Bessie on Her Travels

by Joanna H. Mathews

“Bessie.”

It would be hard to tell who took the most pleasure in these letters from our little travellers,—those who wrote them, or those who received them. One thing is certain,—that they were all carefully kept and laid away, and some time, when they are older, Maggie and Bessie may find some amusement in looking over these records of their childish days. Many a pleasant scene and circumstance will they bring back to them, and some not so bright perhaps; for the little ones have their trials, as we know, and do not, I fear, forget as readily as we grown people would believe. It is strange we do not see that too; looking back, as we often do, with a sort of tender pity for our own former grieved and mortified little selves, and remembering with such distinctness the sharp or quick word of reproof, the thoughtless teasing, or the loud, sudden laugh at some innocent speech or action.

Little did Bessie think when she wrote that last letter, how soon her wishes to see her dear friends were to be gratified.

It had been intended to take the steamer down Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence to Montreal: but on the day before that on which our friends were to leave Niagara, there was a severe storm which tossed and roughened the waters of the great lake; and fearing that Maggie might have an attack of the old enemy she so dreaded, and knowing that fresh water seasickness is even worse than that which comes from the salt water, the elders of the party decided not to take the boat down the lake.

They therefore went by the cars to Kingston, in Canada, and, after passing a day there, took the boat down the river St. Lawrence; for here Maggie had nothing to fear from her foe. There was no part of their long journey which the children enjoyed more than their passage down this beautiful river, so different from any thing they had yet seen. The Lake of the Thousand Isles, as the entrance to the St. Lawrence is called, full of little islets up to the number that is named, a thousand: some larger, and covered with graceful, feathery trees; some so small as scarce to afford room for some solitary tree or bush; clustering together so as scarce to leave room for the steamer to pass, then again separating, with a broad, clear sheet of water between them.

Here something occurred which greatly interested not only the children, but also the grown people on board. As the steamer was slowly making her way between two small islands, the passengers saw a very exciting chase before them. A fine stag was swimming across the river, pursued by dogs and two boats with men in them. The poor beast was trying with all his strength to escape from his cruel enemies, and the sympathies of all the passengers were with him. The men in the boats had no guns, but a net, which they were trying to throw over his head; but each time they neared him, he shot forward beyond their reach. Maggie and Bessie were in a state of the wildest excitement, as they watched the innocent and beautiful creature panting with terror and fatigue; and their elders were hardly less so. Bessie held fast her father’s hand, gazing with eager eyes and parted lips, her color coming and going, her little frame trembling with distress and indignation; and Maggie seized upon Uncle Ruthven and danced up and down in frantic suspense and alarm at the danger of the poor beast. His courage seemed giving out, and his pursuers cheered in triumph; when, summoning up all his strength, he suddenly turned, and, passing almost under the bow of the steamer, made for the opposite and nearer shore, thus gaining upon his enemies as they took time to turn their boats; and cleaving the water, almost like lightning, he reached the thickly wooded bank, bounded up, and was lost to sight among the forest trees, and beyond the reach of his would-be destroyers. A cheer burst from those on board, as the noble creature disappeared in safety,—a cheer in which Maggie joined with all her heart, “for I couldn’t help it, and most forgot it was rather tomboyish,” she afterwards said. But no one found fault with her: indeed no one could. As for Bessie, she fairly cried, but it was only with pleasure and the feeling of relief.

Later in the day, they were greatly interested in seeing the shooting of the Rapids, as the passage of the steamer over the foaming waters is called. It was a curious sight. The water foamed and bubbled around the steamer, seeming as though it were eager to draw it down; but the vessel glided on, rose a little to the billows, plunged, rose again, and was once more in smooth waters. There were several of these rapids to be passed; and, although our little girls had been rather frightened at the first, they soon became accustomed to it, and enjoyed the swift descent. The crew of the steamer were all Canadians; and, as they came to each rapid, they struck up some cheery boat-song, which rose sweet and clear above the roar of the waves, and put heart and courage into the more timid ones among the passengers.

They soon reached Montreal, where they spent a week; and here again the opportunity to do a kind act, and leave a blessing behind them, came in the way of our little sisters.

They were one day passing through the long upper hall of the hotel at which they stayed, when they met the chamber-maid who waited on their rooms, crying bitterly. The girl, who was quite young, had her apron thrown over her head, and seemed in great distress.

“What is the matter, Matilda?” asked nurse, who was with the children.