In due course of time Agnes approached Shreveport. While in the cars
she had formed the acquaintance of three Sisters of Mercy, who were
bound upon a similar errand of kindness and peril to her own.
At first, upon learning whither she was going, and what her object
was, these pious ladies were thoroughly astonished; but when they
found by interrogation that she was really in earnest, their friendly
admiration became equal to their previous astonishment.
"Your services will be most welcome, Miss Arnold, I assure you," said
the eldest of the Sisters. "This is the third time I have been
summoned to nurse in yellow fever, and I know that there are never
one-half the number of nurses necessary."
A little short of the stricken city they were all stopped, and it
required the positive statement of the Sisters of Mercy that their
youthful, lovely companion was really going into the place for the
purpose of nursing the sick.
"Miss," asked an elderly gentleman, "were you ever acclimated here?
Because if you were not, we cannot let you pass, for you would only
get the fever yourself, and become a care instead of a help to us. Not
only that, but you would surely be a corpse inside of twenty-four
hours."
Agnes explained to the firm but kind gentleman, her New Orleans
experience, and he relaxed and said:
"In that case, Miss Arnold, I sincerely welcome you, and in the name
of the sick and dying people here, pray God that you may be spared to
help them. Pass through, and heaven bless your brave and noble heart!"
Reader, if you are a man, possibly you have been in the army, and then
possibly you have been in a column, to which has been assigned the
task of storming a well-served battery of pieces. If so, you may
remember the feelings that were within your heart as you left the last
friendly cover of woods, and double-quicked across the open space up
hill, and saw the artillery-men waiting till you got close up before
pulling the primer lanyards, so as to make sure work of you all.
To Agnes Arnold going into Shreveport, the emotions must have been
very much like yours in front of that battery. Yet there was no
fluttering of her pulse.
"Where shall I go first?" asked this splendid heroine of the gentleman
in charge of the district in which she chanced to find herself.
"Not far; right across the street there into that grocery store at the
corner. We haven't been able to send any one there. Just been able to
look in now and then and give them all their doses. Please give me
your name, and don't leave there till I come, and I'll look after your
baggage."
"My name, sir, is Agnes Arnold. I have no baggage except this one
small trunk, and I would rather you let this young man bring it along
directly with me."
"Very well, take it, Ned, and follow Miss Arnold, and see you don't
ask anything for the job."
"Yes, sir," replied the negro porter, and shouldering the trunk he
strode on hastily after Agnes. He would not go further into the house,
however, than the little room immediately in the rear of the store.
"Surely you are not afraid, you who live here!" exclaimed Agnes.
"De Lor' bless your soul, missus. Youse couldn't haul dis yer niggah
furder inter dis yallah house with an army muel team. Don't yer smell
dat 'culiah scent. O, Lor', good-by missus. Dat's de rele Jack, suah!"
And without waiting for any further argument or remark upon the
subject, the terrified fellow clapped his hand over his mouth and
nose, and actually bounded out into the street to where some men were
burning tar and pitch as a disinfectant. Nor did he seem to consider
himself safe until he had nearly choked himself by thrusting his head
into the dense black Fumes.
Agnes would have laughed at the silly man, but at this moment such
violent and agonized groaning fell upon her ears, that she started and
trembled. But it was only for a moment.
In an instant more she had thrown off her travelling costume and hat
and bounded up stairs.
There such a sight met her gaze as would have chilled, the stoutest
heart. In a narrow rear chamber were four living people and two
corpses. The two dead ones were the father, a man of about forty, and
a little girl of six years, his youngest child. The four living people
were the mother, thirty years old, a little girl, and two boys, of the
respective ages of nine, fourteen, and sixteen.
"Don't take us away to the cemetery yet! for God's sake, don't!"
groaned the woman in agony. "We're not dead yet. It won't be long. But
it won't be long. Leave us be a while, and then you can bury us all in
one grave. For God's sake! please!"
"My dear woman, I've come to try and save your lives, not to bury
you," replied Agnes in a low, kindly voice, patting the sick woman's
forehead.
"They take plenty of them away and stick them in the ground while they
are alive yet. Heaven help us, for we can't help ourselves."
