"The day had been excessively hot; the commander wishing to get forward that evening to certain grounds favorable for one week's encampment had recourse to what might be termed a forced march. Many of the soldiers suffered from the effects thereof; I was prostrated at once by a severe billious attack, accompanied with chills and fever, and also diarrhea; and when the companies resumed their march, I was unable to proceed with them.

"The evening previous to the general move the doctor made a special visit to my tent.

"'My young friend,' said he, as he entered, 'I have come to leave you some medicine as I must move with the army at an early hour to-morrow morning. Your health, although progressing rapidly, will not permit you to undertake the journey, at least for one week. However, you will be provided with necessaries, &c. The Captain has appointed a couple of honest Indians to remain and take care of you: and who will serve as guides when you are ready to depart. But my special injunction is--"_Take good care of yourself_," otherwise you will never reach Red River.'

"'Indeed, doctor, I'm afraid I shall never be able to resume the journey,' said I.

"'It would have been much better for you had you not undertaken it at first.'

"'Experience teaches fools,' I exclaimed.

"'Yes, and the wisest of wise men too,' added the doctor, with a sly wink.

"'I regret very much the course I have taken,' said I; 'I am now suffering the experience of my reckless folly. Were it possible to have an opportunity of living my past years over again agreeably to my wishes, I a.s.sure you, doctor, I would never make a second journey to Canada, nor go to Red River either; I would make England my home for ever. However, since I have undertaken this exodus, I hope I shall be able to complete it.'

"'It is my opinion,' said the doctor, 'that your physical const.i.tution, inexperienced as it has been to a life like this, will not be able to stand the fatigues; and even after a month's rest, I dread the consequences, as the hardships yet to be endured are tenfold greater than those you have undergone.'

"'Then what shall I do, doctor? Must I live and die alone in this wilderness?' said I.

"'Under the present circ.u.mstances, I think,' said he, 'your resignation will be immediately accepted. If so remain here for the present under charge of your attendants. In the course of a week or so, a gang of Indians will pa.s.s here on their way to Thunder Bay for provisions. They can convey you a great portion of the way by canoe; thence you can effect your course back to Toronto, or to England if you choose, much easier indeed than going the remainder of the journey to Red River.'

"'Well doctor,' said I, 'I shall comply with your orders.'

"'Then I shall attend to the matter at once,' said the doctor, and immediately withdrew. In about an hour afterwards he returned, accompanied with several officers. The doctor's request was acquiesced with, and I received my discharge. The commander on leaving placed $30 in my hand, wishing me better health and a safe journey back to Toronto.

No sooner had they left than I began to breathe more freely the air of liberty. I felt like a prisoner when liberated from his shackled bonds.

I was no longer a mercenary. I was indeed exalted above the ranks, _and felt myself once more as a man_:--And wherefore, may I ask? Let my spirit echo the answer.

"The novelty and the romance of adventure had lost their charms.

Military glory had faded under the stern reality of circ.u.mstances.

Sickness had dimmed the ardor of my soul. Home-longings had cl.u.s.tered around my heart: and I then felt as it were for the time being a happiness in disappointment, and an independence in my liberty.

"My companions were indeed sorry to part with me: and before leaving presented me with many tokens of their affections. I felt the loneliness of a saddened heart when they were gone. The Indians were however kind, and faithful in their duties towards me. Under their care my health and vigor improved rapidly; so much so, that I felt sufficiently able to go with the returning Indians to Thunder Bay. I stood the travel much better than I antic.i.p.ated. On the 27th day of August I arrived safely in this city, but much exhausted by the fatigues of the journey.

