Lewis Arundel; Or, The Railroad Of Life

by Frank E. Smedley

“You may well say ‘wonderful creature,’” returned Frere, enthusiastically. “It’s my belief that my precious Podiceps is the first specimen which has ever been obtained in this country; and I should fancy it will be the last, too, for I don’t expect any one will be inclined to take the same amount of trouble that I took in order to get it. I was down in Lincolnshire last Christmas at a place called Water End—so named, I should imagine, on the lucus a non luceido principle, because there was no end of water all round it. Well, sir” (he was addressing Rose all this time), “Fenwick, the man with whom I was staying, told me one day that he’d seen a bird when he was duck-shooting which he’d never met with before; and by the description he gave me of it, I felt almost certain it must have been a specimen of the Podiceps Cornutus, which, as I dare say you know, is scarcely ever found in this latitude.”

“You must excuse my lamentable ignorance,” replied Rose, smiling, “but I was not even aware of its illustrious existence five minutes ago.”

“Well,” returned Frere, arching his eye-brows, “they do neglect women’s educations shamefully, I must say! The Podiceps Cornutus is a species of Grebe by no means rare in Pennsylvania, where they winter; in summer they migrate to the far countries to rear their young; they are web-footed; the bill is—but, however, you shall see my specimen, so I need not bother you with a long description, which I dare say you would not understand, after all; and I’ll tell you, instead, my adventures in pursuit of the particular individual in question. The weather was unusually cold, the ground was covered with snow, and the water with ice; but as soon as I heard of the Podiceps nothing would serve me but I must go after it. Accordingly, an amphibious old animal of a gamekeeper was summoned to attend me, and as soon as it was light the next morning off we set, and we walked through ice and snow till two o’clock in the afternoon, each armed with a long duck gun that weighed as much as a young cannon. We saw plenty of ducks, teal, and even snipes, but nothing that could by any possibility be mistaken for a Podiceps. At last we came to a salt-marsh, as they call it,—that is, a place which is all water when the tide is high, and alluvium—more commonly termed mud—when it’s low, which it happened to be at that particular epoch. Well, my old companion began to show signs of knocking up, and gave one or two broad hints that he considered we were engaged in a wild-goose chase in every sense of the term, and that the sooner we relinquished it the better; when, all of a sudden, almost from under our feet, up sprang a bird and flew away like the wind. ‘The Podiceps, by all that’s glorious!’ exclaimed I; and levelling my gun in such excitement that I could scarcely hold it steady, I blazed away, and—of course missed it. The old gamekeeper, however, took the thing more coolly—muttering ‘most haste worst speed,’ he raised his fowling-piece, and when the bird was just at a nice killing distance pulled the trigger—but the confounded gun hung fire and did not go off till my Podiceps was all but out of shot. Luckily, however, some of the shots reached him, and just as I fancied I was about to lose sight of him for ever, he gave a sort of lurch, as if he were tipsy, and came toppling down headlong. I marked the spot where he fell, and the moment he reached the ground rushed off to secure him. As I was going along I heard the old fellow bawling something after me, of which I only caught the words, ‘take care,’ but as I was not in the humour just then to take care of anything except to gain possession of my Podiceps, I paid no attention to him. The bird had fallen on a sort of peninsular-shaped bank, and along this, sometimes over my insteps in mud, sometimes up to my knees in water, did I make my way, as fast as the difficulties of the path would permit. The spot where the Podiceps had fallen proved to be much farther off than I had imagined it, and before I reached it I was completely out of breath, and almost dragged to pieces by wading through the mud in my heavy boots. However, I cared little for that when I discovered the bird lying on his back as dead as mutton, and on picking it up perceived that it really was an actual bona fide Podiceps Cornutus, and no mere myth, created by my imagination. Delighted at having secured my prize, I washed the mud off it, smoothed its feathers as carefully as possible, and wrapping it in a handkerchief, placed it in my pocket, and prepared to retrace my steps. But, lo and behold! while I had been admiring the Podiceps, my peninsula had become an island! and there was I, Robinson Crusoe-like, suddenly cut off from my fellow-creatures. Not a soul, or more correctly, a body could I see,—my old man had disappeared—indeed, so altered was the face of things by the rising of the water that I did not very well know in what quarter to look for him, or in which direction to advance in order to gain terra finna, while, to my annoyance, I perceived that my island was rapidly growing ‘small by degrees, and beautifully less!’”

