THE CLOUD BURSTS.
The shadow of that awful cloud which had desolated other places now
began to darken the boundaries of the plantation of Canema. No disease
has ever more fully filled out the meaning of those awful words of
Scripture, "The pestilence that walketh in darkness." None has been more
irregular, and apparently more perfectly capricious, in its movements.
During the successive seasons that it has been epidemic in this country,
it has seemed to have set at defiance the skill of the physicians. The
system of medical tactics which has been wrought out by the painful
experience of one season seems to be laughed to scorn by the varying
type of the disease in the next. Certain sanitary laws and conditions
would seem to be indispensable; yet those who are familiar with it have
had fearful experience how like a wolf it will sometimes leap the
boundaries of the best and most carefully-guarded fold, and, spite of
every caution and protection, sweep all before it.
Its course through towns and villages has been equally singular.
Sometimes descending like a cloud on a neighborhood, it will leave a
single village or town untouched amidst the surrounding desolations, and
long after, when health is restored to the whole neighborhood, come down
suddenly on the omitted towns, as a ravaging army sends back a party for
prey to some place which has been overlooked or forgotten. Sometimes,
entering a house, in twenty-four hours it will take all who are in it.
Sometimes it will ravage all the city except some one street or
locality, and then come upon that, while all else is spared. Its course,
upon southern plantations, was marked by similar capriciousness, and was
made still more fatal by that peculiar nature of plantation life which
withdraws the inmates so far from medical aid.
When the first letters were received describing the progress of it in
northern cities, Aunt Nesbit felt much uneasiness and alarm. It is
remarkable with what tenacity people often will cling to life, whose
enjoyments in it are so dull and low that a bystander would scarcely
think them worth the struggle of preservation. When at length the
dreaded news began to be heard from one point and another in their
vicinity, Aunt Nesbit said, one day, to Nina,--
"Your cousins, the Gordons, in E., have written to us to leave the
plantation, and come and spend some time with them, till the danger is
over."
"Why," said Nina, "do they think the cholera can't come there?"
"Well," said Aunt Nesbit, "they have their family under most excellent
regulations; and, living in a town so, they are within call of a doctor,
if anything happens."
"Aunt," said Nina, "perhaps you had better go; but I will stay with my
people."
"Why, don't you feel afraid, Nina?"
"No, aunt, I don't. Besides, I think it would be very selfish for me to
live on the services of my people all my life, and then run away and
leave them alone when a time of danger comes. The least I can do is to
stay and take care of them."
This conversation was overheard by Harry, who was standing with his back
to them, on the veranda, near the parlor door where they were sitting.
"Child," said Aunt Nesbit, "what do you suppose you can do? You haven't
any experience. Harry and Milly can do a great deal better than you can.
I'll leave Milly here. It's our first duty to take care of our health."
"No, aunt, I think there are some duties before that," said Nina. "It's
true I haven't a great deal of strength, but I have courage; and I know
my going away would discourage our people, and fill them with fear; and
that, they say, predisposes to the disease. I shall get the carriage up,
and go directly over to see the doctor, and get directions and
medicines. I shall talk to our people, and teach them what to do, and
see that it is done. And, when they see that I am calm, and not afraid,
they will have courage. But, aunt, if you are afraid, I think you had
better go. You are feeble; you can't make much exertion; and if you feel
any safer or more comfortable, I think it would be best. I should like
to have Milly stay, and she, Harry, and I, will be a board of health to
the plantation."
"Harry," she said, "if you'll get up the carriage, we'll go
immediately."
Again Harry felt the bitterness of his soul sweetened and tranquillized
by the noble nature of her to whose hands the law had given the chain
which bound him. Galling and intolerable as it would have been
otherwise, he felt, when with her, that her service was perfect freedom.
He had not said anything to Nina about the contents of the letter which
he had received from his sister. He saw that it was an evil which she
had no power over, and he shrank from annoying her with it. Nina
supposed that his clouded and troubled aspect was caused wholly by the
solicitude of responsibility.