"Alas! thought I. What a change of prospects! What a revulsion in circ.u.mstances! I left here as a proud follower of Mars, clothed in scarlet and fine linen like the Kings of Babylon, and blowing up the tinsel'd bubble of military glory, amid the beating of drums, the blowing of trumpets, and the cheers of an excited populace. But alas! I returned in silence, as a simple man of experience, covered in sackcloth, exhausted in body, disappointed in mind, without friends, without a home, and with comparatively meagre funds. It was then that the last words of my dear father to me came rushing upon my soul, and adding sorrow to the feelings of my heart. Humiliating as my circ.u.mstances were, more deeply affecting to my mind was the ever-present remembrance of a dream which I dreamt on the night previous to my departure from Chipenega, the place where I remained during my illness. I dreamt that I was again residing in Montreal, that I had retired to my room for the night, and was projecting the design of going to the Rocky Mountains to dig for gold: and felt excited by the idea that when I had acc.u.mulated a million I would return to England a gentleman of fortune. But my night visions, like my day dreams, were doomed to vanish in disappointment: for at that moment when my soul was elated with the prospect, and my heart throbbing big with joy, I was startled by a light suddenly shining around me; and on looking about I beheld a woman entering the room and approaching where I lay. Her countenance, though pale, shone with a peculiar brightness. A long robe, white as the snow, hung loosely around her, and sandals were upon her feet. I was amazed at the appearance at first sight: but after a momentary gaze I recognized in her features the expression of my own mother.

"'Oh, mother! my dear mother!' I shouted as she approached, quickly raising myself up from my couch.

"'Frederick, my son Frederick,' she exclaimed taking hold of my hand in her own, and kissing me affectionately. 'I have come to take my farewell of you, my dear son, as I am ready to depart on a long journey and will not again see you on earth. Around my poor body your father, brother, sisters, and other relatives are at this very moment sobbing in tears, while in spirit I am here present with you. My time on earth is limited to seconds. My words are therefore few. My injunctions are these,--I hope you will comply with them. Repent of your wickedness and folly.

Abstain from intoxicating liquors and evil company. Live a righteous life. Return at once to England, and seal those bonds of a life-union with Clara, whom you have unjustly wronged. Promise me, my son, to do these things and I shall depart in peace.'

"I was so overcome and bewildered at that moment that I could say nothing more than simply to whisper,--'_Mother, I shall try to do so_.'

She then kissed me; bade me good-bye; and on wings of light instantly soared out of the room, leaving it in darkness again. I was so awfully impressed at this moment that I awoke suddenly. It appeared to me to be more of a waking reality than a dream. From that time until the present moment it has preyed heavily upon my feelings. Again and again have I tried to eradicate the impression, but every effort has only had a tendency to rivet it the more firmly to my mind, until it has at length a.s.sumed the aspect of a reality. I fear my apprehensions are too true; however I trust to Providence that my dream was nothing more than a baseless emanation of fancy. The evening after my arrival in Toronto from the Red River expedition I wrote a letter to my parents, and also one to a cousin of my own residing in London. I stated the circ.u.mstances which compelled me to return from the expedition; that the doctor had advised me to go back to England, as the Canadian climate was not suitable for my const.i.tution; and that I purposed being in London to spend the Christmas holidays with my friends. Neither did I forget to mention the anxiety I felt about my child; nor did I neglect to express my intention of paying an affectionate compliment to its mother on my return. I desired my friends to reply immediately on receiving my letters. Nearly five weeks have elapsed since I wrote, but no answer has been received yet. I however expect something by the next English mail.

I am living in suspense; a dreadful feeling indeed to endure. Had my health and means permitted, I would have gone directly to England on my return from the expedition. Instead thereof I sent the letters referred to, and having rested in this city a couple of weeks, I went down to Kingston to visit an old acquaintance who had emigrated thither a few years ago; but when I arrived there I discovered with disappointment that he had recently removed to the State of Minnesota. It was then, sir, that I had the pleasure of meeting with you. Your kindness and familiarity on that occasion, and also since, have been as medicine to my soul. I have considered you as a genial and sympathetic friend. I have told you the history of my past career. I trust to G.o.d that my future will be characterised with less unfortunate events, but with deeds more worthy of being told. I feel, and I know that I have been the author of my own wretchedness and folly. I have wasted my time, my money, and my energies in dissipation. I have feasted my conceited fancies upon glory as light and transient as the flying gossamer: and besides all this, I have done injustice to my parents--to my child--and to her who gave it birth. I have wronged her with cruel heart, a heart that has recoiled upon itself, and now stings its own affections in the madness of remorse. But worse than all, I have done injustice to my Maker. I have mocked at His mercy. I have insulted His dignity. I have trampled upon His laws. _Oh! miserable wretch that I have been!_ However, I have resolved to live a better life. I trust to G.o.d that through His divine power I shall be enabled to abstain from intoxicating liquor and evil company."

