SHIP-FEVER.
Presently Gretchen spoke. Her voice was thick, her accent even more
foreign than usual, and at first the listener could not understand the
words. But she put her ear close down to the bed and made out:--
"Miss Etta, am I going to die?"
"I don't know," said Etta, bewildered; "I hope not."
"I'm not afraid," said the German, "but--but it looks all so strange
and dark. You didn't use to tell us about Jesus, and I couldn't rightly
understand the minister; but don't it say _here_," putting her hand upon
the Bible by her side, "that he will save everybody that comes to him?"
Her teacher nodded. "Coming to him is asking him, isn't it?" Another
nod. "Then, please, Miss Etta, ask him for me. I can't. I can't seem to
think. Ask him _now_."
Poor Etta! never in her life had she been so confused. She had only
just learned to pray for herself. She had not yet overcome the reticence
which we all feel concerning our own interest in spiritual things
sufficiently to tell her own sister of her experience and purpose--how
could she bring herself to do this hard thing which her scholar asked of
her? But the scholar had a human soul, and that soul might be very near
to eternity. How could she refuse to do this thing which, by the very
nature of her position toward her, the scholar had a right to ask?
Then an idea struck her, and opening her hymn-book,--for she had
expected to attend the evening service after ascertaining the cause of
her scholar's absence,--she knelt close to the window, and in the
fast-fading light read in a tone of reverent supplication the hymn
commencing,--
"Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,
Oh, Lamb of God, I come!"
Every word of the hymn was prayer, and Etta felt grateful for this help
in doing what would have otherwise seemed to her impossible. She threw
her whole soul into the last line of each verse, and could not but hope
that Gretchen, who lay quite still now, though saying nothing, was
following and saying in her heart,--
"Oh, Lamb of God, I come!"
After this there was silence and darkness, and Etta continued to kneel
with her face hidden on the window-sill, praying silently that God would
indeed save this soul, teaching it that which heretofore she had been
unable and unworthy to teach. The effort at obedience to what was so
evidently her duty had greatly strengthened the girl; she felt that God
was with her in the still room, and the glad joy of those who against
their own inclinations work for him began to spring up in her soul.
The doctor and Mrs. Doyle found her thus, and springing to her feet,
Etta came over to the bed to hear what the former thought about
Gretchen.
Judging from Mrs. Doyle's account, the doctor seemed inclined to make
light of the case, until he had made a careful investigation, and then
he looked very grave, and asked where the patient had come from, and
how long she had been in this country. Hearing that it was nearly a year
since she crossed the ocean, and that she had worked for eight months in
Squantown Paper Mill, he looked still more puzzled, and finally
said:--
"I really can't account for it, but it certainly is a case of
ship-fever; a very bad case, too."
Mrs. Doyle's consternation was extreme. She muttered something about
having her children to care for, shut the door tight, and went hastily
downstairs, leaving the doctor and the delicately bred young girl to
decide what was to be done in the situation.
Doctor Bolen looked at his companion in somewhat quizzical perplexity.
Here was a patient dangerously ill with a contagious disorder, at the
top of a house swarming with human beings. She must have care and close
watching, and the only person within reach to give it was a girl whose
gay light-heartedness and instability were well known in the town. Had
she known what to do, she was too young and delicate for such a task.
And should she take the infection--what then? Would the wealthy
mill-owner thus expose his youngest child, and, as every one knew, his
idol?
"I must get hold of some responsible person," he said at last, aloud,
but more to himself than to his companion. "But whom? I don't know of a
nurse that would come even from the city. Besides, it would cause a
panic to do so, and a panic is the most likely thing in the world to
cause the infection to spread. Mrs. Doyle, it is clear, is frightened
out of her senses, and she can't be expected to risk her children and
her livelihood for a stranger. One of the Irishwomen across the way
might take care of her for money; but then she'd talk, and the whole
gang would be frightened. I don't really know which way to turn." But
Etta answered instantly with the intuitive perception for which she was
noted:--
"There's Eunice."
Why had he not thought of it? Eunice Mountjoy, with her calm, cool head,
her perfect unselfishness, her entire devotion to the good of others;
Eunice, who was known and blessed wherever throughout the village there
was sickness, suffering, or want; Eunice, who had many a time helped
him out of a perplexity,--Eunice was the very person. But how should he
get hold of her?
"I will go," said Etta, to whom he expressed the wonder.
"No! You are too young, and at the same time too old, to go through this
manufacturing village alone after dark."
"Then you go, and I will stay here, for I suppose Gretchen must not be
left alone."
"Of course not. She may become delirious at any moment, and there is no
saying what she may do. She does not know us now. Would not you be
afraid to stay with her?"
"No," said Etta, steadily. "Tell me just what to do and I will do it."
"But you might take the infection. Have you thought of that?"
"God will take care of me," said she, with a rising color; and the
doctor, remembering how he had found her, thought that perhaps he could
not do better than to leave her under such protection.
