When Dr. Greydon reached the bedside of Roderick Barclugh, Dr. Biddle
was bathing his patient’s hands and arms, and laboring over him to
reduce the temperature. As the two doctors met in the sick-room, Dr.
Biddle arose and quietly addressed his friend:
“Dr. Greydon, I am glad that you have come. This gentleman is suffering
from a severe wound in the shoulder, and this fever has attacked him in
a virulent form, and unless we can reduce the temperature, his chances
are very slim for recovery.”
“Well, I am surprised to learn that he is wounded,” replied Dr.
Greydon, “but I heard that he undertook a perilous adventure to pass
through the enemy’s lines into New York, on a business enterprise; but
where did he get this fever? Are you sure that it is _vomito negro_?
“I presume that he met with some hair-breadth escape when he undertook
to get out of New York. How long has this paroxysm been running?”
continued Dr. Greydon.
“Ever since early this morning,” replied Dr. Biddle. “He was in his
usual health yesterday, his servant told me.”
Dr. Greydon quietly bent over the patient, and went through all the
formalities of a medical examination. When he had finished he looked at
Dr. Biddle and dubiously shook his head, as he said:
“Doctor, your diagnosis is correct. He certainly has _vomito negro_,
and the depressed condition of his system from the shock that the wound
has caused, must make his case critical, very critical.”
“Yes,” continued Dr. Biddle, “if we can reduce the fever, he will have
to receive careful nursing and I have notified Milling & FitzMaurice
that they shall have to send this gentleman a nurse, but none has come
yet; and it is four hours ago that I saw them.”
“Well, well, this matter must be attended to at once,” contended Dr.
Greydon, “and if you can remain a while, I will go and try to procure
the necessary person and bring him here at once.”
“That is good, Doctor,” replied Dr. Biddle. “I can continue the
bathing, and I can relieve the congestion by bleeding.”
Just as Dr. Greydon reached the street, and was about to enter his
carriage, he heard a voice calling:
“Doctor! Oh Doctor!”
The Doctor turned and there was Segwuna.
“What is it, Segwuna?” asked Dr. Greydon.
“I have come to help nurse Mr. Barclugh.”
“Are you not afraid, my child?”
“Segwuna is not afraid to do her duty, Doctor.”
“You are right, Segwuna,” replied Dr. Greydon. “Then we will go in.”
Leading the way to the Barclugh apartments, Dr. Greydon conducted
Segwuna to the sick-room on the second floor, and as they entered, the
other medical man remarked:
“Well, our wishes were quickly answered.”
“Let me introduce Segwuna, the granddaughter of Altamaha; she resides
on our estate and she has volunteered to help rescue the afflicted--I
know that no one could do it better,” were the words of Dr. Greydon,
as he took off his coat and began to get ready for the care of Mr.
Barclugh.
Segwuna immediately straightened out the room. She went with Dr.
Greydon through the house, and they found a large fireplace in the
kitchen of the residence where Barclugh had his business offices and
sleeping apartments.
There were a few pieces of wood so that a fire was soon going on the
hearth. Then a memorandum of necessary articles of household utility
was made, and in a very few minutes it seemed as though an angel had
flown into the former desolate house. As Segwuna went from room to
room, silently arranging a piece of furniture, and opening the windows
and shutters, sunshine seemed to drive chaos away.
The life that Barclugh led seemed to be wrong; when sickness came upon
him, money was mute. There was no loving kindness ready to be shown
to him, except what came from God’s messengers. Poor mortal! He was
lying unconsciously helpless, ignorant of the loving hands that now
administered kindnesses unto him.
At the end of the day, the household was settled down to a routine;
Segwuna had medicines, delicacies, linen and food for a long and
tedious battle with the dreaded _peste_, but better still she had the
instincts of a true nurse.
The sleeping-room on the second story, being the sick-room, she closed
the shutters to let in a minimum of light; she placed a pure white
linen cloth on the table; she kept cloths wet with vinegar on the
parched brow of the patient. A vase of pinks that had been sent by
Mollie from Dorminghurst was tastefully placed upon the table. In the
restful moments of the sick man, she slipped down stairs to the kitchen
and prepared a hot mustard bath for the feet, to relieve the congestion
in the brain. Wrapping the patient in a woolen blanket, she placed his
extremities in the hot bath, and then put him between clean linen to
cool his burning body.
During the first twenty-four hours, the paroxysm of the fever was
intense. The temperature was 105 degrees Fahrenheit, and as Barclugh
lay suffering on his back the groans and tossing of the sick one
were heart-rending. He was only semi-conscious most of the time, but
Segwuna never flagged in her attentions. After Dr. Biddle had first
administered a simple emetic, and then performed the customary bleeding
for the first stages of the disease, a large dose of calomel and
subsequently a half-tumblerful of _oleum ricinum_ was administered to
relieve the alimentary canal. It was then a fight of physical endurance
against disease.