“What a disagreeable position to be placed in!” exclaimed Rose, much interested. “How did you contrive to escape?”

“Well, I was just going to tell you if you hadn’t interrupted me,” returned Frere gruffly. “I made one or two attempts to discover the route by which I had come, but in vain; advance which way I would I only got into deeper water, and in the last trial I made I slipped souse into a hole, and was half-drowned before I could contrive to scramble out again. After this rather serious failure I began to feel that I was in an awkward predicament. I shouted, but no one answered, for the very sufficient reason that no one was within hearing. I loaded my gun and tried to discharge it; but it had become wet when I tumbled into the hole, and obstinately refused to go off. The water continued to rise rapidly, and my island was already covered, My only hope now lay in the old man; the words he had bawled after me must evidently have been a warning against the danger in which I had so foolishly involved myself; he was therefore aware of my situation, and would surely take some measures for my rescue. At all events, there was nothing for it but patience. I was unable to swim, the ground on which I stood appeared to be the highest point in the immediate vicinity, so there I must remain. Perhaps, after all, my imagination had exaggerated the danger; the tide might not rise much higher, and the old man, aware of this fact, might be waiting till the waters should recede to join me and pilot me safely home. This at all events was a consolatory hypothesis, and trying to persuade myself it was the true one, I forced the barrel of my gun as deeply into the mud as I was able, leaned my elbows on the butt, and thus supported, watched with a beating heart the advance of the water. My feet were already covered, and it continued to rise almost imperceptibly, and yet, comparing one five minutes with another, with appalling rapidity, higher and higher: it gained the calf of my leg; it approached, then covered my knees; inch by inch it stole on till it reached my hip; the first button of my waistcoat was the next point, then the second, then the third, and as that also disappeared I felt my situation was indeed becoming perilous in the extreme, and cast my eyes around in the vain hope of discovering some means of extricating myself. I might have saved myself the trouble; nothing but the still increasing water was visible on any side. A slight breeze arose and rippled the surface, and now my precaution of thrusting my gun-barrel into the mud stood me in good stead; but for it I should have been swept away by the advancing tide, and even in spite of this support I found some difficulty in preserving my foothold. My eyes seemed riveted by some supernatural fascination on the progress made by the deepening water. My waistcoat buttoned up to the throat with eight buttons; five of these were by this time immersed, the water stood breast high, the sixth disappeared. It was with the greatest difficulty I could preserve my balance—I swayed from side to side like a drunken man. The cold was intense; my teeth chattered and my limbs were rapidly becoming cramped and paralysed, while to add to my catalogue of miseries, the daylight began to fade apace. I gave myself up for lost, and came to the conclusion that if ever we were fished out the Podiceps and I should be alike candidates for a glass-case in some museum. A strange mixture of thoughts ran through my brain. I tried to realise the idea of death. I fancied the separation of soul and body, and speculated on how my mental self would feel when it saw strange fishes taking liberties with my bodily self, without having the slightest power to drive them away. My attention was diverted from these gloomy fancies by observing that the water appeared much longer in reaching my seventh button than it had been in advancing from the fourth to the fifth, or from that to the sixth, and while I was casting about to find a reason for this variation—lo and behold! the sixth button once more became visible. How was this? Had I unconsciously shifted to higher ground, or was it, could it be possible that the tide had turned, that the waters had begun to recede? The agonising suspense of the next five minutes was one of the most severe mental trials I have ever experienced. Though I have spoken lightly on the subject, I had in fact made up my mind to face death as a man and a Christian should do, and was prepared to meet my fate calmly and resolutely; but now the uncertainty, the renewed hope of life struggling with the fear of a possibly approaching death became almost unbearable, and had the conflict been prolonged my presence of mind would have entirely deserted me. Less than five minutes, however, served to set the matter at rest. The sixth button was left high and dry, the fifth reappeared, and was succeeded by another and another; certain landmarks, whose immersion I had watched with anxious eyes, again became visible, and I was thinking of making a final effort to reach terra firma before the increasing darkness should throw new difficulties in the way, when my ears were greeted by a distant ‘Halloo.’ I shouted in reply, and soon had the satisfaction of perceiving a flat-bottomed boat making towards me, propelled by my host and the old man who I had conceived basely to have deserted me. As they drew me, half-crippled with cold and exhaustion, into the boat, Fenwick began haranguing me in a composite strain of upbraiding and condolence, but I cut him short by raising my head as I lay sousing in a puddle at the bottom of the punt, and murmuring in a faint voice—‘Never mind, old fellow, it’s all right, for I’ve got the Podiceps Cornutus.’ And touching that same bird, here we are at the stuffer’s shop; so come along in, and I’ll show him to you bodily.”

