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Read Ebook: Valda Berättelser With Notes and Vocabulary by Lagerl F Selma Mauritzson Jules Editor
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Ebook has 1943 lines and 61917 words, and 39 pages
The Child Wife, by Captain Mayne Reid.
THE ISLE OF PEACE.
Aquidnec--"Isle of Peace!"
Oh, Coddington, and ye Assistants of the General Court! what craze possessed you to change this fair title of the red aboriginal for the petty appellation of "Rhodes?"
Out upon your taste--your classic affectation! Out upon your ignorance--to mistake the "Roodt" of the old Dutch navigator for that name appertaining to the country of the Colossus!
In the title bestowed by Block there was at least appropriateness--even something of poetry. Sailing around Sachuest Point, he beheld the grand woods, red in the golden sun-glow of autumn. Flashed upon his delighted eyes the crimson masses of tree foliage, and the festoonery of scarlet creepers. Before his face were bright ochreous rocks cropping out from the cliff. Down in his log-book went the "Red Island!"
Oh, worthy Coddington, why did you reject the appellation of the Indian? Or why decree such clumsy transformation to that of the daring Dutchman?
I shall cling to the old title--"Isle of Peace"; though in later times less apt than when the Warapanoag bathed his bronzed limbs in the tranquil waters of the Narraganset, and paddled his light canoe around its rock-girt shores.
Since then, Aquidnec! too often hast thou felt the sore scathing of war. Where now thy virgin woods that rejoiced the eyes of Verrazano, fresh from Tuscan scenes? Where thy grand oaks elms, and maples? Thy green pines and red cedars? Thy birches that gave bark, thy chestnuts affording food; thy sassafras laurel, restorer of health and life?
Gone--all gone! Swept away by the torch and axe of the ruthless soldier-destroyer.
Despite thy despoliation, Aquidnec, thou art still a fair spot. Once more the Isle of Peace, the abode of Love--its very Agapemone; every inch of thy turf trodden by lovers' feet--every ledge of thy cliffs listening to the old, old story.
Newport, in the year of our Lord 18--, in the "height of the season."
An apartment in that most hospitable of American hostelries, the Ocean House, with a window looking westward.
A noble view is this opening of the great estuary of Narraganset--one upon which beautiful eyes have often rested.
Never more beautiful than those of Julia Girdwood, the occupant of the apartment above mentioned.
She is not its sole occupant. There is another young lady beside her, her cousin, Cornelia Inskip. She has also pretty eyes, of a bluish tint; but they are scarce observed after looking into those orbs of dark bistre, that seem to burn with an everlasting love-light.
Equally unlike their dispositions. She of the dark complexion appears darker in thought, with greater solemnity of movement; while, judging by her speech, the gay, sprightly Cornelia thinks but little of the past, and still less about the future.
Robed in loose morning-wrappers, with tiny slippers poised upon their toes, they are seated in rocking-chairs, just inside the window. The eyes of both, sweeping the blue sea, have just descried the steamer coming from beyond the distant Point Judith, and heading in a north-easterly direction.
It was a fine sight, this huge black monster beating its way through the blue water, and leaving a white seething track behind it.
Cornelia sprang out into the balcony to get a better view of it.
"I wonder what boat it is?" she said. "One of the great ocean steamers, I suppose--a Cunarder!"
"I think not, Neel. I wish it was one, and I aboard of it. Thank Heaven! I shall be, before many weeks."
"What! tired of Newport already? We'll find no pleasanter place in Europe. I'm sure we shan't."
"We'll find pleasanter people, at all events."
"Why, what have you got against them?"
"What have they got against us? I don't mean the natives here. They're well enough, in their way. I speak of their summer visitors, like ourselves. You ask what they've got against us. A strange question!"
Miss Inskip could not deny that something of this had been observed by her. But she was one of those contented spirits who set but little store upon aristocratic acquaintances, and are therefore insensible to its slights.
With the proud Julia it was different. If not absolutely slighting, the "society" encountered in this fashionable watering-place had in some way spited her--that section of it described as the J.'s and the L.'s and the B.'s.
"And for what reason?" she continued, with increasing indignation. "If our fathers were retail storekeepers, their grandfathers were the same. Where's the difference, I should like to know?"
Miss Inskip could see none, and said so.
But this did not tranquillise the chafed spirit of her cousin, and perceiving it, she tried to soothe her on another tack.
"Well, Julia, if the Miss J.'s, and Miss L.'s, and Miss B.'s, look down on us, their brothers don't. On you, I'm sure they don't."
She might well talk thus. Than Julia Girdwood, anything less like a fright never stood in front of a mirror. Full-grown, and of perfect form, this storekeeper's daughter had all the grand air of a duchess. The face was perfect as the figure. You could not look upon it without thoughts of love; though strangely, and somewhat unpleasantly, commingled with an idea of danger. It was an aspect that suggested Cleopatra, Lucrezia Borgia, or the beautiful murderess of Darnley.
"It is true, Julia," assented her cousin; "you are both rich and beautiful. I wish I could say the same."
"Come, little flatterer! if not the first, you are certainly the last; though neither counts for much here."
"Why did we come here?"
"I had nothing to do with it. Mamma is answerable for that. For my part I prefer Saratoga, where there's less pretensions about pedigree, and where a shopkeeper's daughter is as good as his granddaughter. I wanted to go there this season. Mother objected. Nothing would satisfy her but Newport, Newport, Newport! And here we are. Thank Heaven! it won't be for long."
"Well, since we are here, let us at least enjoy what everybody comes for--the bathing."
"Pretends to come for, you mean! Dipping their skins in salt water, the Miss J.'s, and L.'s, and B.'s--much has that to do with their presence at Newport! A good thing for them if it had! It might improve their complexions a little. Heaven knows they need it; and Heaven be thanked I don't."
"But you'll bathe to-day?"
"I shan't!"
"Consider, cousin! It's such a delightful sensation."
"I hate it!"
"You're jesting, Julia?"
"Well, I don't mean that I dislike bathing--only in that crowd."
"But there's no exclusiveness on the beach."
"There is; I know the very spot I discovered it the other day, when I was out with Keziah gathering shells. It's down under the cliffs. There's a sweet little cave, a perfect grotto, with a deepish pool in front, and smooth sandy bottom, white as silver. The cliff quite overhangs it. I'm sure no one could see us from above; especially if we go when the people are bathing. Then everybody would be at the beach, and we'd have the cliff shore to ourselves. For that matter, we can undress in the cave, without the chance of a creature seeing us. Keziah could keep watch outside. Say you'll go, Julia?"
"Well, I don't mind. But what about mamma? She's such a terrible stickler for the proprieties. She may object."
"We needn't let her know anything about it. She don't intend bathing to-day; she's just told me so. We two can start in the usual style, as if going to the beach. Once outside, we can go our own way. I know of a path across the fields that'll take us almost direct to the place. You'll go?"
"Oh, I'm agreed."
"It's time for us to set out, then. You hear that tramping along the corridor? It's the bathers about to start. Let us call Keziah, and be off."
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