"AND THE SEA SHALL GIVE UP ITS DEAD."
The summer at Windsor was an unprecedently hot one. No rain in July, no
rain in August, and September's sun was shining fiercely down upon
parched earth, dried up rivers, panting animals, and complaining men.
There would be no wheat, no corn; potatoes were dwarfed, and vegetables
literally dried and hardened. Grass would be light, and cattle would be
starved, if not first choked with thirst. The heavens were as brass, the
fiery atmosphere like that of a furnace. Was there about to be a general
conflagration, "when the earth and the heavens should be rolled together
as a scroll?"
The great Mississippi was never so low. Inquiring urchins made
explorations up and down the dried banks with all the enthusiasm of
explorers of the Nile. Even the women of Windsor proposed a bold feat.
This was none other than in a body to ford the Mississippi. It would be
something worth telling of, when, after some flood, the river should
widen to the space of a mile.
Accordingly, old calico wrappers were brought into requisition, and a
small army of women stood upon the shores. You might have thought from
the voices of fear, hesitation, reproach, and encouragement, another Red
Sea was before them, and behind them a Pharaoh's host. All the women of
Windsor were not engaged in this expedition. Some were milking cows, and
some were putting dear little children to sleep; some were preparing
late suppers for dilatory husbands, and not a few were gathered together
in knots, discussing the impropriety and scandal of such a bold
proceeding.
Our heroine at Vine Cottage, entirely unaware of the movement, was
enjoying the twilight in playing soft airs upon the piano.
To one uninformed, a pow-wow of Indians might have been supposed to be
going on. There were shrieks and wails, and screams of laughter, and
cries of terror. There were threatenings, scoldings, and coaxings. Were
all the grammars in the world made up of interjections they could
scarcely have contained the list that rent the air, between the two
Mississippi shores, upon that eventful night. The heavens were still
above, though they might have been supposed to have disappeared
entirely, so loudly and fervently were they invoked.
"Why, it is enough to raise the dead," exclaimed a solitary traveler, a
stranger in town, perambulating a neighboring bluff.
As the vociferating army neared the opposite shore, there was a
momentary silence; that breathless silence which precedes the storm.
Then uprose such a terrific scream, such a commingled shout of horror,
as only frightened women can give vent to. This brought men, women and
children in throngs to the scene. Some leaped into boats, some walked in
to the rescue. The majority awaited ashore the unfolding of events.
Mrs. Sharp had caught her foot in something as she was about to ascend
the opposite bank. In attempting to save herself, she fell with her
hands upon the soggy substance that had intercepted her. She was a
thorough-going woman, and determined to ascertain what lay like a log in
her path, the water scarcely covering it. She prevailed upon two or
three to assist her in dragging it upward partially to the dim
light--when lo! within a saturated, slimy bed-comforter was a human
form! It was brought across to Windsor, officials summoned, and, despite
decomposition and fearful change, recognized to be the remains of
Thornton Rush! There was great sensation, and a faint revival of
whispers about his having been spirited away to his death by Popish
emissaries; but these soon died, for want of breath, as the Irishman
would say.
The death of Mr. Rush was, by the majority, accounted for naturally. In
his delirium he had strayed he knew not whither. He had grasped the
heavy quilt tightly around him, which, held firmer in the clasp of the
dead, had filled with water, and prevented the body from rising.
It seemed unaccountable that when the river was dragged it should not
have been discovered: are not mysteries, however, every day transpiring
before our eyes, about which we marvel in vain?