In the same carriage which conveyed her to the town sat Aunt Nesbit
also, and her cap-boxes, whose importance even the fear of the cholera
could not lessen in her eyes. Nina found the physician quite _au fait_
on the subject. He had been reading about miasma and animalculæ, and he
entertained Nina nearly half an hour with different theories as to the
cause of the disease, and with the experiments which had been made in
foreign hospitals.
Among the various theories, there was one which appeared to be his
particular pet; and Nina couldn't help thinking, as he stepped about so
alertly, that he almost enjoyed the prospect of putting his discoveries
to the test. By dint, however, of very practical and positive questions,
Nina drew from him all the valuable information which he had to give
her; and he wrote her a very full system of directions, and put up a
case of medicines for her, assuring her that he should be happy to
attend in person if he had time.
On the way home, Nina stopped at Uncle John Gordon's plantation, and
there had the first experience of the difference between written
directions for a supposed case, and the actual, awful realities of the
disease. Her Uncle John had been seized only half an hour before, in the
most awful manner. The household was all in terror and confusion, and
the shrieks and groans of agony which proceeded from his room were
appalling. His wife, busy with the sufferer, did not perceive that the
messengers who had been sent in haste for the doctor were wringing their
hands in fruitless terror, running up and down the veranda, and doing
nothing.
"Harry," said Nina, "take out one of the carriage-horses, and ride quick
for your life, and bring the doctor over here in a minute!"
In a few moments the thing was done, and Harry was out of sight. She
then walked up to the distracted servants, and commanded them, in a tone
of authority, to cease their lamentations. Her resolute manner, and the
quiet tone of voice which she preserved, acted as a sedative on their
excited nerves. She banished all but two or three of the most reasonable
from the house, and then went to the assistance of her aunt.
Before long the doctor arrived. When he had been in the sick room a few
moments, he came out to make some inquiries of Nina, and she could not
help contrasting the appalled and confounded expression of his
countenance with the dapper, consequential air, with which, only two
hours before, he had been holding forth to her on animalculæ and miasma.
"The disease," he said, "presented itself in an entirely different
aspect from what he had expected. The remedies," he said, "did not work
as he anticipated; the case was a peculiar one."
Alas! before the three months were over, poor doctor, you found many
peculiar cases!
"Do you think you can save his life?" said Nina.
"Child, only God can save him!" said the physician; "nothing works
right."
But why prolong the torture of that scene, or rehearse the struggles,
groans, and convulsions? Nina, poor flowery child of seventeen summers,
stood with the rest in mute despair. All was tried that could be done or
thought of; but the disease, like some blind, deaf destroyer, marched
on, turning neither to right nor left, till the cries and groans grew
fainter, the convulsed muscles relaxed, and the strong, florid man lay
in the last stages of that fearful collapse which in one hour shrivels
the most healthy countenance and the firmest muscles to the shrunken
and withered image of decrepit old age. When the breath had passed, and
all was over, Nina could scarcely believe that that altered face and
form, so withered and so worn, could have been her healthy and joyous
uncle, and who never had appeared healthier and more joyous than on that
morning. But, as a person passing under the foam and spray of Niagara
clings with blind confidence to a guide whom he feels, but cannot see,
Nina, in this awful hour, felt that she was not alone. The Redeemer,
all-powerful over death and the grave, of whom she had been thinking so
much of late, seemed to her sensibly near. And it seemed to her as if a
voice said to her, continually, "Fear not, for I am with thee. Be not
dismayed, for I am thy God."
"How calm you are, my child!" said Aunt Maria to her. "I wouldn't have
thought it was in you. I don't know what we should do without you."
But now a frightful wail was heard.
"Oh, we are all dying! we are all going! Oh, missis, come quick! Peter
has got it! Oh, daddy has got it! Oh, my child! my child!"