A week had elapsed since the morning on which the above conversation took place, a week in which many events had occurred. The mighty Nonpareil, still considering the via media a promising investment, had condescended graciously to purchase Rose’s manuscript, and when Frere, who brought her the intelligence, placed in her hands a cheque for £100, which, relying on her profound ignorance of business forms, he had kindly substituted for the publisher’s bill at six months, she received it with a start of delight. The girl was so happy! she had at length realised her darling project; she had, by her own exertions, helped to lighten Lewis’s burden; she had done something towards shortening his period of banishment, for such she considered his enforced residence at Broadhurst. Poor Rose! she had not a particle of avarice in her whole nature, and yet never did miser rejoice over his hoards as she did over that hundred pounds; for it was by no means to be spent—that, fortunately, was unnecessary, as Mrs. Arundel, albeit wanting mental ballast in some points, was a notable housewife, and as for Rachel, she was a very dragon in her care of that Hesperides, the larder; so that out of the liberal allowance Lewis made to them, his mother and sister were privately saving a small fund, destined, as they fondly hoped, to advance at some future time his fortunes; and to this store Rose’s hundred pounds would make a magnificent addition. And the joy it was to her thus to dedicate it! Could she have purchased with it the most desirable match in England, the hand of that identical young duke who was exhibited to correct radical tendencies at the electioneering ball at Broadhurst, his Grace might have died a bachelor ere Rose would have diverted the money from its appointed purpose. But something ought to be done with it. Rose had heard of compound interest; nay, she had even had its nature explained to her; and though at the end of the explanation she was more in the dark than at the beginning, she attributed that to her own obtuseness, and contented herself with recollecting that it was something which began by doubling itself, and went on doubling itself, and something else, until—she did not know exactly what; so she supplied the blank by adding, until the desired result should be attained. And now, recalling the definition thus attained, she decided that the advisable thing would be to place her hundred pounds in the most favourable situation for catching that desirable epidemic, compound interest. Accordingly, with much diffidence, and a just appreciation of the very hazy nature of her dissolving views in regard to the investment of capital generally, Rose communicated her ideas to Frere. That gentleman heard her out with a good-humoured smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Well,” he said, as she concluded, “you are but a woman after all, I see!”

“Why, what have you taken me for hitherto, then?” demanded Rose.

This very pertinent inquiry appeared somewhat to puzzle the individual to whom it was addressed, for he pushed his hair back from his forehead and rubbed his chin with an air of perplexity ere he answered, “If I were what they call a lady’s man, which means a conceited puppy, I should grin at you to show my white teeth, and reply, ‘An Angel;’ but seeing that man was made a little lower than the angels—though, by the way, that’s a mistranslation—and that women are inferior to men, to call a woman an angel is to be guilty of a logical absurdity, and is only to be excused in the case of lovers, who, as men labouring under a mental delusion—temporary monomaniacs, in fact—are scarcely to be looked upon as rational beings.”

“But if you are not a puppy, and I am not an angel, both which propositions I am perfectly ready to admit, why do you consider it necessary to enunciate your apparent discovery that, after all, I am only a woman?” inquired Rose.

“Because, if you must know,” growled Frere, at length fairly brought to bay, “you have hitherto talked so much sense, and so little nonsense, that I’ve looked upon you more as a man than a woman. You wanted the truth, and now you’ve got it,” he continued in a tone like the rumbling of distant thunder, as Rose, clapping her hands in girl-like delight at having elicited this confession, replied with a low, silvery laugh, “I thought so! I fancied that was it! Oh, the conceit of these lords of the creation! And now that you have found out that I am not the mental Amazon your fancy painted me, do you intend quite to give me up?”