_The Situation._--I was young, but, with a wife and child dependent upon
my practice for food, raiment, and shelter, I was striving manfully; with
my household gods and goods I had located here, in a small village, a year
before. My beginning was encouraging, my success in practice more than
flattering. But an immense opposition had met and nearly overthrown me, in
the form of a man, a deacon of the ---- church. He was one of those "rule
or ruin" men whom you will find in every one-horse village. I did not at
first know my man,--he did not know me,--or I should have avoided his ill
will. I did not know his tenaciousness of titles--he was an esquire
also--which was my first unpardonable offence. He swore--"as deacons
do"--that I should not practise in that town. I swore, as doctors will,
that "so long as I could obtain a potato and a clam a day I would remain
while he was my opposer." Clams could be dug at low water, within a few
rods of my house; potatoes I grew on the quarter acre of ground given me
as partial inducement to settle in that town. His two drunken sons were
his emissaries of evil, set on for my overthrow, in addition to the
father's voice and known opposition, which few dared to meet. My practice
dwindled. A few Nicodemuses came by night, but my darling wife trembled
for my very life when I had a night call. My provision was often short, my
poor horse was mere skin and bones, standing, day after day, gnawing his
empty manger.
"O, is there a God in Israel?" I cried, in my anguish, more than once.
Yes, the reply came to my prayers; there is a God of recompense.
* * * * *
_The Betrayed._--My patient was a young girl, over whose golden head but
seventeen summers had flown, on rosy wings. Her form was sylph-like, and
face as beautiful as the opening flower in the golden sunshine of early
day. She was an attendant at _his_ church, a member of _his_ Sabbath
school class, and a singer in the choir....
[Illustration: THE BETRAYED.]
I was shown to her room. Sorrow, and not disease, had left its impress
upon her fair young face. Rumor had already given me a hint on which to
diagnose my case.
"Who has done this wicked thing?" I asked, holding her hand, and looking
kindly into her eyes.
"O, my God! O, I must not tell," she cried, springing up from her couch. I
never shall forget the terror depicted on that fair young countenance, as
she pronounced these words.
"You must tell. You should not suffer this shame and burden alone. Tell me
truly. Who has done it? I must know. There may be a chance to cover the
shame and make your babe legitimate. Come," I said.
"O, sir, dear doctor, it can never be;" and she fell back on her pillow,
weeping and wringing her hands in awful anguish.
"Come, it shall be done;" and I firmly held to the point.
She arose. I gave her a bowl and napkin that were near; she bathed her
inflamed and swollen eyes, then, with surprising calmness and fortitude,
took a pencil and a bit of paper from the light-stand at her bedside, and
wrote a name.
She then handed it to me, saying "'Tis he." I read the name. I jumped to
my feet. I forgot my tender patient. I forgot all but my own sufferings,
and those of my dear little wife and darling babe, and their enemy, as I
cried out,--
"O, my God in Israel! I have got him! I shall be avenged!"
"O, don't, doctor! What is the matter?" exclaimed the affrighted girl,
rising in bed. I had rushed, almost frantically across the room and back.
"Forgive me," I said, "I--I forgot myself. Pardon me."
"O, sir, I thought you were mad."
"I was, dear girl. It is past. Now to your case." And I proceeded to
unfold to her unsophisticated mind the true state of affairs. Here was a
pure, respectable, though poor young girl, under age, who had been
betrayed, locked into an office, and seduced by a son of the squire, and
deserted, threatened--left to bear the burden and disgrace alone. She
dared not divulge the name of her destroyer, because of the position of
his family in the community. I dared. But to bring her mind up above her
fears, to compel the young man to make restitution, as far as lay in his
power, was a severe task. It was my duty to do this; sweeter then than
duty, it was my revenge! By implicating the real villain, I released
several other young men from suspicion, particularly one young man with
red hair.
The girl was taken away from the sight of dear sister's sinister looks,
and the influence and threats of the seducer, and secret offers of bribery
of the deacon, his father.
The law took its course. No eye could see the hand that worked the
machinery. The time was counted almost to a day, as the result proved. The
young man was arrested, and gave bonds. It became the theme of general
conversation. I was interviewed. I was dumb--deaf--blind! Threats and
bribes proved equally ineffectual to induce me to give an opinion, or a
pledge not to appear in the coming trial at the next term of the Superior
Court. To marry the poor, unfortunate girl was beneath the dignity of the
seducer and family. They would pay their last farthing first, or the young
man would sooner go to prison for the crime. His two sisters carried their
heads higher than ever. The two sons threatened my life. But I kept on the
even tenor of my way. The girl became a mother.
"Next Tuesday court sits," whispered everybody, and nothing in town was
discussed but the probabilities of the pending lawsuit.
The lawsuit was nothing, the fine was nothing, which the justice might
impose; even imprisonment was nothing in comparison to acknowledgment of
an illegitimate child by the deacon's family, notwithstanding the child
was not red-haired, but much resembled its reputed father, the deacon's
son.
There was no trial. The squire paid a sum of money to the idiotic old
father of the beautiful young mother, and agreed, orally, to support the
child, and the suit was withdrawn. But this virtually acknowledged the
child, and the girl returned to her father's roof for shelter, and a place
wherein to weep alone over her so-called fatherless child, and hide her
shame (?) from the uncharitable world.
The town became too cramped for the squire and his beautiful family. He
sold out, but not before he had lost his rule there, and was hanged in
effigy as being "too Secesh."
The seducer married a frail beauty, who mourns a drunken, brutish husband.
The other son became steady, and married a lovely girl--my first patient.
The daughters never wedded. Too proud to marry a poor man, too poor and
destitute of real beauty or accomplishments for a wealthy or refined man
to desire to wed them, they became servants and lackeys. If I desire a
lunch at a certain saloon, one of them awaits my order. No matter about
the other unfortunate, unloved girl. The father is an imbecile invalid.
God is my witness, my judge, I long ago buried my hard feelings against
them; they have only my commiseration.
[Illustration]