Part 22 (1/2)
It was late in April when little Jimmy Duffy's father was called to Buffalo on business. The night before leaving, he said: ”It's most annoying! Here I have to go all that way for just about one hour's talk with a man; an entire day wasted for the sake of one hour, or--hold on, let's see, Jimmy. You have never seen Niagara Falls, have you?”
”No, dad,” answered Jimmy, his face eager with hope.
”Then you be ready to come with me to-morrow. I'll get through my business by noon, and you and I will just 'do' the Falls until dark, and get home on the late train. How does that strike you?”
But Jimmy was speechless with delight. For years he had longed to see Niagara, but there was a number of older brothers and sisters, and Jimmy's turn never seemed to have come until to-day. But the treat was here at last. A whole day along with his big dad, prowling about Niagara Falls, feasting his eyes upon its wonders, listening to its everlasting roar as it plunges over the heights! Jimmy did not sleep very much that night, and, long before train time, he was up, dressed in his best suit, even got himself a fresh pocket-handkerchief, scrambled through breakfast, then sat fidgeting on the front doorstep, while his father took a leisurely meal, glanced calmly at his watch occasionally, then, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair, stepped briskly into the hall, glanced at the weather, got his light coat and hat, said good-bye to Mrs. Duffy, and called out ”Now, then, Jimmy!” But Jimmy was already at the gate, having kissed his mother good-bye almost an hour before, and presently they were swinging up to the station at a good gait, Mr. Duffy silent, thoughtful, engrossed in his coming business engagement, Jimmy dancing, whistling, strung up with excitement that bade fair to continue throughout the day.
It took three hours to reach Buffalo. Then poor Jimmy had to sit in a stuffy outer office while his father and ”the man” talked on the other side of a gla.s.s door. Jimmy thought they would never stop, but in exactly one hour the door opened, and he heard ”the man” say:
”Now, Mr. Duffy, will you come to my club and we will have luncheon together?”
”Not to-day, thanks, Mr. Brown. I have my small boy with me, and we're off for the Falls. Jimmy's never seen them yet.”
”Well, well!” answered Mr. Brown. ”That's nice! Going to be a boy again yourself, eh, Duffy? Well, have a good time, and good luck to you both!”
And the gla.s.s door closed.
His business ended, Jimmy's father seemed another person. He chatted and talked and laughed with his son, ordered a splendid luncheon for them both, swung aboard the train, and by two o'clock they were standing on the very edge of the precipice, with the glorious Falls of Niagara thundering into the basin at their feet. The column of filmy mist, the gorgeous rainbows, the stupendous cataract, leaping and snarling like a million wolves--it whirled about Jimmy's brain like a wild dream of No Man's Land, and he walked beside his father in a daze of delight. They prowled through the islands, crossed the cobwebby bridges from rock to rock above the Falls, and finally sprawled on a bald ledge of stone that jutted far out into the turbulent river.
”We'll just rest here a few minutes, James,” said his father, playfully.
”Then we must go below the Falls and explore the ice-bridge. I see it is yet in perfect condition. You are fortunate, my boy, to be able to see it. There are some winters that never bring an ice-bridge. Then sometimes it thaws in March, so we are lucky to-day.”
About them tossed and tumbled the angry rapids, wrangling and brawling around their granite sh.o.r.es, but, above their conflicting noises arose a far, clear, musical sound, like a hundred throats and lips that whistled in unison.
”What's that?” exclaimed Mr. Duffy, sitting erect suddenly.
”I don't know,” said the boy, scanning the tangled waters with his unpractised young eyes.
”There it is again, dad!” he cried. ”It is whistling. A great company, somewhere, whistling!” Then, looking quickly skyward, he pointed excitedly upstream, ”Look, look! Birds! They are birds! Great white ones, dad! What are they? There's the whistle again!”
Mr. Duffy shaded his eyes from the sun, and watched; for there, in the smooth waters above the rapids, were settling, one by one, a magnificent host of snow-white swans, their wearied bodies almost drooping into the river, their exhausted pinions dropping, nerveless and trailing, into the dark, deceptive stream, which lured them like a snare to its breast.
”Jimmy, Jimmy!” shouted Mr. Duffy, ”they're swans, and they're dead played out! They're migrating north for the summer! I bet they've flown a thousand miles! See, boy, they're spent, dead beat!”
Jimmy fairly held his breath. The magnificent band of birds were slowly floating towards them. Now they could distinguish each regal body, feathered in dazzling white, each bill, scarlet as a July poppy, each gracefully lifted throat. But the majestic creatures floated swiftly and silently on, on, on!
”Father!” The boy's voice trembled huskily. ”Oh, father, you don't think they are in any danger of going over, do you?” His begging, pleading tones revealed his own childish fears.
”Oh, _surely_ not!” answered Mr. Duffy, but his tone lacked confidence.
Then, after a brief silence, he almost groaned: ”Jimmy, they're done for! They don't see their danger, and they're too tired to rise if they do. Oh, boy, if we could save them!”
But Jimmy stood rigid, staring, his heart slowly breaking, breaking.
Anyone could see now that the stately battalion was doomed. With utter unconsciousness they drifted on, exhausted with their far journey from the lagoons and marshes of Chesapeake Bay, where the torrid suns had driven them from their winter haunts, to wing their way to their summer home in the far, white North.
”Oh, Jimmy, the pity of it!” murmured Mr. Duffy. But the boy stood wordless, as the irresistible giant current caught the trusting birds and swept them, with a hideous, overpowering force, to the very brink of the Horseshoe Fall. The boy, thrilling with the horror of it, shut his eyes, and flung himself, face downward, on the rocks. A strange, inarticulate moan left the man's lips. The boy lifted his head, lifted his eyes, but the river was empty.
They ran breathlessly across the cobwebby bridges, around Goat Island, then to the sh.o.r.e, then to the elevator, and descended to the ice-bridge; but, above the angry battle of Niagara, arose the plaintive, dying cries of scores of snow-white birds, the shouts of gathering sightseers. Against the ruthless edges of ice lay, bleeding and broken, what was left of that superb company homeward bound. Their poor, twisted legs, their crushed heads, their flattened bodies, their pitiful, dying struggles, would melt a heart of stone. No more those graceful throats would whistle through the April airs, beneath the early suns and the late morning stars. The sweet, wild chorus was stilled forever.