University of Virginia Library

THE RAPIDS.

Midnight on board a steam boat, a full moon, and a
soft panorama of the shores of the St Lawrence gliding
by like a vision! I thus assume the dramatic prerogative
of introducing my readers at once to the scene
of my story, and with the same time saving privilege I
introduce my dramatis personæ, a gentleman and lady
promenading the deck with the slow step so natural on
a summer's night, when your company is agreeable.

The lady leaned familiarly on the arm of her companion
as they walked to and fro, sometimes looking at
the moon, and sometimes at her pretty feet, as they
stole out, one after the other, into the moonlight. She
was a tall, queenly person, somewhat embonpoint, but
extremely graceful. Her eye was of a dark blue, shaded
with lashes of remarkable length, and her features,
though irregular, were expressive of great vivacity, and
more than ordinary talent. She wore her hair, which
was of a deep chestnut, in the Madonna style, simply
parted, and her dress, throughout, had the chaste elegance
of good taste—the tournure of fashion without its
extravagance.

Her companion was a tall, well formed young man,
very handsome, with a frank and prepossessing expression
of countenance, and the fine freedom of step and
air, which characterize the well bred gentleman. He

was dressed fashionably, but plainly, and wore whiskers,
in compliance with the prevailing mania. His tone
was one of rare depth and melody; and as he bent
slightly and gracefully to the lady's ear, its low, rich
tenderness had the irresistible fascination, for which the
human voice is sometimes so remarkable.

It was a beautiful night. The light lay sleeping on
the St Lawrence like a white mist. The boat, on
whose deck our acquaintances were promenading, was
threading the serpentine channel of the `Thousand
Isles,' more like winding through a wilderness than following
the passage of a great river. The many thousand
islands clustered in this part of the St Lawrence
seem to realize the mad girl's dream when she visited
the stars, and found them

Nothing can be more like fairy land than sailing among
them on a summer's evening. They vary in size, from
a quarter of a mile in circumference, to a spot just
large enough for one solitary tree, and are at different
distances, from a bowshot to a gallant leap from each
other. The universal formation is a rock of horizontal
stratum, and the river, though spread into a lake
by innumerable divisions, is almost embowered by the
luxuriant vegetation which covers them. There is
everywhere sufficient depth for the boat to run directly
alongside, and with the rapidity and quietness of her
motion, and the near neighborhood of the trees, which
may almost be touched, the illusion of aerial carriage
over land, is, at first, almost perfect. The passage
through the more intricate parts of the channel, is, if
possible, still more beautiful. You shoot into narrow
passes where you could spring on shore on either
side, catching, as you advance, hasty views to the right
and left, through long vistas of islands; or, running
round a projecting point of rock or woodland, open into
an apparent lake, and darting rapidly across, seem running
right on shore as you enter a narrow strait in pursuit
of the covert channel.

It is the finest ground in the world for the `magic of
moonlight.' The water is clear, and, on the night we
speak of, was a perfect mirror. Every star was repeated.
The foliage of the islands was softened into indistinctness,
and they lay in the water, with their well defined
shadows hanging darkly beneath them, as distinctly as
clouds in the sky, and apparently as moveable. In more
terrestrial company than the lady Viola's, our hero might
have fancied himself in the regions of upper air; but as
he leant over the tafferel, and listened to the sweetest
voice that ever melted into moonlight, and watched the
shadows of the dipping trees as the approach of the
boat broke them one by one, he would have thought
twice before he had said that he was sailing on a fresh
water river, in the good steam boat Queenston.

Miss Viola Clay and Mr Frank Gresham, the hero
and heroine of this true story, I should have told you
before, were cousins. They had met lately after a
separation of many years, and as the lady had in the
mean time become the proudest woman in the world,
and the gentleman had been abroad and wore whiskers,
and had, besides, a cousin's carte blanche for his visits,
there was reason to believe they would become very
well acquainted.

Frank had been at home but a few months when he
was invited to join the party with which he was now
making the fashionable tour. He had seen Viola every
day since his return, and had more to say to her than
to all the rest of his relatives together. He would sit
for hours with her in the deep recesses of the windows,

telling his adventures when abroad. At least, it was
so presumed, as he talked all the time, and she was
profoundly attentive. It was thought, too, he must
have seen some affecting sights, for now and then his
descriptions made her sigh audibly, and once the color
was observed to mount to her very temples—doubtless
from strong sympathy with some touching distress.

Frank joined the party for the tour, and had, at the
time we speak of, been several weeks in their company.
They had spent nearly a month among the Lakes, and
were now descending by their grand outlet to Montreal.
Many a long walk had been taken, and many a romantic
scene had been gazed upon during their absence,
and the lady had, many a time, wandered away with her
cousin, doubtless for the want of a more agreeable companion.
She was indefatigable in seeing the celebrated
places from every point, and made excursions which
the gouty feet of her father, or the etiquette of a stranger's
attendance would have forbidden. In these cases
Frank's company was evidently a convenience; and
over hill and dale, through glen and cavern, he had
borne her delicate arm by the precious privilege of
cousinship.