These words were not spoken consecutively, but in fits and starts
between paroxysms of dreadful physical suffering. Her racked mind and
body prevented the mother from quickly comprehending Agnes. And it was
not until the latter had talked to her soothingly and cheerfully for
several minutes, that she began to perceive the real state of affairs.
And then the re-action from the depths of despair was like the
infusion of new life and strength to the sick woman. She cried and
sobbed as though her heart would break for several minutes, which
excitement ended in a spasm.
Most women would have been terrified at such a scene as was at this
moment presented to Miss Arnold. But she was not a mere fancy
nurse. Far from it. Up went her sleeves, and for the next two hours
she worked with her four patients like a Trojan, first with the
mother, and next with the children. Her next care was to separate the
living from the dead. The child she wrapped up in a small sheet quite
neatly, and for the father she performed the same sad task, using a
coverlet, so that when about three o'clock the dead wagon came around
with the coffins, both bodies were decently prepared for interment.
"'Bout what time d'ye think I better git back fur t'others, nurse?"
inquired the driver of the wagon, consulting a small pass-book that he
carried in his side coat pocket.
Agnes was horrified to hear such a brutal question propounded to her
in the coolest and most business-like manner.
"What do you mean?" asked she, indignantly.
"Mean jist wot I says! No time to fool round, nuther," was the
answer. "This is the Burton fam'ly, aint it?" he asked, giving his
book another glance, and then pitching his eye quickly up around the
store, as though looking for a sign with which to compare the note
book.
"Yes, Burton," answered Agnes.
"All right, then! They wuz tuk yisterday at noon. There's a man, a
woman, four children!" [He tapped the tip of each finger of his left
hand once with the back of the book, and the thumb twice, looking
Agnes very convincingly in the face all the while, as though to make
her thoroughly understand, without putting him to the bother of a
second statement.] "Six--they wuz tuk at noon yisterday. Two dead this
mornin'. Four more oughten be dead by--let's see--why, time's up now!
t'houten be dead now! By--how's that? You aint foolin', hey? Big
fine fur foolin' the wagon man, you know. Now say, if any on 'em's
near gone it'll do, you know. Save me bother, an' you too, don't you
see? Ef they're near gone, 'nuff not ter kick nor holler wen we puts
'em in, it'll do, 'cause then they can't git better, you know, an'
they're outen their misery sooner."
The insinuating leer with which the wretch ended this speech caused
Miss Arnold's blood to run cold.
"You brute! you fiend! ghoul! or whatever kind of demon you call
yourself, begone! in the name of Heaven, begone!" exclaimed the heroic
girl, her eyes flashing fire, and her whole frame trembling with
disgust and horror.
Her demeanor cowed the fellow, and he actually cringed as he backed
out at the door. But on the sidewalk he seemed to recover his
coolness, or at least he assumed to, for stepping in again, he
exclaimed:
"Mind, I'll be round in the mornin', and I don't want no gum games!
I've got too much to do on my hands now."
Agnes paid no heed to him at all, but hastening back to her patients,
she recommenced her nursing care of them.
There was no fire, and in fact none was needed, except for cooking and
preparing the one or two simple remedies which Agnes used in
connection with the treatment of the sick victims, and which she felt
assured would not interfere with the medicine they were taking.
In truth, during the whole epidemic, it seemed as though mere medicine
was of no avail whatever, and that really the methods and means used
by the natives, independent of the doctors, did all the good that was
done.
First, she got out of the store some mackerel and bound them, just as
they came out of the barrel, brine and all, to the soles of the feet
of both the mother and children.
This simple remedy acted like a charm, for in about three hours the
fever began to break. Agnes put on fresh mackerel as before, removing
the first ones, which, startling as it may seem, were perfectly
putrid, though reeking with the strong salt brine when she applied
them.
By nine o'clock that night the noble young woman had the inexpressible
delight of seeing her poor patients so far changed for the better as
to be completely out of danger.
On the next morning, true to his promise, the dead-wagon man came
around. He was one of those in-bred wicked spirits which take delight
in hating everything and everybody good and beautiful; just as the
Greek peasant hated Aristides, and voted for his banishment, because
he was surnamed the "good." This fellow already hated Agnes, and his
ugly face was contorted with a hideous grin, as he thrust himself in
at the store door and exclaimed:
"Hallo! where's them dead 'uns? fetch 'em out!"