However, Segwuna knew that the doctors were groping in the dark in
treating this disease, so she felt that much depended upon her skill in
keeping down the temperature, and keeping up the sick one’s strength,
in order to stand the ravages on his vital organs. When Barclugh tossed
and raved in his delirium, she saw that he placed his hand upon his
chest and stomach, and she felt that the fever must be burning the
vital organs. So she prepared a hot plaster of mustard and placed it on
the pit of his stomach. In a short time the patient seemed to get more
quiet, and he rested easily until morning.
The second day Dr. Greydon arrived very early; as soon as he saw the
patient, he remarked:
“Well, Segwuna, how is the gentleman this morning? I see that he is not
quite as flushed as he was yesterday. If his strength will hold out
to-day and to-morrow, we can hope to get him up.”
“Yes, Dr. Greydon, Mr. Barclugh is easier this morning, but he was
very sick at midnight. He was nervous and in great distress so I put a
mustard plaster on his stomach and it immediately quieted him.”
“You did perfectly right, Segwuna, my child. This fever seems to attack
the membranes of the stomach, and if you apply external applications,
you draw the congestion from the vital spot.
“Now, Segwuna,” continued Dr. Greydon, “you go and rest yourself, while
I remain here. Then you will be able to stand another night’s vigil.”
“Very well, I shall do so,” and Segwuna went to the couch that she had
prepared for herself in the former dining-room, where she slept soundly
until late in the afternoon.
In the meantime, Dr. Biddle came and relieved Dr. Greydon at the
bedside of Roderick Barclugh, so that he was not a minute without
constant watching at his side.
Between the two doctors a consultation was held, and they both
agreed that the sick man had a fighting chance for recovery, if his
constitution could stand the wear on his stomach and heart. No food
was to be administered until the fever was reduced, and then slight
stimulants were to be given to re-enforce the action of the heart.
Segwuna could nurse him by night, and the two doctors agreed to divide
their time during the day with the patient.
When Segwuna awoke from her sound sleep, she made her way to the
sick-room, and found Dr. Biddle taking his temperature with his
thermometer.
The temperature was 104 degrees Fahrenheit, and the pulse was 95 and a
glassy stare was noticeable in the eyes of the sick man who lay there
in a condition of stupor. His face was of a purplish-red hue, and his
cheeks began to lose that full and lively glow of health; a parched
and drawn appearance of the skin over the cheek-bones began to be
noticeable.
Also during the day he had suffered a few attacks of the _vomito negro_
that taxes the strength of the human organism to the utmost.
Dr. Biddle whispered to Segwuna as she came beside the sick-bed:
“He is very sick and you better give him a teaspoonful of this solution
in that tumbler every half-hour. If he can hold his own for the next
thirty-six hours, he will begin to gain. This paroxysm of the fever
usually reaches its crisis within three days, and after that, if his
strength is sufficient to sustain vital action, his case is hopeful.
But Segwuna, it all depends on the heart. This high temperature and
this terrible pulse! If it lasts too long, there can be no hope.”
“Yes, Doctor, I know that this _peste_ is a very grave disorder, and I
shall not neglect your instructions,” replied Segwuna, as Dr. Biddle
gathered up his medicine case and left.
The pride and power of man vanish when dread disease lays him low and
brings him next to dissolution!
As Segwuna arranged all matters for her night’s vigil, she suddenly
turned toward Barclugh, for, as he lay prostrate, his arms were waving
wildly in the air as he exclaimed in his delirium:
“Arnold loves money! Yes, he loves money! Yes, General Clinton, he
will get West Point from General Washington. I have offered him twenty
thousand pounds sterling, and a General’s commission in the British
army. Oh, that I had served my God with half the zeal I served my King.
Yes, she is beautiful in her virtue. Oh! that wound will be the death
of me! Yes, Risk shot me. There! There! All hands! Steady! Lads! Aim
low!
“Oh say, Miss, was I talking?”
“Not much, Mr. Barclugh, be calm,” replied Segwuna, as she held the
hand of the spy, and stroked his head, as he closed his eyes and dozed
off into a semi-conscious state.
These words of Barclugh in his delirium, though disconnected, agitated
Segwuna beyond measure. She had seen Barclugh leave on the Sloop-of-War
Albatross when she spoke to him at Paule’s Hook in the dark. She had
followed him to New York after he had visited at Dorminghurst. She had
traced him to the Beekman House, and now she heard him in his delirium.
Segwuna knew that this referred to Arnold. She reasoned thus:
“What conspiracy was this that had been divulged to her? Must she
inform Congress? No. She had come here because she loved Mollie
Greydon, and she must save Mr. Barclugh’s life. The Great Spirit had
given her this knowledge, and she must find out all she could about
Arnold and Mr. Barclugh. She could serve Congress by wisely learning
all she possibly could. She must not blast Mollie’s hopes until the
whole truth is known.”
