Harper's New Monthly Magazine. No. XVI.—September, 1851—Vol. III

It was a solitary place. The river here was dark and sleeping; it was a fitting scene for the enactment of the baby tragedy. The air was sultry, as if a storm were brewing, clouds were lowering, and the heat was intense. There was "no cold" to keep out, and Joel's feet were perfectly dry, but so was his throat; and Edwards, his kindly brother-in-law, had placed a flask of brandy in the basket, saying he might like "a little in water by-and-by." Joel was very thirsty and he drank a vast deal of water out of a horn cup, pouring in just enough spirit to take the "chill off," which in his heated condition, was not safe or pleasant.

"I'll not forget my promise to my dear little Patty," said Joel to himself, as he sipped. "Not one drop of brandy alone will I touch. Ah, bless me! how her precious heart would ache if she were to hear this tale of the wicked lord and those dear innocents? She'd most think she could see their pretty upturned faces in the water. I wonder, now, if there's any truth in such a queer story." And Joel fell into a reverie as he wondered; and, sitting down on the bank, he fell asleep, and dreamt that instead of hooking a fine heavy fish he had pulled out a baby girl! Great was his horror, and he awoke with a start, to find that darkness was rapidly gathering round him, while a few pattering drops now and then betokened the approach of a storm, as the grumbling thunder faintly died away in the distance. One draught to fortify himself, and Joel commenced his homeward route – a rather difficult undertaking, seeing that he was a stranger, and obliged to diverge frequently from the immediate proximity of the river, which, however, was a sure guide, as it flowed past "The Swan's" very door. But rivers are stray, winding things; and after an hour's hard toiling over uneven paths, moving slowly and carefully, for caution was extremely necessary on the river's bank, poor little Joel Jerdan became thoroughly nervous and exhausted, as the rain pelted down and the thunder burst over head. Wet through in a trice, he had recourse to his brandy-flask. "Even Patty would recommend it now," said he; and his thoughts reverted to his snug little room behind the shop, where, beside a comfortable fire, he was wont to enjoy a frugal supper with his beloved helpmate. Now, here he was, wandering and houseless, uncertain of the way, wet through, and no sight or sound of human kind to greet his longing eyes or ears. No. He only heard the rushing of waters, the wailing of winds, and those strange, mysterious noises which issue from desolate woods by night. It was enough to appall a stouter heart than Joel Jerdan's; no wonder he had recourse to the brandy-flask!

"Catch me a-going a-fishing in a strange place again!" murmured he to himself; "only catch me at it, that's all!"

An impression that he was trespassing on haunted ground, and that, at the same time, his basket became heavier and heavier, oppressed Joel Jerdan with a sensation almost approaching to suffocation; and he ejaculated aloud, as if to increase his courage – talking at himself to himself – "Who says that Joel is tipsy? Who dares to say so is – is – a reprobate. Who dares to say that Joel Jerdan carries a basket full of dead babies instead of fish?" But just as the reeling piscator came to this portion of his argument, a light appeared but a short distance off, and, as he made toward it, a low, dull sound, as of monotonous knocking, fell on his ear, notwithstanding his perceptions were not particularly acute.

Joel staggered onward until he reached a building from whence the sounds appeared to proceed; and, creeping slowly toward an aperture, peeped in with a remarkably sagacious expression of countenance, no doubt, had the darkness permitted it to be visible. What he beheld there caused him to start backward so suddenly that, coming in contact with a felled tree, whose bared trunk was stretched along the ground, he fell violently on his face, the blood spurting from his nose, and a cry escaping at the same moment from the hapless intruder. Joel Jerdan had seen three spectral-looking men working at a coffin, engaged in finishing the dismal receptacle with all their might, as if it was wanted in a hurry. When he recovered from temporary stupor occasioned by his fall, the scared little man in vain essayed to speak or move; for his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and his legs were powerless to sustain his own slight weight. Once, indeed, he thickly muttered, "Brandy, more brandy!" but immediately sank back helpless and hopeless, for he heard a voice say, "We'll put him in when it is finished; it is just done. We're in good time, and it'll be the safest place for the drunken rascal." Poor Joel Jerdan! to be put in a coffin alive at the suggestion of one whom he considered an evil spirit!

He heard another one say, "Halloo! let's have a look into his basket! Ho, ho, they are fine plump ones. Put them in with him, and let's be off at once."

Off at once! Where? thought the terrified and miserable man – where are they off to? To the "bottomless pit" of Ellendeen, said Conscience, and for stealing the dread secrets of the haunted pool, in the shape of the long sought-for Ellendeen babies! As to the brandy-drinking, that was nothing – ghostly beings never interfered with such terrestrial matters! The knocking discontinued, a tramping of feet was heard, a bustle as of preparation, and Joel felt himself lifted up and laid in what he felt by instinct to be – a coffin! Oh, it was most horrible! and, with a violent effort, he jerked aside the lid which was placed lightly over him, half raising himself as he did so.

