"Why, Fred, if you would only take a gentle sipling of the nectar you would know how to appreciate and enjoy our company," said Henderson.

"True friendship and true happiness are based upon more _solid_ material than _liquids_," replied Frederick.

"Well, Fred, as you are a sort of philosopher, allow me to ask you, if the true destiny of man, both here and hereafter, is not the enjoyment of life?" interrogated Henderson.

"Certainly, sir," replied Fred; "but I further believe that our Maker designed that man should use the proper means for the promotion of both terrestrial and celestial happiness."

"Our opinions are identical, then," exclaimed Henderson. "We are both of the same mind and yet cannot agree; and the reason is simply this--that I occasionally partake of a social gla.s.s with my friends as a means to awaken and promote enjoyment; whereas you teetotally reject the means.

This delicious nectar sparkling before me has the inherent virtues of making me truly happy; I, therefore, use it for its medicinal qualities.

So here is my best respects to you all, boys,--not forgetting you, Fred," added Henderson, raising the tumbler to his lips and draining the liquor to its very dregs.

"Ha! ha! ha!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jenkins, "I say, Fred, you are completely cornered up, Henderson's as good a philosopher as yourself."

"That may be so," replied Fred, "but I wish you, and Henderson also, to bear in mind that reason may be twisted into sophistry.

He must first prove the premises of his arguments to be correct, namely, 'that spirituous liquors are conducive to the happiness of mankind'--otherwise, the syllogism must be false. To attempt such an undertaking would be a more fool-hardy task than that of Hercules to carry the globe upon his back. My dear sir, you would soon find that the universal evidence of the world would be against you. The horrid shrieks of suffering humanity would denounce the falsity of your arguments, while myriads of skeletons would startle from their graves with horrid indignation!"

"Hold on, hold on, I say, Fred," shouted Henderson, "you are firing away your b.a.l.l.s at random and never look at the target."

"I think he has made a good many bull-eyes in your head," exclaimed Stevens.

"Come, come, boys, we'll have a _horn_ on the _head_ of the subject,"

cried Jenkins.

"Yes, yes, that's the talk," responded some of the others.

"Hold on, hold on, gentlemen," exclaimed Henderson, slightly irritated.

"I must have fair play in the game."

"By all means," said Fred, "I shall see that you shall."

"Well, sir," said H., "allow me to inform you, that in your arguments you deviated from the proposition I made, namely--that liquor as a means is conducive to human happiness. I mean the proper use of it; but you immediately darted off to the furthest extremity of the subject, and by a sort of superlative sophistry of your own, you attempted to conjure up a horrid array of evils arising from the abuse of that spiritual gift, which is the very essence of those cereals designed by the Author of Creation as the princ.i.p.al sustainer of animal life."

"You accuse me, sir, of doing injustice to your proposition, by representing the consequences of abusing that spiritual gift, as you very improperly term it," said Fred. "Your proposition, let me tell you, embraces only the germs; but I look forward to the fruits thereof. He would be but a very foolish farmer indeed, who would sow tares or imperfect seed for the mere pleasure of seeing his fields adorned with verdure, without looking forward to the consequences. Every good farmer antic.i.p.ates an abundant harvest and accordingly sows the best seed. So should every man who desires to reap a harvest of happiness. He should look well to the seed, and sow only that which will eventually produce the best results. Again, you say that liquor when used in moderation, is a means of producing human happiness, and therefore should be used. I beg to differ with you; happiness arises not from the animal impulses of human nature stimulated by intoxicating liquor. Use it moderately you say. Alas, how many millions have been ruined forever by the taking of only one single gla.s.s at first, _only one gla.s.s_! Think of it! It is the magnet that attracts material akin to itself; alas, what a world of wretchedness and crime is reflected from that nucleus of Intemperance."

"Hold on, hold on, Fred," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jenkins, "that'll do for the present."

"Go on, Fred, your ill.u.s.trations are beautiful and impressive," cried Stevens, "go on, you are hitting the target at every shot."

