From Mrs. William Browne to Mrs. King.
Charleston, February 2, 1809.
I have been waiting day after day, my Dear Aunt, in the hope of having
something pleasant to communicate to you, but I do very much fear I
shall now have nothing, if ever, to say about our Dear Eliza but will
give you pain. I sat down to write to you without knowing what to say.
I have been so in the habit of dissembling lately that I can hardly
throw it off, for when I write my Father and Mother everything is so
glossed over, ’tis impossible to come at the truth. You know not how I
am affected, my Dear Aunt. I fear I am doing wrong in deceiving them,
for it is my firm opinion she never will be well. Do advise me, tell
me what I ought to do. I think to you I may say the truth—I think she
has been growing sicker every hour since she left New York. Her voyage
had a singular effect upon her: she suffered but little from
seasickness, but every bad symptom she had before seemed increased;
she coughed a great deal and very hard, her fever and night sweats
were excessive. You may imagine she was much weakened; but I hoped
this was a temporary thing, and a few days of quiet and of rest would
restore her; but instead of that, directly after our arrival a sort of
intermittent fever took place, she had a regular chill and fever every
day, she lost her strength very much, no appetite at all. This last
four or five days her disorder wears another appearance. ’Tis now
Thursday. On Sunday Dr. Irvine ordered her to take Quashy in order to
prevent a chill; she took it according to his direction—it brought on
her fever at 1 o’clock in the morning, and it never left her till 12
o’clock at night, it absolutely raged all day. Since then she has had
no night sweats, no chill, but her cough and fever very much
increased. Her nerves are extremely disordered; such a tremor that
to-day she cannot feed herself at all. She is so weak and exhausted
that she cannot walk alone. ’Tis now 11 o’clock—I am sitting by her
side, and she is still coughing and in such a hot fever she can bear
nothing to touch her. I have not asked her Physician’s opinion
concerning her; ’tis unnecessary I feel, I know what it must be. Yet
is it not strange she keeps up her spirits? She is looking forward
with the greatest anxiety to warm weather. God grant it may not be too
late! Dr. Irvine was the Physician Mrs. Hovey recommended; he is
indisposed and has left his patients in the care of Dr. Barrow. The
exchange has pleased us very much, for Dr. Barrow is considered quite
as skilful, and is extremely kind and fatherly in his manners, indeed
he reminds us so strongly of our Dear Father that we already love him
very much.
February 3.
Poor Eliza had a most distressing night last night. She coughed so
long that she was entirely exhausted; her fever was very high, and she
has scarcely spoken a loud word to-day. Her nerves are in a dreadful
state. I inquired of Dr. Barrow what he thought of her situation; he
says he can say nothing encouraging. He said the disorder had taken
great hold upon her, and had shattered her nerves in a terrible
manner. He very much fears a nervous fever,—that her pulse was very
bad, as nearly as he could count up to 150. Is it not very evident
from his being so candid, my Dear Aunt, that he has but little or no
hope of her recovery? And yet so strongly do I sympathize in every
feeling of hers, that seeing her easier and more comfortable this
evening has renewed my hopes and put me quite in spirits. She has been
much better this afternoon and evening, less fever, less tremor upon
her nerves, and since she has been in bed has had no bad coughing
spell. The mail went to the Northward to-day. I have so little time to
write that I have missed it. I will let you know to-morrow how she is,
and the next day is post-day again. I know what a kind interest you
and my uncle take in our dear Eliza, and I know I cannot be too
minute. Our friends here are kinder than I can express to you. It
seems sometimes as though we were among our own relations. They think
of every little thing for Eliza’s comfort and convenience that I could
myself.
Monday, February 6.
This morning Eliza was better, my Dear Aunt, than she has been for a
week past. Her voice has returned and she appears stronger in every
respect. Yesterday and last night she had a little fever, this morning
is delightful and she is going to ride. You shall hear again from us
before long. I know Mrs. Bogert will need no apology, I am sure, for
my not writing. The repetition of such symptoms are distressing to me
beyond expression.
Your affectionate niece O. S. BROWNE.
To Mrs. Bowne.
New York, Feb’y 4, 1809.
Your letter, my love, of the 13th and 14th has comforted me. You must
keep up your spirits; you will do well, Dr. Bergere says; attacks
similar to yours are not of the dangerous kind that some think; he
approves of your taking the Lychen again. I have sent a bundle from
Mr. King by Capt. Slocum, who sails to-morrow. I am distressed I
cannot go with him, but so it is. It is next to impossible I should
leave here till about the 25th of this month. Mr. Jenkins, my
assistant, is absent, and I cannot leave the office until he returns
without relinquishing it altogether, and I have most of my houses to
let this month, those I have lately built included, and which are not
finished, but I am determined to leave here in all this month. I hope
you have a comfortable place now; what abominable lodgings the first
were! Don’t mind the expense: get everything and do everything you
like, we can afford it. I wish my presence in this place could as well
be dispensed with, but so it is. I think it right you should have a
Physician. I will bring the things you mention; our children are well.
Ever, WALTER BOWNE.
The Ship—General Eaton—has not yet arrived, I will write to Mr. Brown
by this vessel if I have time; if not, by mail on Monday or Tuesday.
(With a bundle of Lychen for E. S. B.)
The following letter from Mr. Rufus King to his nephew Horatio
Southgate, will show how much alarm was felt about Mrs. Bowne’s
health.
New York, February 9, 1809.
Dear Sir:
I have to beg your excuse that I have so long delayed my answer to
your letter written I believe in November. The Plants were a long time
on their way, and did not arrive till Christmas, when we had a few
days of mild weather, which enabled us to put them in the ground. Mr.
