FLORA AND HER PATIENT.
There was no difficulty, in finding the River Queen No. 4, for she was
the centre of a circle of melancholy interest, and a crowd of people had
gathered on the levee to hear the latest tidings of woe from her cabin,
now changed into a hospital. I care not to dwell upon the sad scene
which greeted my vision as I went on board of her, nor to describe the
horror with which I glanced at the long row of ghastly corpses which had
been taken from the water.
It was a sickening sight, and terrible were the groans and the wailings
of the sufferers which resounded through the boat. I learned that the
captain of the ill-fated steamer was among the dead. If it had not been
so, an hour in the midst of this horrible din of sighs, and wails, and
groans would have been an all-sufficient punishment, if he had a human
heart in his bosom, for the base crime of sacrificing those precious
lives to the stupid rivalry of the hour.
The officers and passengers had been engaged in making up lists of the
wounded and the dead. Among the latter I found the name of Mrs.
Goodridge and Mr. Spear. I shuddered as I realized that the worst fears
of Emily were confirmed. I informed the clerk of the boat that I had
saved one of the passengers, and her name was stricken from the list of
the dead, and added to that of the living.
I learned that the body of Mrs. Goodridge had been recovered, and that
friends on board of the steamer would take charge of it. There was
nothing more for me to do, and I fled, sick at heart, from the awful
spectacle. I went to a small hotel near the landing, and though I slept
heavily, awake or in my slumber, the scenes of death and woe I had
beheld still haunted my mind. I took an early breakfast, and then
endeavored to find a boat bound down the river. There was none in Cairo
that would start that day, and it might be several days before I could
obtain a passage. I could not think of prolonging the agonizing suspense
of our passenger on the raft, or of leaving the two females to the care
of so heavy a thinker as Sim Gwynn. If a squall or a sudden rise of the
river occurred, my assistant would be helpless; and if the raft broke
loose, he would not have wit enough to bring it up to the shore again.
I walked up and down the levee, thinking what I should do. I could not
charter a steamer, and there was no conveyance on the other side of the
Mississippi. While I was thus fretting at the delay, I came to a yard
where boats were kept for sale. Most of them were for the use of
steamers, and were far beyond my means; but I found a second-hand skiff,
which I purchased for ten dollars, including in the price a pair of good
oars. It would be a handy thing to have on the raft, and if I had had it
when I first saw poor Emily Goodridge in the water, I could have saved
her without any difficulty.
In this light boat I embarked at nine o'clock. The raft was ten or
twelve miles below Cairo; but the swift current would speed me on my way
with little labor at the oars. I pulled steadily, and with just power
enough to give me steerage-way; and when I reached the raft, I found I
had made the passage in little more than two hours.
"Hookie!" ejaculated Sim, with a stupid stare, as I ran the skiff up to
the raft.
"Catch the painter!" I called, throwing him the rope.
"I hain't seen no painter," he replied, staring around him, and letting
the rope run off the raft, and the skiff go adrift.
I pulled up to the raft again, and succeeded in making my deck hand
understand that he was to hold on to the rope attached to the boat.
"Where did you get that boat?"
"Catch hold, and haul it up," I replied; for I seldom found it
practicable to answer Sim's questions.
"Did you find this boat?" he asked when he had pulled it up on the
platform.
"No; how is the girl we saved?"
"Did you make this boat?"
"No; I bought it; gave ten dollars for it. How is the girl?"
"O, she's sick! Leastwise, she ain't very well, and didn't sleep much."
I did not suppose she had slept very well; for one with such a fearful
anxiety on her mind must have suffered intensely during the long night.
I hastened into the house, and found dear Flora making some tea for her
patient. I surmised that the poor child had also spent a sleepless
night, for she looked pale and ill herself, and I trembled for her
welfare, devoted and self-sacrificing as she was in the presence of the
heavy woe of her charge.
"How is Emily?" I asked.
"She is very sick, I fear," replied poor Flora, sadly, for she seemed to
make her patient's sufferings her own. "She has hardly closed her eyes
during the night."
"And you have not slept yourself, Flora."
"No, I have not. The poor girl has talked about her mother all night
long. What news do you bring, Buckland?"
"I hardly dare to speak it," I replied, in a whisper.
"It can be no worse that her fears. She is already reconciled to the
worst," added my sister, with a sympathetic tear.
"Flora," moaned Emily.
The devoted little nurse hastened to her patient. I had not the courage
to follow her, and face the torrent of woe which my news must carry to
her aching heart. Perhaps it was cowardly in me, but I could not help
it. I stood at the door and listened.
