THE DEATH OF SIR TOM
At 7.30 on the morning of March 16, Dr. High telephoned me that Sir
Thomas O'Hara was seriously ill, and asked me to come at once. It took
but a few minutes to have Jerry at the door, and, breasting a cold, thin
rain at a sharp gallop, I was at my friend's door before the clock
struck eight. Dr. High met me with a heavy face.
"Sir Tom is bad," said he, "with double pneumonia, and I am awfully
afraid it will go hard with him."
I remembered that my friend's pale face had looked a shade paler than
usual the evening before, and that there had been a pinched expression
around the nose and mouth, as if from pain; but Sir Tom had many twinges
from his old enemy, gout, which he did not care to discuss, and I took
little note of his lack of fitness. He touched the brandy bottle a
little oftener than usual, and left for home earlier; but his voice was
as cheery as ever, and we thought only of gout. He was taken with a hard
chill on his way home, which lasted for some time after he was put to
bed; but he would not listen to the requests of William and the faithful
cook that the doctor be summoned. At last he fell into a heavy sleep
from which it was hard to rouse him, and the servants followed their own
desire and called Dr. High. He came as promptly as possible, and did all
that could be done for the sick man.
A hurried examination convinced me that Dr. High's opinion of the
gravity of the case was correct, and we telephoned at once for a
specialist from the city, and for a trained nurse. After a short
consultation with Dr. High I reëntered my friend's room, and I fear that
my face gave me away, for Sir Tom said:--
"Be a man, Williams, and tell the whole of it."
"My dear old man, this is a tough proposition, but you must buck up and
make a game fight. We have sent for Dr. Jones and a nurse, and we will
pull you through, sure."
"You will try, for sure, but I reckon the call has come for me to cash
in me checks. When that little devil Frost hit me right and left in me
chest last night, I could see me finish; and I heard the banshee in me
sleep, and that means much to a Sligo man."
"Not to this Sligo man, I hope," said I, though I knew that we were in
deep waters.
The wise man and the nurse came out on the 10.30 train, the nurse
bringing comfort and aid, but the physician neither. After thoroughly
examining the patient, he simply confirmed our fears.
"Serious disease to overcome, and only scant vital forces; no reasonable
ground for hope."
Sir Tom gave me a smile as I entered the room after parting from the
specialist.
"I've discounted the verdict," said he, "and the foreman needn't draw
such a long face. I've had my fling, like a true Irishman, and I'm ready
to pay the bill. I won't have to come back for anything, Williams;
there's nothing due me; but I must look sharp for William and the old
girl in the kitchen,--faithful souls,--for they will be strangers in a
strange land. Will you send for a lawyer?"
The lawyer came, and a codicil to Sir Thomas's will made the servants
comfortable for life. All that day and the following night we hung
around the sick bed, hoping for the favorable change that never came. On
the morning of the 17th it was evident that he would not live to see the
sun go down. We had kept all friends away from the sick chamber; but
now, at his request, Polly, Jane, and Laura were summoned, and they
came, with blanched faces and tearful eyes, to kiss the brow and hold
the hands of this dear man. He smiled with contentment on the group, and
said:--
"Me friends have made such a heaven of this earth that perhaps I have
had me full share."
"Sir Tom," said I, "shall I send for a priest?"
"A priest! What could I do with a priest? Me forebears were on the
Orange side of Boyne Water, and we have never changed color."
"Would you like to see a clergyman?"
"No, no; just the grip of a friend's hand and these angels around me.
Asking pardon is not me long suit, Williams, but perhaps the time has
come for me to play it. If the good God will be kind to me I will thank
Him, as a gentleman should, and I will take no advantage of His
kindness; but if He cannot see His way clear to do that, I will take
what is coming."
"Dear Sir Tom," said Jane, with streaming eyes, "God cannot be hard with
you, who have been so good to every one."
"If there's little harm in me life, there's but scant good, too; I can't
find much credit. Me good angel has had an easy time of it, more's the
pity; but Janie, if you love me, Le Bon Dieu will not be hard on me. He
cannot be severe with a poor Irishman who never stacked the cards,
pulled a race, or turned his back on a friend, and who is loved by an
angel."
I asked Sir Tom what we should do for him after he had passed away.
"It would be foine to sleep in the woods just back of Janie's forge,
where I could hear the click of her hammer if the days get lonely; but
there's a little castle, God save the mark, out from Sligo. Me forebears
are there,--the lucky ones,--and me wish is to sleep with them; but I
doubt it can be."
"Indeed it can be, and it shall be, too," said Polly. "We will all go
with you, Sir Tom, when June comes, and you shall sleep in your own
ground with your own kin."
"I don't deserve it, Mrs. Williams, indeed I don't, but I would lie
easier there. That sod has known us for a thousand years, and it's the
greenest, softest, kindest sod in all the world; but little I'll mind
when the breath is gone. I'll not be asking that much of you."
"My dear old chap, we won't lose sight of you until that green sod
covers the stanchest heart that ever beat. Polly is right. We'll go with
you to Sligo,--all of us,--Polly and Jane and Jack and I, and Kate and
the babies, too, if we can get them. You shall not be lonesome."
"Lonesome, is it? I'll be in the best of company. Me heart is at rest
from this moment, and I'll wait patiently until I can show you Sligo.
This is a fine country, Mrs. Williams, and it has given me the truest
friends in all the world, but the ground is sweet in Sligo."
His breath came fainter and faster, and we could see that it would soon
cease. After resting a few minutes, Sir Tom said:--
"Me lady Laura, do you mind that prayer song, the second verse?"
Laura's voice was sobbing and uncertain as it quavered:--
"Other refuge have I none,"
but it gained courage and persuasiveness until it filled the room and
the heart of the man with,--
"Cover my defenceless head,
With the shadow of Thy wing."
A gentle smile and the relaxing of closed hands completed the story of
our loss, though the real weight of it came days and months later.
It was long before we could take up our daily duties with anything like
the familiar happiness. Something had gone out of our lives that could
never be replaced, and only time could salve the wounds. The dear man
who had gone was no friend to solemn faces, and living interests must
bury dead memories; but it was a long time before the click of Jane's
hammer was heard in her forge; not until Laura had said, "It will please
_him_, Jane."