! It is her own, dear, precious self ! And, oh ! my Heabenly Lord ! de husband she dotes on so much gwine to be married to the other gel tomorrow ! But ehe sha'n'b hab him ! No, please my Heabenly Marster, sha'n't she ! I'll be in time to 'vent dat, sure's my name's Je&samine Bell !" "Jess ! Oh, Jess ! you do know mo now, | don't you ? Oh ! dear Jess, don't deny and reject me. I am at my old home ab last, and I want to be recognised and comforted, j Jess !" pleaded Gertrude, holding out her I hands.