There's nothing like a cousin. It is the sweetest relation
in human nature. There is no excitement in
loving your sister, and courting a lady in the face of a
strange family requires the nerve of a martyr; but your
dear familiar cousin, with her provoking maidenly reserve,
and her bewitching freedoms, and the romping
frolics, and the stolen tenderness over the skein of silk
that will get tangled—and then the long rides which nobody
talks about, and the long tête-à-têtes which are nobody's
business, and the long letters of which nobody
pays the postage—no, there is nothing like a cousin—
a young, gay, beautiful witch of a cousin!

Till within a few days Frank had enjoyed a monopoly
of the lady Viola's condescensions; but their party
had been increased lately by a young gentleman who
introduced himself to papa as the son of an old friend,
and proceeded immediately to a degree of especial attention
which relieved our hero exceedingly of his duties.

Mr Erastus Van Pelt was a tall, thin person with an
aquiline nose, and a forehead that retreated till it was
lost in the distance. It was evident at the first glance
that he was high ton. The authenticity of his style,
even on board a steam boat, distanced imitation immeasurably.
The angle of his bow had been an insoluble
problem from his début at the dancing school till the
present moment, and his quizzing glass was thrown up
to his eye with a grace that would have put Brummel to
the blush. From the square toe of his pump to the loop
of his gold chain he was a perfect wonder. Every body
smiled on Mr Erastus Van Pelt.

This accomplished gentleman looked with an evil eye
on our hero. He had the magnanimity not to cut him
outright, as he was the lady's cousin; but tolerated him
on the first day with a cold civility, which he intended
should amount to a cut on the second. Frank thought
him thus far very amusing; but when he came frequently
in the way of his attentions to his cousin, and once or
twice raised his glass at his remarks, with the uncomprehending
`Sir!' he was observed to stroke his black
whiskers with a very ominous impatience. Further acquaintance
by no means mended the matter, and Frank's
brow grew more and more cloudy. He had already
alarmed Mr Van Pelt with a glance of his eye that
could not be mistaken, and anticipated his `cut direct'
by at least some hours, when the lady Viola took
him aside and bound over his thumb and finger to keep
the peace toward the invisible waist of his adversary.

A morning or two after this precaution, the boat was
bending in toward a small village which terminates the
safe navigation above the rapids of the Split Rock.
Coaches were waiting on shore, to convey passengers to
the next still water, and the mixed population of the little
village, attracted by the arrival, was gathered in a
picturesque group on the landing. There was the Italian
looking Canadian with his clear olive complexion
and open neck, his hat slouched carelessly, and the
indispensable red sash hanging from his waist; and the
still, statue like Indian with the incongruous blanket
and belt, hat and moccasin costume of the border,
and the tall, inquisitive looking Vermontese—all mingled
together like the figures of a painter's study.

Miss Clay sat on the deck, surrounded by her party.
Frank, at a little distance, stood looking into the water
with the grave intentness of a statue, and Mr Van Pelt
levelled his glass at the `horrid creatures' on shore, and
expressed his elegant abhorrence of their savaugerie in
a fine spun falsetto. As its last thin tone melted, he
turned and spoke to the lady with an air evidently more
familiar than her dignity for the few first days seemed to
have warranted. There was an expression of ill concealed
triumph in his look, and an uncompromised turning
of his back on our penseroso, which indicated an advance
in relative importance; and though Miss Clay
went on with the destruction of her card of distances
just as if there was nobody in the world but herself, the
conversation was well sustained till the last musical superlative
was curtailed by the whiz of the escape valve.

As the boat touched the pier, Frank awoke from his
reverie, and announced his intention of taking a boat
down the rapids. Viola objected to it at first as a dangerous
experiment; but when assured by him that it
was perfectly safe, and that the boat, during the whole

passage, would be visible from the coach, she opposed
it no further. Frank then turned to Mr Van Pelt, and
to her astonishment, politely requested his company.
The dandy was thunderstruck. To his comprehension
it was like offering him a private interview with a bear.
`No, sir,' said he, with a nervous twirl of his glass
round his forefinger. Miss Clay, however, insisted on
his acceptance of the invitation. The prospect of his
company without the restraint of Frank's presence, and
a wish to foster the good feeling from which she thought
the offer proceeded, were sufficient reasons for perseverance,
and on the ground that his beautiful cap was
indispensable to the picturesque effect, she would take
no denial. Most reluctantly his consent was at last
given, and Frank sprang on shore with an accommodating
readiness to find boatmen for the enterprise.

He found his errand a difficult one. The water was
uncommonly low, and at such times the rapids are
seldom passed, even by the most daring. The old
voyageurs received his proposition with shrugs and
volumes of patois, in which he could only distinguish
adjectives of terror. By promises of extravagant remuneration,
however, he prevailed on four athletic Canadians
to row him to Coteau du Lac. He then took
them aside, and by dint of gesture and bad French,
made them comprehend, that he wished to throw his
companion into the river. They had no shadow of
objection. For a `consideration,' they would upset the
bateau in a convenient place below the rapids, and
ensure Mr Van Pelt's subsequent existence at the forfeiture
of the reward. A simultaneous `Gardez vous!'
was to be the signal for action.

