Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 416, June 1850. Various
then, with solemn movement, began gradually to ascend again, describing the same circle as before. This second time, though, in going down, it reached a lower point ere it was again caught and twirled, by which law, it was clear, the third time it would go with the current. Manfully did Gingham still hold on, though so often under water; and now, for the third time, he and his log began slowly to move in an ascending orbit. A third time he reached the highest point; and a third time, to all appearance the last, he began – I often dream of it – to go down with the stream! We had given up all hope. Joaquim stood wringing his hands; Coosey was like a man distracted; even the crippled soldiers would gladly have given their aid, had any devisable expedient presented itself. There was no visible alternative; this time he must be carried away! – What's that? Something stirred at my feet! I looked down. There was again a little movement. The rope twitched, as if beginning to run out! My foot was on it, in an instant. The next, I and Coosey held it fast. The tree, in moving round and round, had fished hold, and disengaged it from the catch. "Pull away, pull away!" shouted the soldiers. – "Now run him up to the bank." – "Now's your time." – "Make haste!"
"Steady, Coosey, steady," said I. "Take time, or we shall loosen the hitch, perhaps break the rope."
We did not pull. We merely held on. The log and Gingham swung to the bank.
He was silent, almost exhausted. It was well there were hands to drag him ashore; for he was too far spent to land himself. Awhile he sat motionless on the bank. With eyes uplifted, and lips moving inaudibly, he was apparently returning fervent and heartfelt thanks to heaven, for his all but miraculous deliverance. Coosey, meanwhile, had rushed for some brandy, which he administered with great apparent benefit.
"Hadn't we better take you to the nearest cottage?" said I. "Here's one at hand."
"No, no," replied Gingham, gasping. "Get me into the cart."
We lifted him in. Coosey then let down the tarpaulin, and assisted his master in a thorough change of garments from head to foot. Presently, with solemn look, and an air of authority, Coosey got down from the cart.
"It's master's vishes," said he, "to be left, jist for a few minits, alone by his-self."
Gingham ere long made his appearance, shifted and dry; and, though still looking shakey and exhausted, remounted his horse. When I once saw him fairly across the saddle, and just as we were about to proceed, I turned with vindictive, with savage exultation, to take a parting view of the angry torrent. The island had disappeared. Where Gingham had stood there was now a small race of swift-following rollers, which subsided, below the ledge, in tumultuous undulations and foaming eddies, around a dark, deep fissure in the flood, which gaped like a grave. Ha! Is it so? The hungry waters yawn for their rescued prey, and brawl forth their disappointment in a lengthened moan! We continued our march.
"And as to electricity," said Gingham, resuming where he broke off, "it may, when hail is generated, be disengaged by the process, I admit. But that it is in any way the medium of producing the hail, I strenuously deny. Hail is sufficiently accounted for by the supposition of a current of cold air passing rapidly through warm air charged with vapour; and the same theory will solve all the phenomena."
To which theory I, not being so deep in the subject as Gingham, urged no objections. I remarked, however, that Mr Wowski, professedly a man of science, manifested not the least interest in the question; did not appear to have even an idea on the subject, let alone an opinion. In the late critical scene at the ford, though, he was eminently conspicuous; and, as far as skipping about, shrieking, and getting in the way, his assistance was invaluable.
We lost the little botanist sooner than we expected. A mail – joyful event! – arrived from England; and I was sent to the "Post Office" for our departmental letters. This was not part of my regular duty; but on the occasion in question I received express directions, and went accordingly. Found the post office, a cottage with a front garden. I could but admire the diligent and active exertions to meet the general anxiety of the army, by sorting and delivering the contents of the mail with the least possible delay. The whole lot, say three or four bushels, had been shot out in the middle of the room on the earthen floor. Newspapers, love letters, officers' letters, soldiers' letters, there they lay, and there they were left to lie. In the apartment were two persons, perhaps I ought to say personages. One sat on each side of the hearth; each had torn open a newspaper; and both were conning the news from England. I never saw two people more comfortable in my life. When I entered, neither of them raised his eyes, or took the least notice. They read on. I waited. Still they read. I so far presumed as to announce my mission – had come for the departmental letters. Paused for a reply – stood expectant. At length one of the illustrious two favoured me with an utterance, in a tone somewhat querulous though, and without looking off from his reading – "Three o'clock."
"What, gentlemen!" thought I, "only four hours hence? Why, at this rate, hadn't you better say three o'clock to-morrow?"
So thinking, (not saying,) I walked off. Just as I was going, the one who had not spoken rose. He followed me out, and came on walking by my side down the path toward the garden gate. I really was green enough to fancy he was doing the polite —seeing me to the entrance; felt quite overwhelmed. Any approach, at headquarters to "the sweet courtesies of life" – it was something new! I began to deprecate – hoped he wouldn't. "Pray, sir, don't come a step farther. I can mount without assistance – can open the gate for myself." Without vouchsafing a reply, he began questioning.
"Know Mr Wowski?"
"Have known him for the last few days."
"What is he?"
"He professes himself a botanist, a man of science."
"What does he want at headquarters?"
"He states his object to be botanical research."
"States, you say; professes. Isn't he really a botanist?"
This was an awkward question, for I was beginning to have my doubts. I remained silent.
"You must answer."
"For the last two or three days I have felt it a question, I confess."
"Why?"
"He collects specimens, but doesn't preserve or arrange them. At dinner time he brings home a bundle of common herbs or grasses, which, next morning, he throws away. Then goes out again, and brings home another bundle like it. Don't think he knows much about botany."
"What's your opinion of him?"
"Have hardly known him long enough to form one. He seems decidedly, though, to have a military taste; takes great interest in the movements of the troops."
"Fond of going up steeples?"
"When we enter a place, I believe he makes that his first object; at least, whenever there is a steeple to the church."
"Ever see him making signals?"
"Never noticed anything of the kind."
"Know anything more about him?"
"He brought letters of introduction" —
"Oh, yes; I know all about that. Ever met him before you joined?"
"Can't say. First time we met at headquarters, thought I had heard his voice."
"Where?"
"On our way up with treasure, we were opposed by the peasantry in passing the ferry at – "
"Yes, yes; I know. See him with them?"
"No; I heard a voice, though, which I afterwards thought was very like his."
"Then you didn't see him with them next day, I suppose, when they wounded the officer of your escort?"
"I saw nothing of him then; wasn't near enough to distinguish individuals."
"Oh, I suppose you don't use spectacles. Very well. Say nothing about this."
My questioner then returned to the cottage. He didn't say good morning; and, till I missed him from my side, I wasn't aware of his departure. Then, looking round, I saw him quietly opening the door and going in. Mr Wowski didn't come back to dinner, and we saw him no more. Whether he was arrested, or merely