And the doctor, exhausted as he was by the surprise and excitement of
this case, began flying from one to another of the cabins, in the
greatest haste. Two or three of the house-servants also seemed to be
struck in the same moment, and only the calmness and courage which Nina
and her aunt maintained prevented a general abandonment to panic. Nina
possessed that fine, elastic temperament which, with the appearance of
extreme delicacy, possesses great powers of endurance. The perfect
calmness which she felt enabled her to bring all her faculties to bear
on the emergency.
"My good aunty, you mustn't be afraid! Bring out your religion; trust in
God," she said, to the cook, who was wringing her hands in terror.
"Remember your religion; sing some of your hymns, and do your duty to
the sick."
There is a magic power in the cheerful tone of courage, and Nina
succeeded in rallying the well ones to take care of the sick; but now
came a messenger, in hot haste, to say that the cholera had broken out
on the plantation at home.
"Well, Harry," said Nina, with a face pale, yet unmoved, "our duty calls
us away."
And, accompanied by the weary physician, they prepared to go back to
Canema. Before they had proceeded far, a man met them on horseback.
"Is Dr. Butler with you?"
"Yes," said Nina, putting her head out of the carriage.
"Oh, doctor, I've been riding all over the country after you. You must
come back to town this minute! Judge Peters is dying! I'm afraid he is
dead before this time, and there's a dozen more cases right in that
street. Here, get on to my horse, and ride for your life."
The doctor hastily sprang from the carriage, and mounted the horse;
then, stopping a moment, he cast a look of good-natured pity on the
sweet, pale face that was leaning out of the carriage window.
"My poor child," he said, "I can't bear to leave you. Who will help
you?"
"God," said Nina; "I am not afraid!"
"Come, come," said the man, "do hurry!" And, with one hasty glance more,
he was gone.
"Now, Harry," said Nina, "everything depends upon our keeping up our
courage and our strength. We shall have no physician. We must just do
the best we can. After all, it is our Lord Jesus that has the keys of
death, and _he_ loved us and died for us. He will certainly be with us."
"Oh, Miss Nina, you are an angel!" said Harry, who felt at that moment
as if he could have worshipped her.
Arrived at home, Nina found a scene of terror and confusion similar to
that she had already witnessed. Old Hundred lay dead in his cabin, and
the lamenting crowd, gathering round, were yielding to the full tide of
fear and excitement, which predisposed them to the same fate. Nina rode
up immediately to the group. She spoke to them calmly; she silenced
their outcries, and bade them obey her.
"If you wish, all of you, to die," she said, "this is the way towards
it; but, if you'll keep quiet and calm, and do what ought to be done,
your lives may be saved. Harry and I have got medicines--we understand
what to do. You must follow our directions exactly."
Nina immediately went to the house, and instructed Milly, Aunt Rose,
and two or three of the elderly women, in the duties to be done. Milly
rose up, in this hour of terror, with all the fortitude inspired by her
strong nature.
"Bress de Lord," she said, "for his grace to you, chile! De Lord is a
shield. He's been wid us in six troubles, and he'll be wid us in seven.
We can sing in de swellings of Jordan."
Harry, meanwhile, was associating to himself a band of the most reliable
men on the place, and endeavoring in the same manner to organize them
for action. A messenger was dispatched immediately to the neighboring
town for unlimited quantities of the most necessary medicines and
stimulants. The plantation was districted off, and placed under the care
of leaders, who held communication with Harry. In the course of two or
three hours, the appalling scene of distress and confusion was reduced
to the resolute and orderly condition of a well-managed hospital.
Milly walked the rounds in every direction, appealing to the religious
sensibilities of the people, and singing hymns of trust and confidence.
She possessed a peculiar voice, suited to her large development of
physical frame, almost as deep as a man's bass, with the rich softness
of a feminine tone; and Nina could now and then distinguish, as she was
moving about the house or grounds, that triumphant tone, singing,--
"God is my sun,
And he my shade,
To guard my head,
By night or noon.
