CHAPTER XXVII

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SOCIETY AND SHOULDER-STRAPS AT THE FALLS--TOM LESLIE ANNEXING CANADA--MEETING OF THE NEW YORKERS--ANOTHER RENCONTRE, A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE AND A GENERAL WONDER.

Tom Leslie was not left to loneliness and his own resources very long at the Cataract, for Walter Lane Harding reached Niagara at noon on Monday, having left New York on Sunday evening. Though even had Leslie been left to his "own resources," these resources were somewhat more numerous than usual, and he was never much in the habit of being so bored by Time as to be obliged to lay plots against its life. In the first place--no, that should be the _second_ place--he had his duties as a newspaper-correspondent at a leading and fashionable resort, which entailed a letter every day, but which did not entail, let us say, the chronicling of the details of hops and evening assemblies, after a manner somewhat scandalously prevalent, with descriptions of the "charming dress worn by Miss A----," the "elegance and grace of the accomplished Miss B----," and all the other disgusting and indecent Jenkinsism of the initials, together with fulsome laudations of the table and even the laundry of the hotel, leading to the impression that the correspondent is upon free board and even free _washing_! Our cosmopolitan had outlived that phase of callow journalism, long before; and the managing-editor would have been a bold one who should now have proposed to him to re-enter that most contemptible of all literary harness. What he was to write and what he _did_ write, catching up the prevailing topics of conversation and tones of feeling, with sensational descriptions of scenery and incident interspersed like under-tones to joyous music,--men who have hearts, brains and breeding will at once recognize, and others will never know under any detail of information.

What Tom Leslie found it necessary to do in the _first_ place, was to write a letter per day, and occasionally two, to a certain lady temporarily located at West Falls, Oneida County, that lady having very kindly given him her address with permission to use it, and having promised to answer these epistles with brief and maidenly little notes of her own. When it is said that as early as Monday he received one of those notes, and that for an hour thereafter he had very indefinite ideas as to which end of the human figure was intended for the purposes of locomotion, it will be understood that both parties to the compact were carrying out their agreement with praiseworthy faithfulness.

But even without the duties devolved upon him by love or newspapers, Tom Leslie, a trained observer of society around him, would have found plenty of occupation on the favorite promenades and in the parlors and halls of the International and Cataract. Such a complete and total revolution in society was beginning to show itself, in the gradual dropping away of the old "good families" who years before had made Niagara, Saratoga and Newport their Meccas at midsummer; such bloated pretenders, with unlicked cubs of families, the "shoddy aristocracy" who had first aided to make the war, and then make dishonest fortunes from it, had come up to take their places, with everything about them, sire and son, mother and daughter, new, arrogant and unpleasant; and there was such a marked absence of that Southern element which in other days had supplied money to obsequious waiters and green girls to needy fortune-hunters,--that there seemed to have been a complete turn of the kaleidoscope, and it almost puzzled an old habitue to know whether he had not exchanged lands as well as years.

And something else, of no secondary importance, presented its claims to notice. This was the "blue and buttons"--the "absenteeism" to which notice has been before so often called during the progress of this narration. The result of the Seven Days' Battles was just coming to the sojourners at Niagara, through the Buffalo and New York papers; and while the Fourth of July address of McClellan to his soldiers, which came among the other items of news from the army, and which was then and there being read and commented upon, showed that the last chance of victory was not yet lost, it showed at the same time how fearfully the ranks of our armies had been thinned and what a necessity there was that every man who had pretended to be a soldier, and who had from any cause been so far absent from the field, should return at once and aid to sustain the perilled cause. And yet through every corridor of the leading houses at Niagara, in every parlor, on every walk and on every piazza, sat, stood, walked, read, smoked or flirted, the blue-clothed, buttoned, shoulder-strapped, jaunty-capped, natty-whiskered and killingly-moustached officers of the Union army, who had sworn to serve the country and aid to defend the republic,--but who paid no more attention to the pleading call of the generals in the field or the authoritative voice of the President, than they would have done to a blind piper playing in the street! It was easier to dawdle than to fight or even do duty in camp: it was more pleasant to bask in the admiring smiles of silly girls who should have turned their eyes into basilisks to blast the indolent and miserable cowards--than to dare the July sun on the banks of the James, or run the risk of a flash from the enemy's cannon. Men who had the welfare of the republic at heart, turned sick when they looked at these hale, hearty and unwounded absentees from an honorable service, every man of them daily breaking his oath to his country and his obligations to his own conscience. This was one more of the phases of society at Niagara, which Tom Leslie was called upon to note down and study during those opening days of July, and one of the evils which--shame to the nation that it should be so!--is only now[16] beginning to find a partial remedy.