"If he turns restive," said an authoritative, stern voice, "we must secure him better, or he'll be in the water before his time comes, and make food for the fishes instead of sport for Beelzebub."

So they were conveying him to his nameless majesty, dead babies and all, perhaps mistaking him for the wicked defunct Lord of Ellendeen himself! Oh, as to his fishing in the still, deep pools, what had it done for him? whither had it led him? Joel retained sense to be aware that his impotent struggles only rendered things worse; for he was in powerful hands, and they tossed him about like a feather. Could his dear wife behold her husband in a coffin, what would her feelings be? And as Joel thought of this, his tears began to flow copiously. He sobbed and wailed like an infant, whining, and in a sickly maudlin tone; but it had a lulling effect, and he fell off into a sleep just as he was conscious of being lifted into a boat, and, amid gleaming torches, rowed rapidly from land, but whether "up" or "down" stream he could not tell. But of course they are taking me to the "bottomless pit," and there they will cast me in with my unhallowed load, he thought.

Could it be the brandy that made Joel Jerdan confound the fish he had caught with the Ellendeen heiresses, who had slumbered beneath the wave for upward of a century? With a stifled cry for pardon on his lips, insensibility succeeded; and when Joel awoke next day at noon, in his own cosy bed at "The Swan," with the sun's bright beams streaming in through the chinks of closely-drawn curtains, he shuddered at the remembrance of his horrible adventure, much wondering how he came there, and also how he had come by a bandaged cheek, from which the blood was still streaming, and a head which throbbed to agony at every breath he drew.

"What a terrific vision!" he exclaimed feebly, but aloud. "Demons rowing me in a coffin to the bottomless pool of Ellendeen! Joel Jerdan! Joel Jerdan! it is a warning to prepare for thy latter end!"

"Nay, nay, brother Joel!" exclaimed the cheerful voice of his brother-in-law; "it isn't a death-warning, but only a gentle hint not to attack the brandy-flask too often; your head is none of the strongest, and won't bear it. However, be comforted, for you have brought back four as fine fish as have been caught hereabouts for long and many a day, though both they and you came to Wood End in rayther a queer sort, it must be owned – all packed up in a coffin together."

"Brother Edwards," murmured Joel, solemnly, "they were not fish; they were the babes of Ellendeen!"

"Poor fellow, so he is wandering again! There must be another blister on!" exclaimed Mr. Edwards, compassionately. And by the time another blister was put on, and more drugs had been administered, Joel's fever was so far reduced that he was able to collect his thoughts and attempt a description of the prodigious scenes he had gone through. "Why, that was old Matthew Filkins and his two big sons whom you took for demons," shouted Mr. Edwards, as he listened attentively to Joel's account of his midnight adventures. "Mat is a teetotaller, and thinks nothing of parceling a man to Beelzebub if he gets drunk; and between ourselves, brother Joel, I do not think that Matthew is far wrong, for drunkenness is the high-road to ruin at all times."

"Yes, yes, I know that," groaned Joel. "But they put me in a coffin, and rowed me away. How do I come here? Oh, I am a doomed man! I am a doomed man! I shall not be long out of my real coffin!"

"Not if you go on like this, my brother," replied Mr. Edwards, impressively, and with a serious air. "You have received a severe contusion on the head, besides other injuries; and it is absolutely necessary that you be kept quiet, and discard these foolish fancies. Old Matthew Filkins is our only undertaker hereabouts; his workshop and wood-yard are close to the river side, and by water he frequently conveys his dismal but needful burdens. The wooden box in which he laid you for safety was required urgently for the body of a poor lad who died of infectious fever, and was laid in his mother's hovel midst living brothers and sisters. Mat is a kind-hearted man, and he did that for the poor widow which he would have scrupled to do for a rich one; though night or day on the river is all the same to him, for he could guide a boat blindfold: man and boy, for seventy years, Matthew Filkins has journeyed on that highway. He thought that he was doing best by you; he found, by a letter in your coat-pocket, that you came from 'The Swan,' Wood End, and, as he dropped down stream past our door, he deposited you, brother Joel, on the threshold where we found you, in a sad state indeed. I believe old Mat considered his dismal box tainted from having had one in your state in it, far more so than when it contained the remains of the poor boy for whom it was destined."

"And so it was, so it was, brother Edwards," exclaimed the penitent and humbled Joel; "and before I am put in a coffin again, I deserve to be buried alive if I am not a reformed man. When I get drunk again, may I be hurled into the pools of Ellendeen, along with the little misses of respected memory. But I say, brother, we must keep this mishap a secret from Patty, for she would be hard of belief as to it's being a reality, as you say it is; she would stick to the warning, and make sure I was a doomed man."

