HENRY GASTON'S TREATMENT BY SHARP.
A BOY of more robust constitution and fuller of blood than Henry
Gaston, with that activity which a fine flow of animal spirits and a
high degree of health give, would have cared little for the exposure
to which he was subjected at Sharp's, even if clad no more
comfortably. But Henry had little of that healthy warmth natural to
the young. He was constitutionally delicate, and this caused him to
feel more keenly the chilling intensity of the cold to which he was
frequently exposed without sufficient clothing. His whole dress,
intended to protect him from the cold of a remarkably severe and
trying winter, was a thin shirt, the remains of one worn for nearly
a year; the jacket and trowsers, thin and threadbare, that Mrs.
Sharp had made for him out of some worn-out garment which her
husband had thrown aside, and which were now rent in many places; a
pair of dilapidated yarn stockings, with feet like a honey-comb. His
shoes, the pair given him by his mother, had been half-soled once,
but were again so far gone that his stockings protruded in several
places, and yet neither his master nor mistress seemed to take any
notice of their condition, and he was afraid to ask for a new pair.
When it rained or snowed, or, worse, when it rained with or after
the snow, as it had done several times within a week, his shoe were
but a poor protection for his feet. The snow and water went through
them as through a sieve.
Before the first of February, the poor boy was almost crippled with
the chilblains. Through the day, he hobbled about as best he could,
often in great pain; and at night the tender skin of his feet,
irritated by the warmth of the bed, would keep him awake for hours
with a most intolerable burning and itching.
"Why don't you walk straight? What do you go shuffling along in that
kind of style for?" said Sharp to him one day, toward the last of
January.
"My feet are so sore," replied Henry, with a look of suffering,
blended with patient endurance.
"What's the matter with them, ha?" asked his master glancing down at
the miserable apologies for shoes and stockings that but partially
protected the child's feet front the snow whenever he stepped beyond
the threshold.
"They're frosted, sir," said Henry.
"Frosted, ha? Pull off your shoes and stockings, and let me see."
Henry drew off an old shoe, tied on with various appliances of twine
and leather strings; and then removed a stocking that, through many
gaping holes, revealed the red and shining skin beneath. That little
foot was a sight to pain the heart of any one but a cruel tyrant.
The heel, in many places, was of a dark purple, and seemed as if
mortification were already begun. And in some places it was cracked
open, and exhibited running sores.
"Take off your other shoe and stocking," said Sharp, in
authoritative tone.
Henry obeyed, trembling all the while. This foot exhibited nearly
the same marks of the progress of the painful disease.
"What have you done for it?" asked Sharp, looking Henry in the face
with a scowl.
"Nothing but to put a little candle-grease on it at night before I
went to bed," replied the child.
"Come out here with me. I'll doctor you," said his master, turning
away and disappearing through the back door. Henry followed as
quickly as he could walk on his bare feet, that seemed ready to give
way under him at ever step. When he got as far as the kitchen, he
found Sharp waiting for him in the door.
"Here, jump out into that snow-bank!" said he, pointing to a pile of
snow that had been shoveled up only that morning, after a fall
through the night, and lay loose and high.
The poor boy looked down at his crippled, and, indeed, bleeding
feet, and, as may well be supposed, hesitated to comply with the
peremptory order.
"Do you hear, sir?" exclaimed his master, seizing him by the collar,
and pushing him out into the yard. Then catching him by one arm, he
set him in the centre of the snow-bank, his naked feet and legs
going down into it some twelve or eighteen inches.
"Now stand there until I tell you to come out!"
The child did not scream, for he had already learned to bear pain
without uttering even the natural language of suffering; although
the agony he endured for the next minute was terrible. At the end of
that time, a motion of the head of his master gave him to understand
that the ordeal was over.
"Now take that bucket of cold water, and let him put his feet into
it," said he to a little girl they had just taken to raise, and who
stood near the kitchen window, her heart almost ready to burst at
the cruelty inflicted upon the only one in the house with whom she
had a single feeling in common.
The girl quickly obeyed, and sat down on the floor beside the bucket
of water. She handled tenderly the blood-red feet of the little boy,
ever and anon looking up into his face, and noting with tender
solicitude, the deep lines of suffering upon his forehead.
