In October, 1867, Captain and Mrs Mayne Reid went to the United States,
arriving at Newport, Rhode Island, in November. Here they took a
furnished cottage for the winter.
Soon after his arrival Captain Reid was eagerly sought by different
publishers who wished to get his name. At Newport he wrote "The Child
Wife," for which _Frank Leslie's Paper_ paid him 8,000 dollars for the
right of first appearance in its columns. "The Child Wife" was
published by Ward, Lock and Tyler, in 3 volumes, in 1868, and is now
issued in one volume by Messrs Sonnenschein and Co. The proprietor of
the _Fireside Companion_ also paid 5,000 dollars to run "The Finger of
Fate" in his paper. Mayne Reid had as much work for his pen as he could
get through, and was now speculating upon bringing out a boys' magazine
of his own in New York.
In December, 1868, the first number of _Onward_, Mayne Reid's magazine,
appeared; he continued in the editorship for 14 months, doing other
literary work in addition, till his health completely gave way, and the
magazine was abandoned.
He was a constant sufferer from the effects of the wound in his leg, and
during this brief sojourn in the United States was a patient in Saint
Luke's Hospital, New York, in 1870, suppuration of the thigh having
brought him to death's door. From the hospital he writes:
"To the Editor of the _Sun_.
"Sir,--I have been for some days an inmate of Saint Luke's Hospital, a
sufferer from a severe and dangerous malady. To save my life calls for
the highest surgical skill, along with combination of the most
favourable circumstances, among them quiet. And yet during the whole of
yesterday, and part of the day before (the Lord's Day), the air around
me has been resonant with what, in the bitterness of my spirit, I
pronounce a _feu d'enfer_. It has resembled an almost continuous
fusillade of small arms, at intervals varied by a report like the
bursting of a bombshell or the discharge of a cannon. I am told that
this infernal fracas proceeds from a row of dwelling houses in front of
this hospital, and that it is caused by the occupants of these dwellings
or their children.
"Accustomed in early life to the roar of artillery, my nerves are not
easily excited by concussive sounds, and, therefore, I have not been
seriously affected by them. But, alas! how different with scores of my
fellow-sufferers in the hospital, beside the couch of many of whom death
stands waiting for his victim. I am informed by my nurses, intelligent
and experienced men, that they have known several cases where death has
not only been hastened, but actually caused by the nervous startling and
torture inflicted by these Fourth of July celebrations. I have been
also informed that the venerable and philanthropic founder of this
valuable institution has done all in his power to have this cruel
infliction stayed, even by personal appeal to the inhabitants of the
houses in question, and that he has been met by refusal, and the reply,
`We have a right to do as we please upon our own premises.' I need not
point out the utter falsity of this assured view of civic rights, but I
would remark that the man, who, even under the sanction of long custom,
and the pretence of country's love, permits his children, through mere
wanton sport, to murder annually one or more of his fellow citizens, I
say that such a man is not likely to make out of these children citizens
who will be distinguished either for their patriotism or humanity.
"In the name of humanity I ask you, sir, to call public attention to
this great cruelty, and, if possible, have it discontinued.
"Yours very truly,
"Mayne Reid.
"Saint Luke's Hospital, July 5th, 1870."
He was interviewed in the hospital by a lady, who wrote the following
account of her visit to Mayne Reid:
"New York, August 9, 1870.
"My sympathies were enlisted, too, for the brave fellow who has been
languishing in Saint Luke's Hospital. The sole tidings of him was the
4th of July remonstrance, which revealed how his spirit chafed at the
seclusion and helplessness incomparably worse than physical pain.