"Your brother has come. I heard his voice," said Emily, in a tone
convulsed with emotion.
"He has come, dear," replied Flora; and I heard her kiss the
grief-stricken maiden.
"You have no good news to tell me. I know you haven't," wailed the
sufferer. "I did not expect any. I knew she was--"
And then I heard her sob. She was calmer than I had anticipated, and I
ventured to go into the room. My heart was in my throat as I gazed upon
her pale face and hollow eyes. She wept bitterly, as I confirmed her
worst fears; and Flora, with her arm twined around the poor girl's neck,
wept with her, and frequently kissed her. As gently and tenderly as I
could I told her the sad truth, and assured her that kind friends had
taken charge of her mother's remains.
I left her with Flora then, for she was the best comforter. As I put on
my working clothes in the adjoining room, I heard my sweet sister
speaking to her the tenderest of pious consolations. She breathed the
name of Jesus in her ear, and pointed her to the Rock of Ages for hope,
for the joy which this world cannot give and cannot take away. Great
rough fellow as I was, I wept with them; for never had my heart been so
deeply touched before.
On the platform I found Sim, still employed in examining the skiff I had
purchased, apparently filled with astonishment that a little thing like
that had borne me safely down the river for ten miles. He wanted to ask
more questions about it; but I told him to cast off the fasts, and in a
few moments we were again borne on by the current of the Father of
Waters. The day was bright and pleasant, and a fresh wind from the
north-west was blowing. I hoisted the sail and trimmed it, and taking
my place at the steering oar, I brooded over the bitter lot of my
passenger. I pitied her, and loved her for her misfortunes.
As the raft continued on its way, I began to consider what should be
done with her. She was quite sick, and the rough house on the raft was
not a suitable place for her. But she had no friends nearer than New
Orleans. I asked myself whether I ought not to abandon the raft, and
take passage in a steamboat; but I had not money enough to pay the
passages of the party, and I was obliged to answer the question in the
negative. But I could pay Emily's fare, and place her in charge of the
officers of some boat. I concluded to adopt this course at the first
large town we reached, where a steamer would be likely to make a
landing.
The poor girl was unable to sit up during the day; indeed, she was so
ill that I began to be alarmed about her. After dinner, I insisted that
Flora should lie down on my bed, and obtain the rest she so much needed,
while I sat with the patient. My poor sister was all worn out, and she
slept till dark. Thanks to the gentle ministrations of Flora, Emily was
quite calm, but she could not sleep. She talked to me of her mother all
the time, and I became almost a woman myself in my efforts to console
her.
I told her that I proposed to send her to New Orleans by the first
steamer I could find which was bound there. To my surprise, she strongly
objected, declaring that Flora was an angel, and she would not leave
her. She said she was very comfortable on the raft, and that she was
much happier there than she should be in a steamboat; and she trembled
when she uttered the word. I told her that her father would be very
anxious about her, and she finally decided to write a letter to him,
informing him that she was in the hands of good friends, on her way
home.
Flora was much refreshed by the sleep she had obtained, and sat up till
midnight with Emily. I made a bed for her on the floor by the side of
her patient, and in the morning I found that both of them had rested
well during the latter part of the night. Sim and I kept the raft going
all night, as usual. The next day I mailed Emily's letter to her
father. The physical condition of the poor sufferer did not yet begin
to improve, and Flora was unremitting in her efforts to help her. I was
very much surprised to find that the devoted nurse did not sink under
her exertions. But the patient slept tolerably well at night, and I
relieved my sister during part of the day.
On the third day after the disaster, we passed Memphis; and I again
urged Emily to take a steamer for her destination. She consented; but I
found that she did so in order to save us the trouble she gave. When I
assured her that we had no desire to get rid of her, she insisted upon
completing the voyage on the raft. She could not bear to part with
Flora, who had been both nurse and comforter to her in her affliction.
I made a landing at Memphis, and procured everything I could think of
that would add to the comfort of Emily. She was very grateful to me, as
well as to Flora, and I am free to say that I found my greatest
happiness in caring for her and my sister; and all the more because they
were so devoted to each other.
Day after day went by; and our course continued past Vicksburg, Natchez,
Grand Gulf, Baton Rouge, till, on the thirteenth day from Cairo, and on
the twenty-third from Torrentville, we came in sight of the spires of
New Orleans.
The sun was just setting as we came abreast of the dense piles of
houses. When we reached a place favorable for landing, I ran the raft up
to the levee, and made it fast to a post.