"There, that will do," said Sharp, who stood looking on, "and now
run up stairs and get a better pair of stockings for Henry."
"What do you want with a better pair of stockings?" said Mrs. Sharp,
a few moments after, bustling down into the kitchen.
"Why, I want them for Henry," replied her husband.
"Want them for Henry!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Where's the ones
he had on?"
"There are some old rags in the shop that he had on; but they won't
do now, with such feet as he's got."
"What's the matter with his feet, I'd like to know," inquired Mrs.
Sharp.
"Why, they're frosted."
"Let him put them in snow, then. That'll cure 'em. It's nothing but
a little snow-burn, I suppose."
"It's something a little worse than that," replied Sharp, "and he
must have a comfortable pair of stockings. And here, Anna, do you
run around to Stogies, and tell him to send me three or four pairs
of coarse shoes, about Henry's size."
Anna, the little girl, disappeared with alacrity, and Mr. Sharp,
turning to his wife, said:
"Henry must have a good, warm pair of stockings, or we shall have
him sick on our hands."
"Well, I'll find him a pair," replied Mrs. Sharp, going off up
stairs. In the mean time, Henry still sat with his feet in the cold
water. But the pain occasioned by the snow was nearly all gone. Mrs.
Sharp came down with the stockings, and Anna came in with the shoes
at the same moment. On lifting the child's feet from the water, the
redness and inflammation had a good deal subsided. Mrs. Sharp rubbed
them with a little sweet oil, and then gave him the stockings to put
on. He next tried the shoes; and one pair of them fitted him very
well. But his feet were too sore and tender for such hard shoes; and
when they were on, and tied up around the ankles, he found that
after getting up they hurt him most dreadfully in his attempt to
walk. But he hobbled, as best he could, into the shop.
"Throw them dirty things into the street!" were the only words
addressed to him by Sharp, who pointed at his wet apologies for
shoes and stockings, still lying upon the floor.
Henry did as directed, but every step he took was as if he were
treading upon coals of fire. His feet, now enveloped in a closely
fitting pair of woolen stockings, and galled by the hard and
unyielding leather of the new shoes, itched and burned with
maddening fervor.
"Here, carry this hat home," said his master, as he came in from the
street, not seeming to notice the expression of suffering that was
on his face, nor the evident pain with which he walked.
Henry took the hat and started out. He was but a few paces from the
shop, before he found that the shoes rubbed both heels, and pressed
upon them at the same time so hard as to produce a sensation at each
step as if the skin were torn off. Sometimes he would stop and wait
a moment or two, until the intolerable pain subsided, and then he
would walk on again with all the fortitude and power of endurance he
could command. In this extreme suffering, the uppermost thought in
his mind, when on the street, kept his eyes wandering about, and
scanning every female form that came in sight, in the ever-living
hope of seeing his mother. But the sigh of disappointment told too
frequently, that he looked in vain. He had not proceeded far, when
the pains in his feet became so acute that he paused, and leaned
against a tree-box, unable for a time to move forward a single step.
While resting thus, Doctor R--, who had been called to visit a
patient in Lexington, came past and noticed him. There was something
about the child, although so changed that he did not recognize him,
that aroused the doctor's sympathies, and he ordered his man to
drive up to the pavement and stop.
"Well, my little man, what's the matter?" said he, leaning out of
his carriage window.
Henry looked up into his face, but did not reply. He knew Doctor
R--instantly. How strong a hope sprang up in his heart--the hope of
hearing from or being taken back to his mother! The kind-hearted
physician needed no words to tell him that the little boy was
suffering acutely. The flushed face, the starting eye, and the
corrugation of the brow, were language which he understood as
plainly as spoken words.
"What ails you, my little boy!" he said in a voice of tender
concern.
The feelings of Henry softened under the warmth of true sympathy
expressed in the countenance and tone of Doctor R--, and still
looking him steadily in the face, essayed, but in vain, to answer
the question.
"Are you sick, my boy?" asked the doctor, with real and increasing
concern for the poor child.