Hast thou not given thy word
To save my soul from death?
And I can trust my Lord,
To keep my mortal breath.
I'll go and come,
Nor fear to die,
Till from on high
Thou call me home."
The house that night presented the aspect of a beleaguered garrison.
Nina and Milly had thrown open all the chambers; and such as were
peculiarly exposed to the disease, by delicacy of organization or
tremulousness of nervous system, were allowed to take shelter there.
"Now, chile," said Milly, when all the arrangements had been made, "you
jes lie down and go to sleep in yer own room. I see how 'tis with you;
de spirit is willing, but de flesh is weak. Chile, dere isn't much of
you, but dere won't nothing go widout you. So, you take care of yerself
first. Never you be 'fraid! De people's quiet now, and de sick ones is
ben took care of, and de folks is all doing de best dey can. So, now,
you try and get some sleep; 'cause if _you_ goes we shall _all_ go."
Accordingly Nina retired to her room, but before she lay down she wrote
to Clayton:--
"We are all in affliction here, my dear friend. Poor Uncle John
died this morning of the cholera. I had been to E---- to see a
doctor and provide medicines. When I came back I thought I would
call a few moments at the house, and I found a perfect scene of
horror. Poor uncle died, and there are a great many sick on the
place now; and while I was thinking that I would stay and help
aunt, a messenger came in all haste, saying that the disease had
broken out on our place at home.
"We were bringing the doctor with us in our carriage, when we met a
man riding full speed from E----, who told us that Judge Peters was
dying, and a great many others were sick on the same street. When
we came home we found the poor old coachman dead, and the people in
the greatest consternation. It took us some time to tranquillize
them and to produce order, but that is now done. Our house is full
of the sick and the fearful ones. Milly and Harry are firm and
active, and inspire the rest with courage. About twenty are taken
with the disease, but not as yet in a violent way. In this awful
hour I feel a strange peace, which the Bible truly says 'passeth
all understanding.' I see, now, that though the world and all that
is in it should perish, 'Christ can give us a beautiful immortal
life.' I write to you because, perhaps, this may be the only
opportunity. If I die, do not mourn for me, but thank God, who
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. But, then, I
trust, I shall not die. I hope to live in this world, which is more
than ever beautiful to me. Life has never been so valuable and dear
as since I have known you. Yet I have such trust in the love of my
Redeemer, that, if _he_ were to ask me to lay it down, I could do
it almost without a sigh. I would follow the Lamb whithersoever he
goeth. Perhaps the same dreadful evil is around you,--perhaps at
Magnolia Grove. I will not be selfish in calling you here, if Anne
needs you more. Perhaps she has not such reliable help as Harry and
Milly are to me. So do not fear, and do not leave any duty for me.
Our Father loves us, and will do nothing amiss. Milly walks about
the entries singing. I love to hear her sing, she sings in such a
grand triumphant tone. Hark, I hear her now!
'I'll go and come,
Nor fear to die,
Till from on high
Thou call me home.'
"I shall write you every mail, now, till we are better.
"Living or dying, ever your own
"NINA."
After writing this, Nina lay down and slept--slept all night as quietly
as if death and disease were not hanging over her head. In the morning
she rose and dressed herself, and Milly, with anxious care, brought to
her room some warm coffee and crackers, which she insisted on her taking
before she left her apartment.
"How are they all, Milly?" said Nina.
"Well, chile," said Milly, "de midnight cry has been heard among us.
Aunt Rose is gone; and Big Sam, and Jack, and Sally, dey's all gone; but
de people is all more quiet, love, and dey's determined to stand it
out!"
"How is Harry?" said Nina, in a tremulous voice.
"He isn't sick; he has been up all night working over de sick, but he
keeps up good heart. De older ones is going to have a little
prayer-meeting after breakfast, as a sort of funeral to dem dat's dead;
and, perhaps, Miss Nina, you'd read us a chapter."