Very grateful and pleased was Patty, as time progressed and temptations multiplied, to find that her dear husband was proof against the strongest. Never was he known to be in the least degree inebriated after his return from the memorable expedition to Wood End; and not even to keep the "cold out," would he sip a drop of "fire-water" undiluted. The "warning" had not been in vain; and a long while after the events recorded had taken place, when Patty was made acquainted with them by her loving husband, who detested all concealments from the partner of his cares, she exclaimed in pitying tones, "It was very natural, my dear, that your thoughts should run on the terrible story about those precious babies, you that have little ones of your own. For my part, nothing in the wide world would tempt me to go a-fishing in those deep dark pools of Ellendeen; I should expect, every time I pulled up a heavy weight to see a dear baby instead of a fish!"

"But my dear," deprecatingly returned Joel, "even if the tale be true, it happened a century back, you know."

"Ah, Jo, Jo!" cried Patty, with a sly smile, "if I had a brandy-flask in my basket, perhaps I might forget that important fact."

A WATERSPOUT IN THE INDIAN OCEAN

One of the noblest and most beautiful sights in the world is a gallant, symmetrical, full-rigged ship, clothed with mighty wings from keel to truck, cleaving through the waves under the influence of a "right merrie" wind abeam. There is something exceedingly grand, to behold it steadily gliding along, like a thing instinct with life; to see its towering pyramidal sails swelling to the generous breeze; to glance from its fluttering ensigns, and bright sides, and snowy canvas, to the contrasting deep blue sea, sparkling beneath the vertical rays of the tropical sun; to hastily run over in one's mind a few only of the spirit-stirring associations conjured by the object. But it is not with a ship in this exhilarating position that I have now to deal; to the reverse – it is with one which lay like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean" – being a large East Indiaman, chartered to convey troops to the Bombay presidency, and lying totally becalmed not far from the tropics.

I was languidly swinging in my hammock, one sultry morning, when not a breath of air was stirring strong enough "to blow a lady's curl aside," when I heard a sound which convinced me that something unusual had occurred to arouse the listless idlers lounging on the upper deck. It speedily increased to such a degree that all between decks who were able (myself included) rushed up, pell-mell, to discover the reason, and soon there were none left below but the miserable sick, who could not crawl from their stifling berths.

"What's the kick-up?" roared the gigantic corporal of the grenadier company, the moment he got his head above the combing of the hatchway.

"Niver sighted sich a jamb sin' the meet at Ballyshannon!" echoed a voluble Irish comrade. "Maybe a tu-an'-thirty-punder wouldn't mak' buthermilk of us all just now."

"Can ye no kape that long red rope i' yer own impty hid, but ye must let every body know ye're a gomulah? Ain't it a watherspout, eh?" fiercely responded a brother Emeralder.

"A watherspout! an' what's that, avick? Summat to ate?"

"Ate! ye gossoon! Ay, it's summat as'll soon ate yer, big and ugly as yer are."

Some few happy-go-lucky reprobates laughed at Pat's sapience, but the majority felt the matter to be far too serious to permit their indulging in senseless merriment, and strove, with uncontrollable interest, to secure some position whence they could behold an object of which they had heard or read highly-colored accounts. I myself instantly sprang into the shrouds, and the whole spectacle then burst full upon me in all its novel grandeur.

As already mentioned, not a breath of air was stirring, and the vessel herself lay sluggishly on the briny ocean, the sails hanging in bags, or clewed up in festoons to the yards, and the masts motionless as Pompey's Pillar. At the distance of very little more than the ship's length, the sea was bubbling up in the shape of spiral cones of varying height and sizes, all of them springing from within a circle, the circumference of which might be equal to that of the ring of an equestrian circus. The vertical rays of the sun invested the falling spray with an indescribable beauty, but the level water appeared of a dull, strong, white color. The phenomenon was attended by a very loud and long-continued hissing noise, of a peculiar and terrifying kind. This was but the commencement of a waterspout. Every moment we expected to see the several columns unite in one; and, from their contiguity, there would, in such a case, be no hope of final escape. Either the ship would be totally engulfed, or every atom of mast, rigging, and all above deck, would be whirled a hundred fathoms through the air.

Travelers say that the serpent possesses the basilisk power of fascinating its prey by the glare of its eye, and certainly a waterspout is equal in that terrible attribute, for scarcely a man in the ship that saw it was able to withdraw his gaze from the fearful spectacle. All other faculties seemed to be absorbed, and even had they had the opportunity to flee, few would have been able to move a foot.