"My feet hurt me so that I can hardly walk," replied Henry, whose
tongue at last obeyed his efforts to speak.
"And what ails your feet?" asked Doctor R--.
"They've been frosted, sir."
"Frosted, indeed! poor child! Well, what have you done for them?"
"Nothing--only I greased them sometimes at night; and to-day my
master made me stand in the snow."
"The cruel wretch!" muttered Doctor R--between his teeth. "But can't
you walk up as far as the drug store at the corner, and let me see
your feet?" continued the doctor.
"Yes, sir" replied the child, though he felt that to take another
step was almost impossible.
"You'll come right up, will you," urged the doctor.
"Yes, sir," returned Henry, in a low voice.
"Then I'll wait for you. But come along as quickly as you can;" and
so saying, the doctor drove off. But he could not help glancing
back, after he had gone on about the distance of half a square, for
his heart misgave him for not having taken the little fellow into
his carriage. He soon caught a glimpse of him on the sidewalk,
slowly and laboriously endeavoring to work his way along, but
evidently with extreme suffering. He at once gave directions to the
driver to turn back; and taking Henry into the carriage, hurried on
to the office. The child, when lifted in, sank back upon the seat,
pale and exhausted. Doctor R--asked him no question; and when the
carriage stopped, directed the driver to carry him in. He then, with
his own hands, carefully removed his shoes and stockings. "My poor,
poor child!" said he in pity and astonishment, on beholding the
condition of Henry's feet. The harsh remedy prescribed by Sharp, if
the subsequent treatment had been tender and judicious, might have
been salutary; but, after it, to confine the boy's feet in hard,
tight new shoes, and to send him out upon the street, was to induce
a high state of inflammation, and, in the advanced state of the
chilblains, to endanger mortification. Several of the large ulcerous
cracks, which were bleeding freely, the doctor dressed, and then,
cutting a number of short strips of adhesive plaster, he applied
them to the skin over the heel and foot, in various directions, so
as almost completely to cover every portion of the surface.
"How does that feel?" he asked, looking into Henry's face with an
air of relief and satisfaction after he had finished the first foot.
"It feels a good deal better," replied the child, his voice and the
expression of his countenance both indicating that he no longer
suffered so excruciatingly as he had but a short time previously.
The other foot was soon dressed in the same way. Doctor R--then went
back into the house and got a loose pair of stockings and a light
pair of shoes, belonging to one of the apothecary's children, from
their mother. These fitted Henry comfortably, and when he stood down
upon his feet he did not experience any pain.
"That feels a good deal better, don't it?" said the doctor, smiling.
"Yes, indeed it does," and Henry looked his gratitude; and yet,
blended with that look, was an expression that seemed to the doctor
an appeal for protection.
"You're afraid to go back now, ain't you, since you've stayed so
long?" he asked, in a tone meant to encourage the child's
confidence.
"Indeed I am. Mr. Sharp will be almost sure to beat me."
"What a very devil incarnate the man must be!" muttered Dr. R--to
himself, taking three or four strides across the floor. "I shall
have to take the little fellow home, and browbeat his master, I
suppose," he continued. Then addressing Henry, he said, aloud--
"Well, I'll take you home to him in my carriage, and settle all that
for you, my little man; so don't be frightened."
Acting upon this resolution, Dr. R--soon drove up before the
hatter's shop, and, lifting out Henry himself, led him into the
presence of his astonished master.
"What's the matter now?" asked the latter, roughly, and with a
forbidding aspect of countenance.
"The matter is simply this, sir," responded Doctor R--, firmly. "I
found this little boy of yours on the street absolutely unable to
get along a step further; and on taking him into the drug store
above, and examining his feet, I found them in a most shocking
condition! Why, sir, in twelve hours mortification would have
commenced, when nothing could have saved his life but the amputation
of both limbs." The sober earnestness of Doctor R--caused Sharp to
feel some alarm, and he said--
"I had no idea, doctor, that he was as bad as that."
"Well, he is, I can assure you, and it is a fortunate thing that I
happened to come across him. Why, I haven't seen so bad a case of
chilblains these ten years."
"What ought I to do for him, doctor?" asked Sharp, in real concern.