"I intend returning to England in December next," continued Frederick, after a few moments silence. "Yesterday I met with a gentleman who formerly belonged to London, and with whom I was somewhat acquainted. He is now a resident of Hamilton, some 50 miles from here, and does a large business as an upholsterer. He offered me immediate employment, at $1.50 per day. I have engaged with him for two months, at the expiration of which time, if health permit, I will ship myself for England. So that no time may be lost I shall leave for Hamilton to-morrow morning, to be ready to commence work on Monday.

"Now, sir, as you intend remaining in Toronto for a week or two you will indeed favor me by calling at the Post-Office, especially when the next English Mail arrives, and any letters or newspapers addressed to me, please forward immediately."

I promised faithfully to do so:--and having thanked him for his favors I bade him good-bye for the present, expressing a wish that I would find him in a happier state of feelings at our next interview.

CHAPTER IX.

Having returned to the hotel at which I was staying I retired immediately to bed. I slept but little during the night, my fancy having been kept awake by the expressive interview of the preceding evening.

The eventful narrative of Frederick Charlston's career was ever present to my mind, producing feelings akin to those of an experienced reality.

But the most striking characteristic was the singular dream to which I have alluded. Dreams in general are nothing more than the echoes of the soul, or the breathings of imagination when the consciousness of the mind is in a latent state. Some dreams however, may be the productions of a spiritual agency photographing as it were through the electric telegraph of the soul the impressions of the real event upon the mind of the person who is absent, causing strange forebodings to loom up in the horizon of imagination. Be this as it may, it is a well known fact, that dreams have been occasionally verified. Thousands of them, however, are by the dreamer construed to suit circ.u.mstances. But the millions of these visions that arise nightly from the bed-chambers of the world are nothing more than the flickerings of the mind, at random, and like vapor, arising into the atmosphere of the soul, frequently a.s.suming a variety of fantastic forms as a metamorphoses of preconceived ideas.

Immediately on hearing of the arrival of the English Mail I hurried down to the Post-Office, and inquired of the gentleman in attendance if there were anything for Frederick Charlston. Shuffling over a pile of letters he drew one out and handed it to me. It was mounted with deep mourning, and heavily sealed with black sealing wax. I was startled at the appearance thereof. I took but a momentary gaze and requested him to forward it by the next mail to Hamilton. I felt an anxious curiosity to know the contents of the Black-Sealed Letter. I felt certain that some of Frederick's relatives had recently died. The aspect of his dream more forcibly impressed itself upon my mind. But let a few days more pa.s.s away, and the mystery will be solved.

At the end of the second week after this occurrence I went up to Hamilton: and shortly after my arrival called upon the Upholsterer. He told me that Frederick had not been at the workshop during the past few days, owing to an attack of illness. He directed me to the hotel at which Frederick was boarding. I went there, and was by the innkeeper shown into a bedroom, in which he was reclining upon a couch reading a newspaper. On seeing me he sprang forward and grasped my hand affectionately in his own, and began sobbing aloud, the tears gushing from his eyes. For a few seconds I stood motionless in sad bewilderment of mind, feeling a.s.sured that something of a serious nature had occurred. At length I ventured to express a desire to know what had happened. He then drew from his pocket a letter, and handed it to me. I recognized it at once as the "_Black-Sealed-Letter_." I opened it with trembling hand, and read as follows:

"London, England, Sept. 20th, 1870.

"Dear Cousin Frederick.--I received your letter of the 28th ultimo on the 18th inst., and was sorry indeed to hear of your illness, from which I hope you have completely recovered. It gives me pleasure however to know that you will again be amongst us. No doubt you will feel happy to see your old friends again. But short as the time has been since you left, you will find on your return that eventful changes have taken place. Our life on earth is only a struggle with itself, too frequently surrounded with adverse circ.u.mstances, that are prolific with sad events, and gloomy with suffering and disappointment. And were it not that the Star of Bethlehem still shines in the firmament of Heaven the glory of this world would transmit but a dim light upon the soul of the Christian life. Then be prepared, my dear friend, to endure the ills of adversity with a n.o.ble heart. Although a dark shadow may fall suddenly upon your earthly vision, at once direct your eyes in faith towards the Star of Celestial Glory; and the light of Heaven will dispel the darkness, even, were it the shadow of Death.

