"But if chains are woven shining,
Firm as gold and fine as hair,
Twisting round the heart, and twining.
Binding all that centres there
In a knot that, like the olden,
May be cut, but ne'er unfolden;
Would not something sharp remain
In the breaking of the chain?"
Spring came with its "ethereal mildness" and budding beauty, and the ties
which bound me to the Monumental City must, although with convulsive
effort, be broken.
Miss Chase was but "a treasure lent," her sweet, loving nature having won
the heart of one who made her his life companion; hence it became
necessary for me to find another to fill her place. She came in the person
of Miss Kate Fowler, a lovely young girl of seventeen years, who possessed
great charms of person, mind and soul, as the sequel will show.
We traveled together throughout Delaware, New Jersey and Pennsylvania,
meeting with greater success than we could have hoped for while the din of
war was raging, always making sufficient for our support.
At Hollidaysburgh, Penn., I learned of the presence of General Anderson,
and resolved that I would offer a tangible evidence of my appreciation of
the "Hero of Fort Sumter." Entwining one of my little books with red,
white and blue ribbons, I sent it to him with a little note, asking its
acceptance from the authoress, a Baltimore lady, in behalf of her native
city, then under a cloud, the Massachusetts troops having been stoned by a
mob collected from various points, and for which she bore the undeserved
odium. These I sent in their tri-colored dress, expecting only a silent
reception. But, as I sat at dinner in my hotel, there came a singular and
unexpected response in the person of the General himself. He was
introduced by the landlord, and was accompanied by his little daughter,
holding in her hand my token, as she smilingly approached me in her
fairy-like beauty. A delightful chat ensued, and an urgent request upon
his part that I should visit Cresson Springs, to which he had resorted
with his family in order to recuperate his health, shattered by the
protracted and gallant defense of one of our national citadels.
With a kind "good bye" he left, and as I passed out of the dining-room
door I received an evidence of his great delicacy in a token he would not
publicly tender. The landlord handed me a box from him containing a
handsome plain gold ring, ever since cherished as a memento; and, although
worn by time, there is still legible the name engraved within this shining
circlet, even that of General Anderson.
After canvassing Altoona I went to Cresson Springs and was no sooner
registered than I received a card from the General. Meeting me in the
parlor, he gave me a cordial welcome, after which he said: "Now I am going
to assist you in your sales." He drew together three of the parlor tables,
and, taking one hundred of my books, he placed them thereon, together with
specimens of my bead work, which he artistically arranged in the national
colors. It needed but a wave of the magician's wand, for such he seemed,
to evoke the spirits of generosity and love, and through these all of my
volumes vanished, as well as much of the bead work. At General Anderson's
request I took my work to the parlor, and amid a group of wondering ones,
many of whom were members of his own family, I showed them how the blind
could deftly weave these little trinkets, the fashioning of the "bijou"
baskets needing no sight to arrange the colors, with celerity and skill. I
was also, at his request, seated at his family table, and time will never
erase the memory of words which fell from the lips of the warrior, as
gently, as lovingly, as if a woman's voice were breathing words of comfort
and affection. In after time, when tidings of his death were borne from a
foreign land, when the perfumed breath of sunny France received the last
sigh of our hero, I dropped many a tear, which truly welled up from the
depths of a sorrowing heart.
In the winter I made Philadelphia my head-quarters, stopping at the home
of Mr. and Mrs. Mack, both of whom were blind when married, and who both
possess great musical talent, which they utilized by teaching piano music,
thus earning a handsome support and purchasing the home they then
occupied, a tasteful, comfortable domicile. It was well for me I selected
this spot, for it afterward proved "a City of Refuge." I was soon
prostrated with a severe typhoid fever, and was so kindly cared for by
this dear family, who, by tender ministration, nursed the little spark of
hope, and brought me from death unto life. Their two sweet children and
their musical prattle will ever be recalled as illuminated pictures upon
the red-lettered page of life's history.
Of the tender care of Miss Fowler too much cannot be said. It was to her
assiduous attention I was also, in a great degree, indebted for my
recovery.
During this illness I could also number two other ministering spirits, Dr.
Seiss, a Lutheran minister, who constantly visited me, and gave me many a
word of comforting support, and Professor Brooks, who was called to my
bedside as medical attendant.
He had been for many years an eminent allopathic physician, and was then a
professor in the Homeopathic College of Philadelphia.
He also faithfully and unremittingly ministered to me during the many
weeks of fever and prostration.
When I was almost well I one day said to him: "Doctor, what do I owe you?"
The sweet serenity of his face merged into a benevolent beam, and in the
vernacular of the Society of Friends, of which he was a member, he said:
"Mary, Rachel and I have been talking it over, and we have concluded that
thee will be too delicate to travel this winter, and will need all thy
money; so thee does not owe me anything."
Choking with grateful emotion, as soon as I could command control I said:
"Doctor, I could not expect you to give me such kind attention without
remuneration, but since you have so willed it, I can only say I thank you
for having saved my life." Whereupon there came the same luminous look,
and the gentle voice said: "Mary, it was not I that saved thy life; it
was thy Heavenly Father."
As soon as I was well enough to ride he made arrangements for me to visit
his house. I took the street car, but by pre-arranged plan, he met me at
his door, lifted me from the car, and carried me in his arms into a
luxurious bed-chamber, where I was met by the sweet-voiced Rachel, who
gave me a reviving draught of rare old wine, and in every way studied my
wants during the day's visit, after which the Doctor drove me home in his
carriage.
How do our hearts go out in gratitude to such true and loving natures, and
how fondly do we recall in after years the sweet sounds of sympathy, whose
melody pervades life's measured music.
Once again I found myself in Baltimore, where I received a letter from my
brother William, urging me to spend the winter at his home in Pecatonica,
Ill. This, together with a meeting with my cousin Sammy Heald, determined
me to go West. My cousin was about to visit Iowa City, Iowa, where dwelt
his betrothed, and he offered to pay all my traveling expenses if I would
accompany him. The temptation of seeing one from whom there had been an
eight years separation made my cousin's entreaties irresistible, and I
yielded, receiving from him all the devoted attendance his kind nature
could dictate. So, after the lapse of so many eventful years, I turned my
face westward. I spent the winter at the home of my brother, and shall
never forget his kindness and that of his family, as well as other
residents of Pecatonica, who did so much to lighten the leaden-winged
hours, which, in a little hamlet, drag so slowly in comparison with the
din and bustle of city life, and the excitement of business and travel.