[Footnote 16: March 14th, 1863.]

But it has been said that Walter Harding reached Niagara at noon on Monday, and thenceforth Leslie had a companion in most of his strolls and observations. Harding's calm face looked a little jaded with close attention to business in hot weather and a time of financial trouble; he had not been quite so frequent a rambler at the Falls as Leslie, and had some points of interest yet to visit in the neighborhood, especially on the Canada side; he was fonder of the road and less fond of observations among the crowd of sight-seers and summer-loungers, than his friend; and as a consequence, after his coming, riding took the place of lounging to a great degree. Nothing with reference to these rides, most of which took place along the green lanes and among the fertile fields of Brantford County, deserves notice in this place, except one phase of the peculiar character of Leslie, half-earnest patriotism and half-tormenting mischief. He found plenty of ill-feeling towards the United States, among the Canadians, and as much effort as possible to depreciate the Federal currency. Thenceforth his special anxiety was to vex and annoy as many of the Canadians and native English as possible, and verbally, at least, to annex the two Canadas to the Union.

Going up to the top of the Observatory at Lundy's Lane, on their Tuesday-morning ride, among the other visitors who were listening to the ten-thousandth repetition of the story of the battle of Niagara (varied to suit customers), told by the old soldier who either was or was not a

## participant in the battle, they found one true John Bull from the mother

country,--a stout, thick-set, florid-faced man of middle-age, not over-intelligent but very earnest and enthusiastic. Leslie marked him as a victim and began at him at once.

"I suppose you have not heard the telegraphic reports from Washington, this morning?" he said to the Englishman, after some conversation with reference to the battle had brought them to terms of speaking acquaintance.

"No," answered the Englishman. "Anything of consequence?"

"I should think so!" said Leslie, very gravely. "War between the United States and England, beyond a doubt."

"God bless my soul!" said John Bull. "No?"

"Sure as you live!" said Leslie, while Harding shook his head and knitted his brows at him as a hint to be careful how far he went with his mischief--a signal which was misinterpreted by some of the bystanders to mean that he should not have betrayed the intelligence. "Lord Lyons made a demand on Secretary Seward, yesterday morning, to open the ports of Charleston and Savannah within twenty-four hours, for the free exportation of cotton. Secretary Seward at once refused to open them at all before the conclusion of the war or the First of January 1900; and Lord Lyons immediately exhibited his instructions to come home by the first steamer if the demand was not acceded to. He left Washington last evening, and will sail for England by the steamer of to-morrow."

Some of the auditors--intelligent visitors from the hotels, and other well-informed people, saw the joke and humored it. Others, prepared for almost any item of startling news, and not too well up in national affairs, took it all for sober earnest. John Bull was completely mystified.

"Good heavens!" he said. "Can this be possible?"

"I must hurry back!" said Leslie, warming into broader mischief, and pulling out his watch. "Non-intercourse between the two countries may be proclaimed at any moment, and in that case I should be a prisoner!"

"God bless me" said the Englishman. "In that case I had better get over to the International and look after getting part of my baggage that is there, over on this side of the river!"