"You desired of me to give particular information respecting Clara Hazeldon. In accordance with your request I suppose I must do so.

Through disappointment, in hoping against hope, she became low spirited, and failed considerably in health; and, on hearing of your intended adventure in the Red River expedition, relinquished every hope of your return, and shortly afterwards became the wife of Charles Holstrom.

"Your child is still in your father's family, and is a bright-eyed-healthy-looking boy, resembling you very much indeed. At the request of your relatives, but with considerable reluctance on my part, I now undertake to inform you of an event which has recently occurred in your own family. They consider it better to make it known to you by letter than allow the reality unexpectedly to force itself upon your mind at your return.

"On the 20th day of July last, your mother, by a fall down the stairway, unfortunately got one of her limbs broken. It was considered necessary to have it amputated. Mortification set in shortly afterwards, eventually proving fatal. At an early hour on the morning of the 25th, only five days after the occurrence, your dear mother breathed her last, surrounded by her weeping relatives. She was sensible to within a few hours of her death. Her dying words conferred a blessing upon you. She died happy, and with full a.s.surance of a blessed immortality.

"Striking as this announcement must be to your mind, I trust that with the help of G.o.d you will be enabled to bear up under the severe affliction. Sooner or later we must all die; and by what means we know not. Then let this event be another warning to us to prepare effectually for our exit to eternity. May G.o.d bless you, my dear friend. May Christ be your spiritual Physician, to pour the Balm of Gilead upon your troubled soul; and through Divine power may you ere long be conducted back in health and safety to your old home.

"Your friends join in expressing their love to you.

"I remain, dear Frederick, your affectionate cousin.

"William A. Thornton."

Appended to the above letter was the following note from Eliza, Frederick's eldest sister:

"London, Sept. 20th, 1870.

"My Dear Brother,--The sad events that have occurred since your departure have thrown a deep gloom over our household. The death of our dear mother has almost broken our hearts. I hope in G.o.d you will be enabled to endure the severe affliction. Call upon Christ, and he will a.s.sist you to bear up your weight of sorrow. It is some comfort however to know that mother died the happy death of a Christian. I trust her spirit is now reaping the heavenly harvest of her spiritual labors upon earth. Father is terribly changed since her death. I thought he would a.s.suredly die under the heavy affliction. No doubt your absence has had a tendency to augment his grief. He has become fearfully melancholy, and of late has had recourse to drinking. I dread the consequences; therefore I intreat you to come home as soon as possible. Perhaps your influence may have a soothing effect upon his mind; and prevent him from further indulgence.

"Oh, how glad we shall all feel, even in our sorrow, to see you again, dear brother. Richard has turned out to be a fine boy; you will be happy to see him. Cousin William has acquainted you with other facts. Trust to G.o.d for the consolation of your mind. We all join in love to you. With a heavy heart and in tears I have written these few lines. I am, dear brother, your affectionate sister.

"Eliza Charlston."

"These are sad news indeed," said I, returning the letter to Frederick.

"Very, very sad, indeed, almost insufferable!" said he.

Having paused for a few moments he continued. "My dream has been forcibly verified. How overwhelming is the reality that my poor mother is no more. Had I been present when she died it would have given some consolation to my soul. But, oh! to think of the manner in which I fled from her presence, and also from my happy home: to think of the sufferings both mentally and physically she must have endured: to think of the unfortunate circ.u.mstances of her death; to think that I, her favorite son, was absent in her dying hours, without an opportunity of confessing my errors and asking her forgiveness: to think of these alone, is sufficient to break my very heart. Nor is this all. She to whose loving heart I pledged my affections as a bond of an eternal union, has become the life-companion of another. But I reproach her not for so doing. She was faithful; I alone was false. She had hoped against hope; and not until she had despaired of my return did she seek out a help-mate and home for herself. It is only another unfortunate circ.u.mstance of my life. I feel deeply the wound it has inflicted; but I will not avenge it. My life is apparently a life of troubles, and like Job of old I am ready to curse the day of my birth. I, myself, may be the author of it all; but it seems to me that some demon, like the evil spirit of King Saul, has taken possession of life's-citadel, and strews my pathway with pandoric ills."