"For goodness sake, Fred, do stop; or you will convert us all into a company of 'cold water-boys,'" cried Jenkins.

"Come! come, my lads," exclaimed Haveril, "we'll wind up for the present with a b.u.mper of 'hot Scotch' and I'll pay for the drinks."

"Hot Scotch! hot Scotch!" shouted a half dozen of voices--and having partaken of a rousing b.u.mper they called upon Fred to favor them with a song, to which he responded in the following Temperance Song, ent.i.tled "One Gla.s.s More."

Behold yon wretch at the tavern-bar: His matted hair hangs over his brow; The manly form and the n.o.ble soul Are wrecked and lost in the drunkard now.

He shivering stands in his dirty rags, With bloated face and his blood-shot eyes; With quivering lips and a fever'd breath For one gla.s.s more how he pleading cries.

_Chorus._--O give me, sir, but a single gla.s.s; O pity me now when my cash is done; The night is cold and my blood runs chill, And all I ask is a single one.

Away from here, you miserable wretch; I want no more of your blubbering gas, Be off at once! or I'll kick you out; You'll get none here--not a single gla.s.s, What brought you here in your filthy rags, To disgrace my house in this drunken way.

At once, begone! for you'll get no drink, No, not a gla.s.s, when you've nothing to pay.

_Chorus._--O give me, sir, &c.

O, wherefore, sir, would you kick me out!

Why so unjust to thy friend art thou; You gave me drink and you took my cash, You made me, sir, as you see me now.

You scorn me too, as a drunken wretch, Debased and steep't in the dregs of sin; And when I ask but a single gla.s.s, You'll kick me out tho' you took me in.

_Chorus._--O give me, sir, &c.

Thro' ten long years while I labored hard, You gave me drink, and you drain'd my purse, I was your friend, and your blessings then, Have proved at length but a demon's curse.

My loving wife and my children dear, Have often sigh'd with a hungry soul, While I was here with my social friends And drinking deep from your mad'ning bowl.

_Chorus._--O give me, sir, &c.

My health and youth I have wasted here; To thee, for drink, my money I gave; I'm now a wreck of what I was once, And sinking fast to a drunkard's grave; All wasted here in my reckless course, Which neither thou nor time can restore; Then pity me now for old friendship's sake, And give one gla.s.s and I'll ask no more.

_Chorus._--"Begone from here, you miserable wretch!"

The landlord cried, and he stamp't and swore, Then kick't him out to the cold night storm, And curs'd the wretch as he closed his door.

Frederick Charlston continued to step into a saloon occasionally to pa.s.s an evening with his comrades. Every expedient was tried to persuade him to taste with them; but with a manly spirit of independence he remained for several weeks invincible to their attacks. At length he was induced to take a tumbler with hot water, sweetened with sugar, and flavored with nutmeg and peppermint. But Jenkins one night gave the innkeeper a wink to put a few drops of Scotch whiskey into Fred's tumbler. A few drops were sufficient to slightly stimulate his brain, and produce a flow of social feeling within his heart; and thus, when too late, he discovered that he had tasted of the evil spirit. Having once tasted, he felt a less restriction of duty; and on subsequent occasions allowed a few drops to be added to the mixture. _Only a few drops!_ how insignificant in number! how innocent they appear within themselves!

But, alas, a few drops were added to the few, until they became _a great number_; and before winter had thrown off its fleecy covering, Frederick Charlston could empty a tumbler of hot punch as readily as any of his comrades. Thus, he who had once n.o.bly defended the cause of Temperance, and had remained so long invincible, at length dishonored that pledge which, even under the most trying circ.u.mstances, he had hitherto never violated. "_Only a few drops_" at first--yes, _only a few drops_, and therewith poor Frederick Charlston became the votary of intemperance.

His Sat.u.r.day nights were afterwards too frequently spent, or rather misspent, in deep carousals with his comrades. His Sabbaths were also often desecrated; and instead of appearing in his accustomed seat in Church, he was either sleeping away the sacred hours of the day, or, perhaps, polluting his mind with the filthy contents of some sensational novel. For a few weeks at first his moral feelings were occasionally awakened by the stings of conscience; but gradually they became less susceptible and less unwilling to recognize or respect the laws of moral responsibility.