The coaches had already started when Frank again
stood on the pier, and were pursuing slowly the beautiful
road on the bank of the river. He almost repented

his rash determination for a moment, but the succeeding
thought was one of pride, and he sprang lightly into the
bateau at the `Allons!' of the impatient boatmen.

Mr Van Pelt was already seated, and as they darted
rapidly away with the first stroke of the oars, the
voyageur at the helm commenced a low recitative. At
every alternate line, the others joined in a loud, but not
inharmonious chorus, and the strokes were light or deep
as the leader indicated, by his tone, the necessity of
rapidity or deliberation. In a few minutes they reached
the tide, and as the boat swept violently in, the oars
were shipped, and the boatmen, crossing themselves and
mumbling a prayer to the saint, sat still, and looked
anxiously forward. It was evidently much worse than
Mr Van Pelt had anticipated. Frank remarked upon
the natural beauties of the river, but he had no eye for
scenery. He sat on a low seat, grasping the sides of the
boat with a tenacity as unphilosophical as it was out of
character for his delicate fingers. The bateau glided
like a bird round the island which divides the river, and,
steering for the middle of the stream, was in a moment,
hurrying with its whole velocity onward. The Split
Rock was as yet far below, but the intermediate distance
was a succession of rapids, and, though not much
dreaded by those accustomed to the navigation, they
were to a stranger sufficiently appalling. The river was
tossed like a stormy sea, and the large waves, thrown
up from the sunken rocks, came rolling back upon the
tide, and, dashing over the boat, flung her off like a
tiny shell. Mr Van Pelt was in a profuse perspiration.
His knees, drawn up to his head by the acute angle of
his posture, knocked violently together, and no persuasion
could induce him to sit in the depressed stern for
the accommodation of the voyageurs. He sat right in
the centre of the bateau, and kept his eye on the waves

with a manifest distrust of Providence, and an anxiety
that betrayed a culpable want of resignation.

The bateau passed the travellers on shore as she
neared the rock. Frank waved his handkerchief triumphantly.
The water just ahead roared and leaped up
in white masses like a thousand monsters; and, at the
first violent whirl, he was pulled down by a voyageur,
and commanded imperatively to lie still. Another and
another shock followed in quick succession, and she
was perfectly unmanageable. The helmsman threw
himself flat on the bottom. Mr Van Pelt hid his face
in his hands, and crouched beside him. The water
dashed in, and the bateau, obeying every impulse,
whirled and flung from side to side like a feather. It
seemed as if every plunge must be the last. One moment
she shivered and stood motionless, struck back by
a violent blow, and the next, shot down into an abyss
with an arrowy velocity that seemed like instant destruction.
Frank shook off the grasp of the voyageur, and,
holding on to the side, half rose to his feet. `Gardez
vous!' exclaimed the voyageur; and, mistaking the
caution for the signal, with a sudden effort he seized
Mr Van Pelt, and, plunging him over the side, leaped
in after him. `Diable!' muttered the helmsman, as the
dandy, with a piercing shriek, sprang half out of water,
and disappeared instantly. But the Split Rock was right
beneath the bow, and like a shot arrow the boat sprang
through the gorge, and in a moment was gliding among
the masses of foam in the smooth water.

They put back immediately, and at a stroke or two
against the current, up came the scientific `brutus' of
Mr Van Pelt, quite out of curl, and crested with the
foam through which he had emerged to a thinner element.
There was no mistaking its identity, and it was rudely
seized by the voyageur with a tolerable certainty that

the ordinary sequel would follow. All reasoning upon
anomalies, however, is uncertain, and to the terror of
the unlettered captor, down went un gentilhomme, leaving
the envy of the world in his possession. He soon reappeared,
and with his faith in the unity of Monsieur
considerably shaken, the voyageur lifted him carefully
into the bateau.

My dear reader! were you ever sick? Did you have a
sweet cousin, or a young aunt, or any pretty friend who
was not your sister or your mother, for a nurse? And
do you remember how like an angel's fingers, her small
white hand laid on your forehead, and how thrillingly her
soft voice spoke low in your ear, and how inquiringly
her fair face hung over your pillow? If you have not,
and remember no such passages, it were worth half
your sound constitution, and half your uninteresting
health, and half your long life, to have had that experience.
Talk of moonlight in a bower, and poetry in
a boudoir—there is no atmosphere for love like a sick
chamber, and no poetry like the persuasion to your
gruel, or the sympathy for your aching head, or your
feverish forehead.

Three months after Frank Gresham was taken out of
the St Lawrence, he was sitting in a deep recess with
the lady, who, to the astonishment of the whole world,
had accepted him as her lover.

`Miss Viola Clay,' said our hero with a look of profound
resignation, `when will it please you to attend to
certain responses you wot of?'

The answer was in a low sweet tone, inaudible to all
save the ear for which it was intended.