"I should advise you to do so at once," answered Leslie, quite as gravely as before. "I wonder whether we shall be stopped on our way back, or not? However, it is a matter of not much consequence. If any of us _should_ be taken prisoners and kept over here, it would not be for long. Our people will of course overrun Canada within a week, and annex it to the Northern States."

"Oh, they couldn't do _that_, you know!" said John Bull, who might believe anything else, but who could not possibly be brought to believe anything against the power of the British Government or its colonies, when in arms.

"I believe that you are an Englishman by birth? Am I mistaken?" asked Leslie, in a tone of ministerial gravity and dignity.

"Not at all mistaken, sir," said the Englishman, proudly. "John Hazelton Butts, Leakington, Monmouthshire."

"John Thompson, Jr., late Secretary of Legation to the Duchy of Parma," said Leslie, picking up the first names that happened to come into mind, and bowing in return. "You seem, Mr. Butts, to be a highly intelligent gentleman--"

"Thank you, Mr. Secretary," said the Englishman, who had at least caught the fictitious title.

"But, sir," Leslie went on, "it is impossible that any foreign resident should know, concerning affairs on this continent, what necessarily comes under _our_ knowledge. Perhaps you will be a little surprised when I tell you that there is a secret order existing all along the borders of the States adjoining these provinces, numbering more than three hundred thousand men, all drilled weekly, and all sworn, in the event of any opportunity occurring, to seize upon the Canadas and New Brunswick at once?"

"Indeed I _am_ surprised," said the Englishman. "This is really the case?"

"Really and incontestably, sir," answered Leslie. "You will see at once, sir, what chance there could be of defending these provinces against such an inroad. But come, Smith!" addressing Harding, "we must really hurry back before the bridge closes. Good morning, Mr. Butts!--good morning, gentlemen!" and Leslie hurried down from the observatory and away, accompanied by Harding. Whether the Englishman at once went over after his baggage, or not, is uncertain.

"What _is_ the use of all that, Tom?" asked Harding, when they were once more in the carriage and rolling along the privet-hedged lanes.

"Use? oh, plenty of use!--_fun_! I have been as grave as a judge for nearly a week; and besides, every Englishman whom I succeed in making thoroughly uncomfortable, is one scion of the stock of _perfide Albion_ paid off for all old scores!"

"Humph!" said Harding. "You are incorrigible, and that is all that can be said about it."

Close to the edge of one of the fields along which they were driving, some laborers were at work, hoeing potatoes. There were some splendid grain-fields adjoining, and at a little distance stood a handsome farm-house with thrifty-looking outbuildings. Leslie's spirit of mischief was now up, and nothing but exercise could calm it.

"Hallo, there!" he called to the laborers, stopping the carriage at the same time. One of the working-men stopped his work and came up to the fence.

"Whose farm is this?"

"Mr. Bardeleau's, sir."

"Oh, Bardeleau! I know him. Crops look finely."

"Yes, very finely, sir," answered the workman.

"Going to the house soon?"

"Yes, sir, going in to dinner before long," answered the man.

"Well, my good man," said Leslie, "be good enough to give Mr. Bardeleau the regards of Mr. Thompson, International Hotel, an old friend of his, and to tell him that war has just broken out between England and the United States, and that the President has this morning issued a proclamation annexing Canada to the State of New York. Good morning."

Mischief of this character varied and enlivened the performances of that day and the next, Harding alternately enjoying and protesting against it. But on the third day there was a decided change in the programme. Running over the register at the desk, before breakfast on Friday morning, Leslie found the following four names, arrivals of the night before: "Richard Crawford--John Crawford--Miss Isabel Crawford--Miss Marion Hobart--New York City."

"Why, here are acquaintances--or at least one of them!" he called to Harding, who was at a little distance. He might have said more than one acquaintance, with propriety, for though he had met none of the Crawfords except Bell, he knew so much of them from Josephine Harris that he seemed to have known them for a twelvemonth.

"Who are they?" asked Harding, busy with a carriage-order.