CHAPTER VII.

April came, and with it came the alarm of an intended invasion of Canada by the Fenians. All the volunteers were ordered to be in immediate readiness, and several companies were stationed at different places along the Province Line, south of the River St. Lawrence. Every precautionary preparation was being made by the Canadian government, and also by the inhabitants. Great excitement prevailed during several days; and a series of appalling rumors were daily in circulation. But April pa.s.sed away, and none of the Verdants made their appearance on the north side of the Line 45. There was apparently a lull in the Fenian camp.

But on the morning of the 23rd of May following, the bugle again sounded the alarm. Gen. O'Neill had again stirred up the "Circles" to their very "Centres," and there was a fearful rattling among the dry bones. Every telegram brought additional intelligence confirming the affair. The march had in reality begun; and 50,000 men, as rumored, were marching towards Canada, in a direct line to Montreal. All the volunteers in the Province of Quebec were again called to arms, and every available company forwarded at once to the chief stations at St. Johns, Hemmingford, and Huntingdon. The 69th regiment of British regulars, then stationed at Quebec, was ordered to the front immediately. The loyal Canadian farmers in the vicinity of the Border line turned out at once; and with rifle in hand, distributed themselves in detached parties to watch and await the avowed enemies of their country; and defend their hearths and households in the hour of danger.

The company to which Frederick Charlston belonged, had been ordered to St. Johns. Fred was delightfully excited by the occurrence, which afforded him an opportunity of realizing what he termed "_a novel and romantic adventure_."

On the morning of the 25th of May, 1870, a detachment of Fenians, headed by Gen. O'Neill, crossed over the Line in the vicinity of Eccles' Hill.

A company of farmers who had stationed themselves behind the rocks of the hill, adjacent to the high-way, observed the approach of the enemy sneaking along the road. When the Fenians had arrived within reach of gun-shot, the farmers, unperceived, fired upon them, killing two or more, and wounding several. The astonished Verdants at once replied by a volley, but becoming disorderly bewildered by the incessant stream of smoke and bullets from among the rocks, they hastily retreated to an adjacent hill; and for several hours the opposing parties in ambush kept up a continuous but ineffectual fire at each other. At length a few detachments of Montreal volunteers and others arrived; and in conjunction with the farmers, took part in the action. The Fenians imagining that a formidable army had arrived, became panic-stricken and fled, headed by their leaders, at quick march over the Border Line, where the "Fenian Tragedy" was magnificently concluded by the ludicrous farce of the Great O'Neill making a hasty exit as a "State prisoner," under the confidential protection of Marshal Foster.

Simultaneously with this event, another squad of Green Jackets, headed by Gen. Starr, intruded upon Canadian soil, twelve miles beyond Huntingdon, and intrenched themselves about three-quarters of a mile from the Border Line. There they remained until the morning of the 27th, when they were speedily routed from their intrenchments and driven back beyond the Line by the Huntingdon Borderers and the 69th British Regiment.

The Battalions in this District, and upon whom the inhabitants had chiefly to depend, were the "_Huntingdon Borderers_" and the "_Hemmingford Rangers_," under their gallant commanders, Cols. McEachren and Rogers, and to whose valorous energy and that of the heroic officers and men under their charge, is the country in general deeply indebted.

Thus ended the Fenian invasion of 1870. Providentially not one of the Canadian party received even the slightest injury. The volunteers were immediately recalled, and peace was restored to the country.

Among those who took part in the action at Eccles' Hill was Fred Charlston. He returned to Montreal, bearing along with him as trophies of war, a Fenian coat, knapsack and rifle. So elated was he on the night of his return by his fortunate and glorious adventure, that he with several of his comrades got mortally drunk, so much so that he and two others had to be taken to the police station for safe keeping, where they remained until they became sobered off.

Frederick being somewhat of a poet, composed the following song in honor of those Canadian Volunteers who were brought into action along the Border.