"To find my way, then, to the hospital seemed a part of my pleasure in
New York. The gate shut me in with a heavy clang, and I walked up the
path to the main building with, I confess, no little trepidation at my
boldness. In answer to the request `to see Captain Mayne Reid,' I was
conducted through a broad hall into a long ward furnished with an
infinite number of low, narrow cots, that looked too small for any
practical purpose. A turn through a short hall and what appeared to be
an apothecary's closet brought us to the private room of the author. He
was lying upon a bedstead (similar to the ones in the ward) which was
placed in the centre of the apartment. As he turned his head and raised
himself upon his elbow to address me, he presented the view of a
middle-aged, sturdy-looking English squire. The head is compact and
covered by a profusion of dark brown hair, which, in contrast with the
pallid complexion, stood out as if it had no part and parcel with the
corpse-like whiteness of the scalp. The brow was smooth and fair,
rounded out to gigantic proportions by ideality, causality and
reverence. The nose, nervous and scornful, would have been remarkable
but for the large and beautiful eyes, that are restless habitually, but
when fixed upon an object have a lancellating effect, and withal an
expression of great good heart, that is seconded by one of the most
winning smiles I ever beheld. Hands of uncommon grace and beauty
somehow complete the charm of his lips and eyes.
"To speak first of matters of most interest to the public, Captain Reid
has been suffering from the effects of a gun-shot wound received in the
Mexican war, culminating in an abscess which threatened to exhaust his
vitality. Recovered from that by the care of one of the most
experienced surgeons in America, he was attacked by dysentery, which at
the time I saw him had reduced him to a critical condition again.
"`I may say truly,' he observed, `that I was dead, and am alive. The
doctors had given me up, and I felt myself there was no chance. I had
the hiccough for hours, and the brandy and water administered gave me no
relief. With life slowly ebbing away, and the past and future passing
in rapid review before my mind, an old recollection flashed before me in
the strangest way, that draughts of pure brandy would sometimes arrest
hiccoughs. I reached forth my hand for the bottle of brandy that stood
on my stand and took a swallow. Instantly it went like fire through my
veins, and with another draught my life was saved. I tell it to you for
it may be of service to you some time.'
"As we talked, the air coming fresh through the open window, laden with
the murmur of leaves and twitter of swallows, a light, even step was
heard approaching, and a lady came forward, pausing on the threshold.
Oh, but she was fair! with her golden hair caught up under an azure
fanchon of satin, and falling in soft ripples over her forehead. There
was an expression of firmness in her calm blue eyes which gave character
to the face of infantile shape and loveliness. From her face my eye
wandered to her figure, struck with admiration at her graceful pose--an
accomplishment few women possess. They dance and sometimes walk well,
but they rarely know how to stand still. Her gown, I observed, was
white, with an overdress or wrap of blue, admirably suited to her
peculiar style of beauty.
"`My wife,' said the invalid, and as he explained that I called because
I had read his books she smiled and extended her hand. The smile was
like sunshine, and the clasp of her soft, cool hand a positive luxury.
The clear and musical voice was in keeping with her beautiful self, and
I loitered for a moment to gather a full impression of the scene."
A few days after this interview a serious relapse took place, and on
August 10th, telegrams were sent to his friends: "Captain Mayne Reid is
dying." Everything was prepared for his interment, and even an obituary
notice was written.
His wife was allowed to stay at the hospital during the night, being
told by the doctors that any minute might be her husband's last. He had
been lying in an unconscious state for the past three days, all the
signs of approaching dissolution being present. About 8 o'clock on the
morning of the 11th he rallied considerably. The doctors and two of the
lady nurses were around his bed, when he suddenly raised himself up,
exclaiming in a strong voice: "Turn those she-Beelzebubs," pointing to
the two ladies, "out of the room at once, preaching at a fellow, and
telling him he's going to die. I'm not going to die. Bring me a
beef-steak!"
Every one was astounded, the poor chaplain being nearly frightened out
of his wits. The beef-steak was speedily brought in, and the patient
made a feint of eating a portion.
From that day the gallant Captain slowly progressed towards recovery,
and on September 10th left Saint Luke's Hospital and sailed for
Liverpool in the middle of October, this being his last visit to the
country in whose cause he had shed his blood and earned the laurels of
war.