"Certainly I will," said Nina.
It was yet an early hour, when a large circle of family and plantation
hands gathered together in the pleasant, open saloon, which we have so
often described. The day was a beautiful one; the leaves and shrubbery
round the veranda moist and tremulous with the glittering freshness of
morning dew. There was a murmur of tenderness and admiration as Nina, in
a white morning-wrapper, and a cheek as white, came into the room.
"Sit down, all my friends," she said, "sit down," looking at some of the
plantation men, who seemed to be diffident about taking the sofa, which
was behind them; "it's no time for ceremony now. We are standing on the
brink of the grave, where all are equal. I'm glad to see you so calm and
so brave. I hope your trust is in the Saviour, who gives us the victory
over death. Sing," she said. Milly began the well-known hymn:
"And must this feeble body fail,
And must it faint and die?
My soul shall quit this gloomy vale,
And soar to realms on high;
"Shall join the disembodied saints,
And find its long-sought rest;
That only rest for which it pants,
On the Redeemer's breast."
Every voice joined, and the words rose triumphant from the very gates of
the grave. When the singing was over, Nina, in a tremulous voice, which
grew clearer as she went on, read the undaunted words of the ancient
psalm:--
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and
my fortress. My God, in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee
from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall
cover thee with his feathers. Under his wings shalt thou trust. Thou
shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that
flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for
the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall by thy
side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh
thee. He shall give his angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy
ways."
"It is possible," said Nina, "that we may, some of us, be called away.
But, to those that love Christ, there is no fear in death. It is only
going home to our Father. Keep up courage, then!"
In all cases like this, the first shock brings with it more terror than
any which succeeds. The mind can become familiar with anything, even
with the prospect of danger and death, so that it can appear to be an
ordinary condition of existence. Everything proceeded calmly on the
plantation; and all, stimulated by the example of their young mistress,
seemed determined to meet the exigency firmly and faithfully. In the
afternoon of the second day, as Nina was sitting in the door, she
observed the wagon of Uncle Tiff making its way up the avenue; and, with
her usual impulsiveness, ran down to meet her humble friend.
"Oh, Tiff, how do you do, in these dreadful times!"
"Oh, Miss Nina," said the faithful creature, removing his hat, with
habitual politeness, "ef yer please, I's brought de baby here, 'cause
it's drefful sick, and I's been doing all I could for him, and he don't
get no better. And I's brought Miss Fanny and Teddy, 'cause I's 'fraid
to leave 'em, 'cause I see a man yesterday, and he tell me dey was dying
eberywhar on all de places round."
"Well," said Nina, "you have come to a sorrowful place, for they are
dying here, too! But, if you feel any safer here, you and the children
may stay, and we'll do for you just as we do for each other. Give me the
baby, while you get out. It's asleep, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss Nina, it's 'sleep pretty much all de time, now."
Nina carried it up the steps, and put it into the arms of Milly.
"It's sleeping nicely," she said.
"Ah, honey!" said Milly, "it'll neber wake up out of dat ar! Dat ar
sleep an't de good kind!"
"Well," said Nina, "we'll help him take care of it, and we'll make room
for him and the children, Milly; because we have medicines and
directions, and they have nothing out there."
So Tiff and his family took shelter in the general fortress. Towards
evening, the baby died. Tiff held it in his arms to the very last; and
it was with difficulty that Nina and Milly could persuade him that the
little flickering breath was gone forever. When forced to admit it, he
seemed for a few moments perfectly inconsolable. Nina quietly opened her
Testament, and read to him:--
"And they brought little children unto him, that he should touch them;
and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But Jesus said,
Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such
is the kingdom of heaven."
"Bressed Lord!" said Tiff, "I'll gib him up, I will! I won't hold out no
longer! I won't forbid him to go, if it does break my old heart! Laws,
we's drefful selfish! But de por little ting, he was getting so pretty!"