"The Crawfords--and somebody else with them," answered Leslie. "You remember the young ladies on Broadway, the impudent scoundrel and the caning, a few days ago--one of them a Miss Crawford"--

"Yes, I remember," said Harding, with a little flush rising suddenly to his face. He also remembered, beyond a doubt, that he had been very much impressed by that young lady, and that had he _dared_, he would have called at her house before leaving the city. Here she was, brought accidentally into the same hotel with himself, and--. What else he thought may be left to the imagination. "Yes, I remember," he said. "And the other lady--Miss Harris, is she in the company?"

"No," said Leslie, "she does not appear to be." ("Appear to be!"--just as if that scamp did not know where she was, and as if he had not a letter in his pocket from her!) "No, see--Miss Crawford and her two brothers, with another lady whose name I have never heard before."

The result of this discovery was that the parties met at breakfast, a slight flush (corresponding to that of Harding a little while before) mounting to the face of Bell Crawford as she introduced the two friends to her brothers and Miss Hobart. Very naturally, thereafter, though there was an overplus of males and a deficiency of females to make the association perfect, the two parties blended, and in the future plans for sight-seeing and amusement each made arrangements for and calculated upon the other.

They were just passing from the breakfast-room--that cool breakfast and dining-room of the Cataract, overlooking the lower rapids with the clumped little islands near the bridge,--when Leslie caught sight of a figure crossing the hall.

"Look--quick!" he said, touching the arm of Harding. "Look down the hall. There he is, now! Do you not recognize him?"

Harding, to whom Leslie had of course told the story of his late rencontre, looked in the direction indicated. Just for one instant the face of the person alluded to was turned towards them, and Harding plainly distinguished that it was that of the Virginian whom they had seen at the corner of Houston Street on the night of the opening of this story. He had but a moment to observe, for the tall man was almost at the office-door, and in an instant he had disappeared through it. At the same instant Marion Hobart uttered a quick, sharp cry, and staggered against John Crawford, as if about to fall. All the party gathered around her instantly, two or three of the waiters came up, and for the moment attention was distracted from everything beside.

"I had a sudden pain here. I do not feel very well. If you please I will go up to my room and lie down a little while. But I shall soon be better," said the young Virginian girl, in response to the anxious inquiries of her friends as to the cause of the sudden cry and the evident paleness of her face.

In compliance with her wish Bell Crawford accompanied her up-stairs; and the moment after, Tom Leslie stepped into the office-door through which he had seen Dexter Ralston disappear. He was not there. In reply to an inquiry, the clerk said that a tall man, whom he had seen several times before, had come into the room and stepped to the counter a moment, perhaps to examine the register, but that he had almost instantly gone out again. Leslie looked through the halls and upon the piazza, a little perplexed by the sudden appearances and disappearances of this man; but he was not in sight anywhere--he had evidently left the house.

Before quitting the breakfast-table, it had been arranged that the whole reinforced party should use the fine morning for a ride over the bridge into Canada, a three-seated carriage being called into requisition. But after the gentlemen had waited a few moments for tidings from the sudden invalid, Bell Crawford came down-stairs again and announced that they would be obliged to take the ride without female company, as Miss Hobart felt too much indisposed to ride and would remain in her room, and she could not think of leaving her entirely alone in a strange house on the first day of their arrival. Marion, she said, had proclaimed her willingness to remain alone, and had even urged her to go, but she had refused and would remain.

This arrangement did not precisely please any of the gentlemen, and least of all it pleased Walter Lane Harding, who had lately ridden over all that ground quite often enough unless he was to go over it this time in peculiarly pleasant company. He had an insane belief, by this time, that Miss Bell Crawford was "very pleasant company." But there was little else to do, than to obey the decrees of fate; one of the ladies was temporarily an invalid, and the other, for humanity's sake, must play nurse; the gentlemen could have little of their society, at least for the morning; and so half an hour afterwards, while Bell Crawford returned up-stairs, fortified with a novel and two Buffalo papers, to perform her self-denying office of Good Samaritan, the four gentlemen took an open landau and were whirled down to the Suspension Bridge and over to the Canada side.