Many on board were personally cognizant that any extraordinary concussion of the air, as that produced by the firing of guns, had been known to cause waterspouts to subside, and the captain of our ship had given orders to train two of the main-deck large carronades (for we were armed en flute) upon it, with heavy charges. But so riveted and entranced were all, that it was with extreme difficulty that either soldiers or sailors could be got to move; and only when some of the officers literally placed their own shoulders to the wheel, and exhorted, and even struck the gaping, bewildered men, were the guns charged and trained in the waist of the ship. Scarcely was this done, when five or six of the largest columns suddenly joined together, as though by a species of magnetic attraction, and formed one of colossal magnitude, high as the maintopsail-yard, the spiral motion rapidly increasing, and the whole body seeming to near the ship.

"We shall soon know our fate," exclaimed the captain. "Now, Tom," said he, to the old man-o'-war's gunner, "do your best – your very best."

"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the tough old salt, in that muttering, indistinct manner, common to old seamen when much excited. "Avast a minute!" grumbled he to an assistant, who was busy with the chocks. "Hand me that monkey's tail!"

Eagerly clutching with his fish-hooks of fingers the short iron crowbar so denominated, he rammed it as far as he could down the ample mouth of the piece, in a peculiar direction.

"Away, skylarkers! Sea-room, ye red-coats! There: de-press a little – more – so, avast!" He took a quick squint down the short but deadly tube, and then turned to the artillery-man presiding over the other carronade, with "Ship mate, are you all clear for a run?"

"All ready?" inquired the captain.

"All ready, sir," repeated the veteran tar.

"Very good," was the reply; and, springing on the capstan-head, the latter sang out at the top of his voice, "Now men, I want every one of you – red-coats and blue-jackets – to try your lungs! They're strong enough on most occasions, and don't be behindhand now. Our lives depend upon it." Here he paused; and, pointing significantly to the tremendous spout, which enlarged and neared the ship every moment, he impressively demanded, "Do you see yon big fellow?"

"Ay, ay," said the tarry-jackets.

"Yes," said the red-coats.

"Very well, then, all I've got to say, is, that if we don't thrash him, he will thrash us! So no demi-semi-quavers, but give three hearty cheers to frighten him away, for he's a real coward. Hats off, and up at arm's length!" They obeyed.

"Now, my hearties," continued he, well knowing in what strain to address them, "let us try if our throats can not drown the bark of these two bull-dogs of ours! Why, we're good-for-nothing, if we can't make as much din as a couple of rusty iron candlesticks! Hu-r-r-ah!"

As the gallant commander waved his hat aloft, the keen eye of the old gunner glistened with uncommon ardor, and, squirting a long stream of suspicious-looking fluid some odd fathoms from the ship's side, he muttered, "Here goes a re'g'lar wide-awaker" – applied the match to the priming – bang! bang! the two "candlesticks" blended into one simultaneous roar, accompanied by hurrahs which of themselves shook the sultry air.

The steady state of the ship was highly favorable to the marksmen, and the skill of the old gunner produced a result equal to his most sanguine expectations, for the "monkey's tail" struck fairly athwart the spout at an elevation of some fifteen feet, and the whole immense body immediately fell with a crash like that of a steeple, and before the cheering ended, all had subsided – old Neptune's face became unwrinkled as heretofore, ship and shadow again became double, rainbow-hued dolphins again glided like elfin shadows just beneath the translucent surface, flying-fish again skipped along it with redoubled zest, the huge albatross again inertly stretched its immense wings, the screaming sea-hawk again descended from the regions of immensity, where it had been soaring at an elevation far beyond the pierce of human vision, the white side of the insatiate shark again glanced in fearful proximity to the imprisoned ship; aboard which ship hearts rose as the waves fell, fear was indignantly kicked out of its brief abiding-place, tongues were again in active commission, feet were again pattering, and arms again swinging about, shrill orders were again bandied, the pet monkey ran chattering aloft to complete its lately suspended dissection of the marine's cap, tarry-jackets again freshened their quids, hitched their voluminous trowsers, and made vigorous renewed allusion to their precious eyes and limbs, and red-coats once more found themselves at the usual discount.

So heavily had the guns been charged, that they rebounded across the deck, overturning a score of the very "finest pisantry in the world," who one and all vehemently asserted in the rich brogue, and with the lively gesticulations of their native land, that they were "kilt intirely, an' no misthake, at all, at all!"

I have only to add, that a glorious spanking breeze followed within a few hours; and many a poor fellow blessed the waterspout, from a vague notion that to its agency we were indebted for the grateful change. But what mysterious affinity there could be between a waterspout in a calm, and a breeze springing up soon afterward, I leave my scientific friends to discover and explain. Such things are above a plain seaman's philosophy.

MAURICE TIERNAY,

THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE

[Continued from the August Number.]