Agnes had not expected him to put his threat of coming the next
morning into execution. She was therefore somewhat taken aback on
beholding him.
But she was a girl of steady, powerful nerves, and cool temper, and
the instant she saw that the fellow had made up his mind to behave the
way he did merely to vex and harass her, she made up her mind to
"settle him off."
Paying no heed therefore to what he said, Agnes quietly put on her hat
and shawl took her umbrella in her hand, and stepping directly up to
the brutal wretch said, in a determined tone of voice:
"Come along with me; I intend to give you such a lesson that you will
not forget in a hurry. You have given me impudence enough for the rest
of your life. You have got to go back now with me to the office of the
Superintendent, where I will have you discharged and then punished as
you deserve."
Perhaps thoughts of dark and cruel acts he had already been guilty of,
flashed across his mind, and made him tremble for the consequences to
himself. He evidently believed that Agnes knew more about him than he
thought. Or perhaps it was that mysterious influence which a positive
mind in motion--like Miss Arnold's--wields over a vacillating
temperament like the dead-wagon driver's.
Whichever of these causes it was, could of course never be positively
known, but, like a flash of lightning, the fellow changed his
insolent, braggart manner to one of the most contemptible, cringing
cowardice.
"Don't, Missus, don't! Ef I've 'sulted yer, 'pon my dirty soul I'll
beg yer double-barrelled pardon. Please don't yer go to complainin' on
me. For ef I'd lose my place, my wife and young 'uns 'ud starve to
death in no time. I oughter knowed better then to sass you anyhow,
when I seed how good and purty ye wuz!"
"Please don't leave us! don't leave us, Miss Agnes, for you've been
our Good Angel. You have saved our lives!" piteously exclaimed
Mrs. Burton and her children in chorus at this moment, fearful that
their nurse was really going away, and dreading if she did, that they
would all be carried off either to the cemetery or some other dreadful
place.
"Now, please go back, and don't go a tellin' on me fur a sassin yer. I
oughter to be ashamed; and I am double-barrelled ashamed. An' ef
you'll jest say you'll furgiv' me, I'll go down on my knees. There
now, Miss Agony, ain't that 'nuff? Ef it ain't, why I'll do whatever
you say fur me to do."
The fellow pulled off his hat, and set himself in such a ludicrously
woebegone attitude, that Miss Arnold had great difficulty in
restraining herself from laughing outright. She managed, however, to
keep a straight face, and replied:
"Well, this time I will allow it to pass; but never let me hear of
such conduct again, or I will not be so lenient."
"Thank you, missus; and may I ask you a queshun?"
"Yes."
"I want ter ask you, how yer kep' them there fel's from a dyin'?
'Cause when they're bin tuk like they wuz tuk yer could jest bet every
muel in the kerral that they'd peg out in twenty-seven hours at
furthest."
"God did it, not I," replied Agnes.
"Don't call me sassin' yer, agin, Miss Agony, but that ain't so;
'cause thar's nuthin' 'll fetch 'em, when they're tuk the way they wuz
tuk. It's magic done it, nuthin' else!"
"Well, in case you should feel the headache, sick stomach, and chill
coming on at any time, or fall in with any person suffering that way,
remember the following recipe. Take out your book again and put it
down."
"Yes, Miss Agony, willin'."
The fellow produced his book and pencil, and holding the former flat
up against the door, wrote at Miss Arnold's dictation:
"Put the feet immediately into hot and very strong mustard water--put
in plenty of mustard. Quickly take a strong emetic of ipecac or
mustard water. Go to bed immediately, and send for the doctor. While
waiting for the doctor, get salt mackerel, directly out of the brine,
and bind them to the soles of the feet. And the moment the patient
craves any particular article of food or drink, do not hesitate to
give it _moderately_. If mackerel cannot be obtained, use strong raw
onions or garlic. In a few hours the mackerel will most likely become
putrid; if so, remove them, and apply others."
"Golly! Golly! I knowed it was magic--somethin' like that, and not
medicine at all!" exclaimed the fellow, nodding his head to himself.
"Let me look at your book, to see if you have it correctly written,"
said Agnes, stepping partially behind the driver.
"Lor' bless you, Miss Agony!" he exclaimed, "you'd never be able to
read my writin'. Hold on, an' I'll read fur you myself, an' then yer
ken tell me ef I'm wrong."