Mars is entitled to credit for the manner and care with which the
Plants were packed, and altho’ they were much longer out of the ground
than they sh^d have been, I am in hopes that many of them were saved.
Inclosed I send you a Post-note (payable to your order) on the Boston
Branch Bank for 47 dollars, being the amount of Mars’s account, and I
beg you to accept my acknowledgments for the trouble you have given
yourself in this Business. Should there be an opportunity direct from
Portland to N. York in the Spring, any time in Ap^l or May would do
(for that is the true season, even on to the middle of June, to remove
evergreens), I wish Mars to send me a few more spruces, one moderate
sized Box, together with some of the small Evergreen shrubs found in
the woods and pastures, and which I remember abounded in the Pasture
of Knight’s Farm, and which we called laurel, or sheep poison. Any
other small plants may be added to fill up the Box.
We yesterday heard from Mrs. Bowne, who had recovered from the fatigue
of her voyage, and thought herself something better. I am in hopes
that the soft weather of an early spring will do more for her than
medicine could have effected in the rude weather of our winter and
spring. I ought not to conceal from you, tho’ I think you sh^d not
unnecessarily increase the anxiety of your mother, that I am not free
from apprehensions regarding your Sister’s complaint; it is so
flattering and insidious, that I do not place the same Reliance upon
favorable Reports w^h in any other case I sh^d be inclined to do. I by
no means think that she has no chance of recovery. On the contrary, I
have the satisfaction to believe and expect that she will regain her
accustomed good health. Mrs. Browne’s being with her is a very
important circumstance in a case in which good nursing and careful
attention is of so much consequence.
With sincere Regards, I remain, D^r Sir,
Y^r obliged serv’t, RUFUS KING.
Horatio Southgate, Esqr., Portland, Maine.
Charleston, February 21, 1809.
I will permit no one but myself to transmit to you the dreadful
intelligence this letter will convey to you, my dear Parents. A good
and merciful God will not forsake you at this awful moment. Our dear
Eliza is freed from her earthly sufferings and I humbly trust is now a
blessed spirit in Heaven! I offer you no consolation; I commit you
into the hands of a Good God, who has supported me when my strength
failed me. She had her senses at intervals for the few days last of
her illness. She spoke of her approaching change with great composure,
said she had thought much of it, that she trusted in God for future
happiness with great satisfaction and confidence; wished her time
might come speedily that she might be relieved from the pain of seeing
her distressed friends. She suffered with wonderful patience; never
murmured. At the very last she looked the satisfaction she had not the
power to speak. At 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon was this most
afflicting scene. Octavia had great fortitude to sit by her when she
could speak only with her eyes. She knew us, and listened with
apparent satisfaction to a prayer I read only an hour before the sad
moment. It was a day of trial with us most severe.
With much affection and regard to all,
W. BROWNE.
Poor Mr. Bowne has not arrived.
To Mr. & Mrs. Southgate.
Charleston, March 12, 1809.
I hope, my dear Miranda, this will be the last letter you will receive
from me at Charleston. Poor Mr. Bowne arrived here on Thursday. Not a
word had he heard, and owing to his having left New York he had not
received a single very alarming letter. He was entirely unprepared for
the shock which awaited him; never did I pity any one so. He is indeed
borne down with the weight of his grief. But the violence I dreaded I
see nothing of. There is no judging from the effect little troubles
have upon people, how they will bear great ones. I know it by myself—I
see it in him. He is more composed to-day, and we are making
arrangements to get away. He is much gratified that we waited here for
him, which we had some doubt about on account of the great expense in
these houses. The Minerva, a very fine Packet, arrived from New York
yesterday. We shall return in her. She will go in the course of a week
or ten days. What a melancholy voyage! But yet I will not think so. I
am going to my dear father and mother, my kind sisters,—indeed, ’tis a
delightful thought.
Your sister,
O. BROWNE.
Among the letters which were so carefully preserved by her daughter,
Mrs. Lawrence, was found the following extract from a daily paper:—
Died at Charleston, S. C., on the 19th ult., Mrs. Walter Bowne,
consort of Walter Bowne, Esq., of New York, and daughter of the Hon.
Robert Southgate, of Scarborough, Maine, aged 25 years. The Bereaved
Husband and infant children, the afflicted parents, Brethren and
sisters, and the numerous respectable friends and acquaintances by
whom she was so justly respected and beloved for her talents and
virtues, will deeply mourn this early signal triumph of the King of
Terrors. But they will not “sorrow as those without hope.” Her
immortal spirit, liberated from the body, is, we trust, already
admitted to a clear and perfect, an immediate and positive, a
soul-transforming and eternal vision of God and the Redeemer. Why
the most endearing ties of nature should be dissolved almost as soon
as formed, why the dreadful law of mortality should be executed on
the most worthy and dearest objects of conjugal, parental, and
social love, in the moment of sanguine expectation of reciprocal
enjoyment, is among the dark and mysterious questions in the book of
Providence. The ways of God are inscrutable to man, “clouds and
darkness are round about him, yet righteousness and judgment are the
habitation of his throne.” All afflictive events are readily
resolved into the wisdom of God. To his sovereign will, reason and
religion, duty and interest require us to bow with reverence. What a
dark and gloomy veil is spread by the early death of our friends
over our earthly enjoyments! How tenderly are we hereby admonished
not to expect satisfaction in this empty, fluctuating, and
transitory state! How strongly urged to place our affections on
things above, to secure an immediate interest in those sublime and
durable pleasures which flow from the service and favor of God and
the prospect of complete and endless felicity in His presence.
Inscription on the monument in Archdale Churchyard, in Archdale
Street, Charleston, S. C.:—