Their drive had lasted perhaps three hours and covered nearly twenty miles, when, hastening back to dinner, they drove in at the gate-house on the Canada side of the Suspension Bridge. A close-carriage was just leaving the bridge at the same moment. Between this and the carriage in which the four friends were seated, a clumsy furniture-wagon attempted to pass at the moment when they stopped to show tickets, and in doing so the driver locked his wheel with that of the close-carriage coming over. The friends noticed that there were trunks on the rack of this carriage, and that though the day was so hot and sultry, the windows were closed. As the wheels locked, one of the windows was dashed down with some petulance, and a head appeared through it, while a sharp, strong voice cried:

"Why the d--l don't you drive on?"

Both Tom Leslie and Walter Harding recognized the face and voice of Dexter Ralston. The latter, glancing at the figures in the landau, observed Leslie, and made a sign of recognition. By this time the wheel was cleared, Ralston again shut the window sharply, and the carriage dashed away at full speed towards the custom-house on which "V.R." is displayed for the benefit of those who never tread upon British soil to see it more liberally distributed.

"There he is again!" said Leslie to Harding.

"And apparently going away, by the trunks on the rack," replied Harding.

"Who is it?" asked John Crawford.

"An odd character, about whom we will tell you by-and-bye," said Tom Leslie. "He is a Southerner, but he must have been born in a _very_ hot climate, to need the windows closed on such a day as this."

"And he must be in a hurry," said Harding, "by his impatience and the speed at which the carriage drove away."

They drove slowly over the bridge and then hurried back towards the Cataract. It was nearly two o'clock when they reached the house, and the riders and strollers had come back from their various wanderings and filled the halls and parlors, chatting, looking at the stereoscopic views arranged for the destruction of eyes, and waiting for dinner. As the four friends entered the hall after dismissing the carriage, they were met by Bell Crawford, who seemed to have been looking out for them from the head of the stairs--her face pale, her voice thick and troubled, and her general appearance frightened and "flustered."

"What is the matter?" asked Richard Crawford, who had, even in that short space of exposure to the outer air, so much improved that fatigue rather made him fresher than otherwise, and who might even then have been called "almost a well man."

"She is gone!" cried Bell, drawing John and Richard, and the others insensibly following, into an unoccupied corner of the parlor, which was, however, vacated the moment after, in answer to the dinner-call.

"Who is gone?" asked John Crawford, alarmed.

"Marion Hobart--gone--gone away. Oh, what can it all mean?" said poor Bell, almost distracted with trouble and wonder.

"Marion Hobart gone? gone where--gone how?" asked John, grasping Bell by the arm with his one unwounded hand.

"I do not know--oh, I am half crazy!" said the poor girl. "All that I know is, that she has left this house in such a manner that she evidently never means to return to it."

"My God!" said John. "My oath!--I swore to take care of her! Tell me, quick, what is it that has happened?"

"I will tell you all that I know," said poor Bell, "only give me time and do not frighten me any worse if you can help it. You know Marion was unwell, and that she went up-stairs and lay down on her bed. Her room is up yonder on the next floor, number Fifteen, very near the head of the stairs. Mine is number Sixteen, adjoining. She lay on the bed, and I sat beside her, chatting with her, though she seemed to speak wildly and as if frightened. After a while she seemed drowsy and appeared to wish to go to sleep. I thought I would leave her alone, then, for a little while, to sleep; and I took my book and went out on the little balcony at the end of that corridor. I was reading 'John Brent,' and I suppose I got crazy over the galloping horses going down to Luggernel Alley, for I read for perhaps an hour without hearing or seeing anything else than the things in my book. Then I went back to Marion's room--it was not an hour ago--and she was gone!"

"But she may have gone down on the Island--she is a strange little mortal--she may be out on the balcony over the rapids. What makes you think that she is _gone_, as you call it?" asked John, terribly excited, while all the others listened with strange interest.