He was gone a long time, a very long time, it seemed to Etta, whose
patient became very restless and needed constantly to be soothed and
coaxed back to bed when she sprang up and insisted--in German--on going
to her mother. Her teacher, at such times, bathed her face with the warm
water the doctor had brought, or gave her a sip of cold water which had
been left when the tea-tray was carried away, spoke to her in soothing
tones, and finally sang hymns, which seemed to quiet her better than
anything else. She had sung all she knew and was commencing the
_repertoire_ over again, when a heavy step, followed by a lighter one,
came along the passage, and presently Dr. Bolen appeared, followed, not
by Eunice, as her sister had expected, but by Katie's mother, Mrs.
Robertson! There was no time for questionings. The doctor gave Mrs.
Robertson his directions, and then, leaving the patient to her, he took
the young girl's arm and led her from the room, down the stairs, and out
into the street, where the cool night air seemed wonderfully refreshing.
"I would not have exposed you thus," he said, "if there had been any
other way. Do you feel very tired, very much exhausted?"
"Oh, no," she said bravely, for the air had greatly revived her. "I
don't believe it will hurt me a bit. It's time I learned to do something
besides amuse myself, you know. I've never been of much use in the world
yet, but I mean to be."
"You have great capacities and opportunities for usefulness," said he,
gravely, "but you know none of us is sufficient for these things."
"I am asking God to help me," she said in a low tone. "Don't you think
he will?"
"No one ever sought his help in vain. I am glad you are setting out in
the right way. All success be with you. Now you must attend to my
directions and obey me exactly. As soon as you get home take off every
garment you have on; throw away or burn up everything that can't be
washed, take a warm bath, and go to sleep as soon as you can, and,
remember, you are not to go near my patient again till I give you
permission. Will you promise?"
Then he told her how sensibly Eunice had planned that Mrs. Robertson,
who often went out to nurse the sick, should be engaged to take care of
Gretchen; that to-morrow a certain empty house belonging to Mr.
Mountjoy should be fitted up as a temporary hospital, and the sick girl
moved there that the battle of life and death might be fought where
there were not crowds of people to take the infection. He also cautioned
Etta not to spread a report concerning the nature of Gretchen's disease,
as a panic might result which would be not only deleterious to her
father's business interests, but also disastrous to the lives of
multitudes of the employees of the mill.
By this time they had reached the door of Etta's home, and Dr. Bolen
bade the girl good-night, after reiterating his directions.
Eunice came to her sister's room that night after she was in bed to see
if the doctor's orders had been complied with. She gave her such a
caress as her undemonstrative nature rarely gave way to, and it somehow
opened Etta's heart and mouth as well. A long talk followed, and Eunice
heard a great deal that made her very happy to hear. Etta begged her
pardon for the many times she had refused obedience to one standing
toward her almost in the position of a mother, and promised to be more
docile and helpful for the future. Both felt that the sisterly bond
which had been so weak between them was linked afresh to-night, and that
they were now sisters in reality because they were one in Christ.
The next day Eunice's plan was fully carried out. The vacant house,
which had been for some months without a tenant, was swept out and
furnished with a few necessary articles, and Gretchen, now entirely
delirious, was taken there in a close carriage, and Mrs. Robertson
established as resident nurse. The good woman fretted and grumbled a
good deal at leaving her home and her children,--whom, of course, she
could not see for a long time,--but she _was_ a good woman in spite of
her grumbling. She was a very experienced nurse, and here was service
for the Master from which she dared not turn away. Katie, assisted by
Tessa, was fully competent to manage the house and cook what they and
the boys needed to eat, so she resolutely accepted the trust.
Eunice and Etta went down to the empty house early in the morning, and
both worked hard, with a woman who had been hired to do so, to get the
rooms in readiness, but when all was prepared, they went home, for Dr.
Bolen said there was no use for either to be unnecessarily exposed to
infection. He did not want more patients than were sent him in the
natural course of events.
Great pains were taken to keep the whole matter quiet. Katie and Tessa
and the boys were cautioned not to speak about it, and the removal of
the patient was effected during the forenoon when all the factory
"hands" were safe in the mill. But the precautions were useless. Before
the next night there were four more patients in the temporary hospital,
all from the rag-room, and the consternation was extreme. Many refused
to work, and the mill was in danger of being forced to stop just in the
middle of filling some very important contracts, when the doctor, taking
his own life in his hands, as doctors must, made a thorough
investigation of the rag-room, where all the cases had occurred, and
found the contagion to be in a bale of rags imported from Ireland, which
had not received the usual overhauling before being brought to the mill.
These were all collected and burned, and the room thoroughly fumigated,
the operatives receiving full wages for the days they were thus shut out
from work, and one good result of the fever was that henceforth the
bales were all opened and smoked in a separate building before they ever
entered the mill at all.
The contagion did not spread any farther after this, and the hands
returned without more delay to the mill. Mr. Mountjoy sent to the city
for an experienced hospital nurse, and promised to pay all the expenses
of the illness, in addition to the wages of those who were thus
prevented from earning anything. The "hospital" was supplied from the
kitchen of the "great house," and both Eunice and her young sister found
full occupation in the preparation of dainties and food for the sick.
The interest in the five sick girls was intense, and when one--a poor,
sickly little thing--died, every one felt as though death had come very
close, and many were compelled to listen to the voice which said:--
"Prepare to meet thy God."