"I have done all that is necessary at present," replied the doctor.
"But he must be suffered to have rest; and, as you value his limbs,
don't let him be exposed to the wet or cold until his feet are
healed, and the tenderness and soreness are both gone."
"I shall attend to your direction, most certainly," said Sharp, his
manner greatly changed from what it was when the doctor came in.
"But, really, doctor," he continued, "I had no idea that there was
any danger in getting the feet a little frosted."
"The chilblains are not only extremely painful," replied Doctor R--,
"but there is great danger, where the feet are exposed to wet and
cold, as Henry's must have been to get in the condition they are, of
mortification supervening. That little boy will require great care,
or he will stand a chance of being crippled for life. Good-morning!"
Poor Henry! How eagerly had he hung upon the doctor's words; how
almost agonizing had been his desire for even the slightest
intimation that he was remembered by the physician, to whose
mistaken kind offices he was indebted for the place he held in the
family of Sharp! But all was in vain. A dozen times he was on the
eve of asking for his mother; but, as often, weak timidity held him
back. In the presence of his master, fear kept him dumb. It seemed
to him as if life would go out when he saw Doctor R--turn away from
the shop and enter his carriage. A deep darkness fell upon his
spirit.
As Doctor R--rode off in his carriage, he could not help
congratulating himself on the good deed he had performed. Still he
did not feel altogether satisfied about the boy. He had been so much
concerned for his distressed situation, that he had failed to make
any inquiries of him in regard to his friends; and for this he
blamed himself, because it was clear that, if the child had friends
they ought to know his condition. He blamed himself for this
thoughtlessness, and a consciousness of having performed but half of
his duty to the poor boy caused a shade of concern to steal over
him, which he could not shake off.
And Henry, as he stood frightened in the shop, felt, as the
carriage-wheels rattled away, the hope that had awakened faint and
trembling in his heart, sinking into the gloom of despair. One who
could have told him of his mother; one who, if he had only taken the
courage to have mentioned his name, could have taken tidings of his
condition to her, or perhaps would have carried him home, had been
beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And now he
was gone. He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand.
From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud,
sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong
expressions of Doctor R--, now entered the shop, exclaiming--
"What's all this? What's that little wretch been doing now, ha?"
"I wish I'd never seen him!" muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left
no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually
annoying had occurred.
"What's the matter? What's he been doing? Not stealing, I hope;
though I shouldn't wonder."
"He's sick, and you've got to take care of him," was the dogged
answer of Sharp.
"Sick! He looks sick, don't he?" The tones of the virago were full
of contempt.
Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and
want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood
trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for
support.
"Who was that in here, just now?" she added.
"Doctor R--, of Boston," replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by
sight very well.
"What did he want?"
"He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug
store at the corner. Then he brought him home in his carriage. He
says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple;
that it's the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his
feet are in danger of mortification."
"I don't believe a word of it. Here I you go off up-stairs,"
speaking sharply, and with a threatening look to the child. "I'd
like to know what business he has to come here, meddling in affairs
that don't concern him."
Henry, thus spoken to, let go of the counter, by which he was
sustaining himself, and attempted to move toward the door. As he did
so, his face grew deadly pale. He staggered across the shop, fell
against the wall, and then sank down upon the floor. Mrs. Sharp
sprang toward him, not with any humane intention, we are sorry to
say; but, ere she had grasped the boy's arm, and given him the
purposed jerk, the sight of his ashen, lifeless face prevented the
outrage. Exhausted nature could bear nothing more, and protected
herself in a temporary suspension of her power. Henry had fainted,
and it was well that it was so. The fact was a stronger argument in
his favor than any external exhibition of suffering that could have
been given.
The hatter and his wife were both alarmed at an event so unexpected
by either of them. Henry was quickly removed to a chamber, and every
effort made to restore him. It was not a very long time before the
machinery of life was again in motion; its action, however, was
feeble, as even his oppressors could see. Self-interest, and fear of
consequences, if not humanity, prompted more consideration for the
boy, and secured for him a few days respite. After that, the
oppressed and his oppressors assumed their old relations.