"Oh," said Bell, "I know that she is gone for good" [_Americanice_, "finally"] "and I knew it the moment I entered her room. Her large trunk was gone--the one you bought her the other day, John; her clothing was gone--everything."

"Astonishing!" said Richard Crawford.

"This beats romance!" said Tom Leslie.

"It just beats the _d--l_!" said John Crawford, who must be excused for using such words in the presence of a lady,--because he was only a rough soldier. "And that is all you know, is it, sister?"

"No," answered Bell Crawford. "I know a good deal more, and it is all worse and worse. I got the chambermaid to enquire, and she found that a tall man came with a close carriage--"

"A tall man? a close carriage?" almost gasped Tom Leslie, though he only spoke to Walter Harding. "Do you hear what she says? This was a Virginian girl--he is a Virginian--his being here this morning--over the Suspension Bridge--those trunks on the rack--by George, Harding--don't you see?"

"But what could _he_ have been to _her_?" asked Harding, who did not yet see it in the same clear light.

Bell Crawford had meanwhile gone on with her story.--"That the tall man went up-stairs, asking one of the waiters for number Fifteen, and that five minutes afterwards he came down with a very small lady, dressed for travelling, ordered down the baggage from that room, put her into the carriage and got in himself after throwing a dollar to the waiter who brought down the trunks; and that then the carriage drove rapidly away towards the Bridge."

"By George, I knew it!" said Tom Leslie, this time so loudly that all could hear him. All turned to him in surprise.

"What do you mean?" asked Richard Crawford.

"That I believe I know the man who has taken away this girl!" answered Tom Leslie.

"And I believe that _I_ do, _now_," said Walter Harding, at last fairly convinced.

"Stop," said Bell. "There was one thing I forgot to tell you. She had evidently left in great haste, and two or three little things were left scattered around the room. Here are two of them, that I picked up and put in my pocket--one of her tiny little shoes, and this locket. The locket I have before seen in her possession. She seemed to be sorry that I had seen it, as I accidentally did, and said that it was the portrait of a dear friend of her family." She took out a little slipper, scarcely too large for an ordinary child of ten years, yet retaining the mould of the graceful atom of foot that had rested warm within it; and with it she took out the enamelled locket we have before seen, and handed it to the gentlemen. Tom Leslie grasped it with an almost frantic haste and threw it open.

"Dexter Ralston!" he cried. "Look, Harding! It is all explained! I know, now, why he haunted this house, and what the sharp cry meant when he crossed the hall this morning! Don't you see!"

They did see, as little by little, while the dinner-dishes were rattling in the dining-room adjoining, Tom Leslie explained to his wondering auditors (Harding only excepted--who yawned and was hungry) so much of the antecedents and character of the strange Virginian as could bear any relation to the abduction--though abduction it could not be properly called. That that singular and commanding man and that equally singular mere child had been friends, perhaps lovers, was evident; that they had fled away, with the girl's consent, beyond the hope of successful pursuit, was equally evident: and here the mystery for the time shut completely down, and they knew no more.

But what was it that Mazeppa said, through the lips of his self-appointed spokesman, Byron, of the impossibility of escaping the patient search and long vigil of the man seeking revenge for wrong? He might have cited another motive, less fierce but quite as powerful--_curiosity_! _Job Thornberry_ may give up his search for the name of the destroyer of his daughter, and allow her to break her heart in quiet; but not so _Paul Pry_, who needs a full explanation of the scandal for retail purposes. John Crawford, in spite of the oath which he could now no longer keep, might possibly have allowed the mystery to rest here, had not Tom Leslie, who had sworn no oath whatever, been in his way. Balked in New York and mystified everywhere, the latter gentleman determined to know more--or less! John Crawford only needed this companionship; and an hour after the discovery of the abduction, the two once more whirled over into Canada, possibly on a longer ride than the one they had just concluded.

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