Finally, when more than the half hour had elapsed, a brake-man satisfied the eager inquiries of the passengers by the information that a coal-schooner had attempted to pass through the draw-bridge half a mile above Peekskill, when the tide was too far spent—that she had managed to get aground in the draw-bridge, immediately across the track—and that, consequently, no train could possibly pass until the tide rose again and released the unfortunate boat, well along towards midnight! Here was a pleasant predicament, especially for those who, like our travellers, had connections to make at Albany for the North and West; and yet, to their credit be it said, that particular couple bore the delay with wonderful equanimity! It is just possible that both remembered that they would be together a few hours longer on account of the accident, and that they were prepared to endure even a longer forced companionship!
At last the train moved on, but slowly, through the village of Peekskill, and reached the little creek, under the very edge of the Highlands, where the accident had occurred. The scene was certainly a picturesque one, with the grounded boat, the swung draw-bridge, the men laboring to lighter-off the vessel by unloading the coal, the passengers crowding and swarming from the cars, the setting sun over the noble headlands to the West, and the placid river coming out from the dark shadow of the Highlands and sweeping grandly down to Haverstraw Bay.
It had been arranged that all the passengers by the up-train should disembark and cross the long bridge over the estuary, on the narrow strips of plank temporarily laid down for that purpose, so as to be ready to take the next down-train from Albany, the moment it arrived, and go back with it;—while the passengers by the down-train would cross in the same manner and run back with the up-train towards New York;—thus saving what would otherwise be hours of additional detention. Then streamed across those planks a most picturesque line of pedestrians, sturdy men and timid women, each a little afraid of so narrow a footing over the water, some of the women nervous and screaming a little, and some of the men quite as cowardly but much more ashamed to acknowledge the feeling. The novelty of the picture was materially added to, meanwhile, by the fact that nearly every male passenger was loaded like a pack-horse with baggage, and the ladies with shawls, parasols and bundles,—and that all, when they reached the neck of land at the end of the bridge, squatted down miscellaneously on the dry grass and among the wood and timber, like so many Arabs making a noon encampment.
"Oh, isn't this jolly!" exclaimed Joe Harris, as Tom Leslie was leading her over the line of plank, when they were about half way across, and when, from the instability of a part of the structure, there seemed a fair prospect of taking a duck in the river.
"Bravo, little girl!" said Tom Leslie, in reply. "That is the way to take detention and disappointment in travelling; and after that expression I would bet on you for ascending Mont Blanc or living on a raft." Such little events, to close observers, sometimes furnish keys to the capabilities of whole characters.
"You compliment me," said the young girl, "but there is really nothing to compliment me about. I am not enduring, but enjoying. Look out!—there I go! No I don't!" as she partially lost her balance and then recovered it. "Why we should have lost all this, but for the accident; and probably nothing in our whole ride could have compensated it."
"It is indeed a striking scene," said Leslie, his quick appreciation of the beautiful actively brought into play, as they landed safely on the sward at the end of the bridge. "See the dusky shadows creeping over the Highlands, yonder, and their still duskier shadows in the still water. See the orange and pink of the sunset sky, reaching half way to the zenith, and that quarter moon dividing the sunset colors from the dark blue beyond, like a sentinel. Then see that steamboat creeping close in under the shadow of the land, as if she was trying to steal by unobserved. And then yonder, that smelting furnace perched on one of the hills, throwing out its gleams of molten metal, with their glowing reflection in the little creek. And last, not least, Peekskill lying across the cove yonder, with its Independence flags still flying, those untimely rockets going up, boats with singing parties putting off from the shore, and the music of the band coming over the water just softly enough to make an undertone for the feeling of the place and the hour."
"It is indeed a picture worth remembering," said Josephine, "and the more so after you have so graphically described it." But suddenly, and without any perceptible reason, at that moment the young girl pulled away from his arm, on which she had been leaning, flung down the light veil of her bonnet, stepped away a few paces, and turned her face towards the river. Leslie looked around to see what could have caused the movement, but saw nothing except a few of the last passengers leaving the planks, and among them a military officer in full colonel's uniform, whose face he did not recognize. He saw that the officer passed on, farther up the railroad-track; and the moment after, slightly turning her head, but very warily, the young girl appeared to be beckoning to him. He stepped towards her at once, and turning her head once more towards the river and the western skies, she said:
"Excuse my strange behaviour; I know that you will do so when you understand my reasons—no, you cannot understand them all, at least just now—but part of them. I dare not turn around my head, for fear of being recognized. You saw an officer coming off the bridge just now. Did you know him?"
"No, I did not," answered Leslie, and it must be confessed that he wished to add, though he did not do so, "But what the deuce is the mystery in your young life, that you are obliged to shun recognition in this manner?"