As Agnes still manifested a desire to look at the book, however, he
held it for her inspection. But with the exception of here and there a
small word, like _a_ or _the_, she could not decipher any of the
scrawl. So she expressed her desire to hear it read.
The fellow promptly read it all off without a single mistake, much to
the astonishment of Miss Arnold.
"Is that all straight, hey, Miss Agony?" asked he, with a comical
expression of mingled pride and curiosity running over his
countenance.
"Yes," replied Agnes; "and," added she, "my name is not what you call
it, but Agnes Arnold."
"Well, now, don't think I wuz callin' yer that fur sass, Missus
Arnold, for I wuz not. I'll hurry along now, for I've got a heap to do
this mornin'. Things is a gittin' wuss an' wuss every day."
"I hope they will soon mend," said Agnes, fervently; "good day."
"Good-by, Missus Arnold, an' I hope God'll take best care uv you,
anyhow," answered the driver.
"I trust in Him always, and you should also put your faith in Him. He
is strong to save."
With this admonition to her rough companion, Agnes turned back into
the rear room, and removing her hat and shawl, set herself about
kindling a fire to prepare some little nourishment for her sick
charges.
As the Burtons happened to keep a grocery store, she had no difficulty
in selecting material fitted for her object.
They all continued on the mend until the succeeding day, when the
physician having that district in charge made them a visit. He was
completely astonished upon finding how favorably the surviving cases
had turned out, and he held quite a long conversation with Agnes in
regard to what she had done, after which he remarked:
"Indeed, Miss Arnold, I must confess to you that I feel disposed to
credit these recoveries entirely to your faithful and intelligent
nursing. For to tell you the truth, the modes of treatment which we
physicians have hitherto used in cases showing the symptoms that these
did, has failed in nearly eighty per cent. of every hundred. But it is
true enough sometimes, that many of these 'grandmother remedies' as we
call them, are more efficacious than any others."
"This is not a grandmother's remedy, Doctor," smilingly replied
Agnus. "It was told to me some years ago in New Orleans."
She here concisely narrated to him the history of her experience when
she helped to nurse her father in the latter city.
"Who was it told you, Miss Arnold? was it Dr. Robinson? He was noted
about that period for his success in treating bad cases of the fever.
"No, sir, it was a Spanish gentleman, who had lived many years in
Havana. Once in Vera Cruz he took the vomito, and was saved by this
treatment.
"Most astonishing!" mused the doctor. "I shall not fail to try it."
"I have another remedy which is equally efficient in small-pox,
Doctor, that I got from the same gentleman. You might find it useful
at some time, and I assure you I have never known it to fail even in
the worst cases.
"Thank you, I will accept it with pleasure."
Miss Arnold repeated the following, and the doctor took it carefully
down in his note book:
"As soon as the headache comes, and the chill down the back, and the
stomach becomes sick, and the limbs begin to ache, clear the stomach
with a strong emetic, put the feet in hot mustard water several times
during the next twelve hours. Talk very often and encouragingly to the
patient as the insanity begins to show itself. As soon as the thirst
sets in, give frequently alternate small drinks of cold Indian meal
gruel--no butter in the gruel--and moderately large drinks of the best
plain black tea, _hot_, without milk or sugar. Occasionally the gruel
may be changed and made of oatmeal, and the tea have a bit of toasted
bread in it. As the disorder goes through its course, and a craving
sets in, humor this at once with moderate supplies of what is
craved. Air the room twice or three times each day, taking great care
to cover up the patient completely, head and all, while the doors and
windows are open. Keep the room dark, and at an even temperature. Pat
the face, arms, &c., with warm barley water, and then with a feather
oil the whole surface with sweet oil. This prevents all itching and
pitting, or marks."
[Illustration: Poor, noble Anges was so wearied out, that she got
asleep while she walked with the baby, and stepping too near the
stairway, she fell all the way down.]
"Truly a plain and simple remedy," remarked the doctor, as he put away
his book, "I shall not fail to try it also, if I should ever come
across any cases of variola."
"And you may depend on it, Doctor," said Agnes, "that it will never
fail when properly and intelligently carried out."
As he turned to leave, the physician said:
"Miss Arnold, please stay here until I send you a note or a messenger,
which I will do within an hour or an hour and a half."