The night augured badly for Barclugh. He awoke from his stupor about
ten o’clock, and his eyes showed intense suffering and sadness. He not
only suffered intense physical agonies, but when his mind regained
lucidity, thoughts of his plot with Arnold surged through his mind, and
the look of anguish on his face was most pitiable.
As the hour of eleven o’clock drew near, Segwuna noticed that the eyes
of her patient glistened more than before, and an expression of abject
helplessness came over his face. His face was flushed perceptibly and
the nervous stroking of his stomach indicated to Segwuna that her
applications of mustard ought to be applied.
After these were administered to the feet and stomach, quietude
succeeded the restless spell and the sick man lay peacefully until
Dr. Greydon arrived in the morning. He noted a material reduction in
the patient’s temperature. It was now down to 100 degrees, and the
crisis seemed passed; but still the lower temperature did not indicate
assurance of recovery.
When the fever begins to decline a period of low fever and depression
follows. If a relapse now occurs, the patient succumbs; but Segwuna
watched over her charge for ten days, until he was able to sit up and
partake of some solid food.
During the period of calm succeeding the paroxysm of fever, an event
occurred which threw more mystery than ever around the career of
Roderick Barclugh.
One morning very early before the break of day, when not a sound
disturbed the sick-room but the tick of the clock, and an occasional
ship’s bell announcing the change of the watch, a loud rap sounded on
the front door. Segwuna was all alone.
She went to the door, and there stood a burly Swedish fisherman whose
eyes bulged in astonishment to see a woman appear.
“What do you want?” asked Segwuna sweetly.
“I want to see Maister Baarkloo,” drawled the Swede.
“He is very sick with the _peste_, I do not believe that he is able to
see any one,” spoke up Segwuna.
“I haf sam lettar for heem, aand I give to heem--nobodday alse. I keep
not mysalf,” argued the Swede doggedly, as he started to come in.
Segwuna stood in the doorway attempting to block his passage, but the
Swede brushed her to one side and went straight for Barclugh’s room,
and Segwuna followed closely after him.
When the Swede reached the door of the sick man’s room, he raised his
hat and tiptoed up to the bedside of Barclugh.
As he stood beside the bed he drew out of his pocket a long sealed
envelope, addressed:
“Mr. Gustavus,
“Philadelphia.
“From John Anderson, Esq., Merchant.”
The Swede hesitatingly looked at Barclugh and saw him lying there and
staring with a glassy look in his eyes, unable to speak or to recognize
the Swede.
The fisherman turned stolidly to Segwuna as he said:
“I do my duty. I gav to nobodday alse.” As he said this he left the
packet on the bed, turned with a sad air, and walked out of the house
as mysteriously as he had come.
Segwuna took up the envelope and examined the address. She knew that
the Swede was a fisherman from the New Jersey coast. She had seen
Roderick Barclugh walk to the sloop of war at Paules’ Hook with Major
Andre, and she had seen them both leave General Clinton’s house
together.
She found Roderick Barclugh in Philadelphia, when she returned from
New York. He could not reach here by the sloop-of-war, so he must have
landed on the coast and have been brought here by the fisherman. As
these thoughts ran through her mind, she exclaimed:
“I have found it! The letter has traveled the same course, and John
Anderson is John Andre.”
What this shrewd woman could fathom out of the statements in Barclugh’s
delirium and what she had seen in New York, was that Arnold was to go
over to the British. If Arnold got West Point, she could put two and
two together and connect him with the twenty thousand pounds sterling
and the General’s commission in the British army.
Segwuna reasoned to herself as she watched the sick man, and thought of
what she ought to do:
“I have the clew to this poor man’s secret. His villainy must be
stopped. I shall not leave one stone unturned to fathom his plans. This
letter contains important facts. I shall deliver it when he recovers
and watch my opportunity to learn its contents after he has broken the
seal himself. Any other course would arouse his suspicions.”
So she took the letter and placed it in the drawer of an escritoire and
resolved to deliver it as soon as Roderick Barclugh regained enough
strength to read it.
When the episode of the letter delivered by the Swede had been well
considered, Segwuna reasoned to herself again:
“I must not arouse the suspicions of Mr. Barclugh. If I let him go on
he will weave a net to entrap himself.”
Later, Segwuna was enabled to learn the contents of the secret
correspondence after it had been given to Barclugh, who was too feeble
and too sick to think that the simple Indian maiden was interested in
his affairs.
At the end of two weeks, Roderick Barclugh was strong enough to
be moved from his quarters. Consequently, after a most thorough
destruction and cleansing of his effects, Dr. Greydon insisted upon
taking Roderick Barclugh to Dorminghurst to recuperate his depleted
body.