Cord and Creese Part 26

Only thirty-two steerage pa.s.sengers dead since last report, but nearly all are sick. Hardly any one to attend to them.

August 10.--Mrs. Brandon and Edith both sick. Frank prostrate again. G.o.d in heaven, have mercy!

August 15.--Mrs. Brandon and Edith very low. Frank better.

August 16.--Quarantine Station, Gosse Island. I feel the fever in my veins. If I die, farewell, sweetest sister.

December 28, Halifax, Nova Scotia.--More than four months have elapsed since my last entry, and during the interval marvelous things have occurred. These I will now try to recall as I best can.

My last entry was made on the day of the arrival of the _Tec.u.mseh_ at the Quarantine Station, Gosse Island, Quebec. We were delayed there for two days. Every thing was in confusion. A large number of ships had arrived, and all were filled with sick. The authorities were taken by surprise; and as no arrangements had ever been made for such a state of things the suffering was extreme. The arrival of the _Tec.u.mseh_ with her frightful record of deaths, and with several hundred sick still on board, completed the confusion. At last the pa.s.sengers were removed somehow, I know not how or when, for I myself on the evening of our arrival was struck down by the fever. I suppose that Frank Brandon may have nursed me at first; but of that I am not sure. There was fearful disorder. There were few nurses and fewer doctors; and as fast as the sick died they were hurried hastily into shallow graves in the sand. I was sick for two or three weeks, and knew nothing of what was going on.

The first thing that I saw on coming to my senses was Edith Brandon.

She was fearfully changed. Unutterable grief dwelt upon her sweet young face, which also was pale and wan from the sickness through which she had pa.s.sed. An awful feeling shot through me. My first question was, "Is your mother on sh.o.r.e?"

She looked at me for a moment in solemn silence, and, slowly raising her hand, pointed upward.

"Your brother?" I gasped.

She turned her head away. I was silent. They were dead, then. O G.o.d!

and this child--what had she not been suffering? My mind at once, in its agony of sympathy with her, burst through the clouds which sickness had thrown around it. "Poor child!" I said. "And why are you here?"

"Where else can I go?" she answered, mournfully.

"At least, you should not wear yourself out by my bedside."

"You are the only one left whom I know. I owe you far more than the small attendance which I have given you."

"But will you not take some rest?"

"Hush! Wait till you are stronger. You are too weak now to think of these things."

She laid her thin hand on my forehead gently. I turned my head away, and burst into a flood of tears. Why was it that this child was called upon to endure such agony? Why, in the midst of that agony, did she come to me to save my life? I did not resist her any longer on that day; but the next day I was stronger, and made her go and repose herself.

For two successive days she came back. On the third day she did not appear. The fourth day also she was absent. Rude nurses attended to me.

They knew nothing of her. My anxiety inspired me with such energy that on the fourth day I rose from my bed and staggered about to find her if possible.

All was still confusion. Thousands of sick were on the island. The mistake of the first week had not yet been repaired. No one knew any thing of Edith. I sought her through all the wards. I went to the superintendent, and forced him to make inquiries about her. No one could tell any thing.

My despair was terrible. I forced the superintendent to call up all the nurses and doctors, and question them all, one by one. At last an old Irish woman, with an awful look at me, hinted that she could tell something about her, and whispered a word or two in the superintendent's ear. He started back, with a fearful glance.

"What is it? Tell, in G.o.d's name!"

"The dead-house," he murmured.

"Where is it? Take me there!" I cried to the woman. I clutched her arm and staggered after her.

It was a long, low shed, open on all sides. Twelve bodies lay there. In the middle of the row was Edith. She was more beautiful than an angel.

A smile wreathed her lips; her eyes looked as though she slumbered.

I rushed up to her and caught her in my arms. The next moment I fell senseless.

When I revived I was lying in one of the sick-sheds, with a crowd of sufferers around me. I had only one thought, and that was Edith. I rose at once, weak and trembling, but the resolve of my soul gave strength to my body. An awful fear had taken possession of me, which was accompanied by a certain wild hope. I hurried, with staggering feet, to the dead-house.

All the bodies were gone. New ones had come in.

"Where is she?" I cried to the old woman who had charge there. She knew to whom I referred.

"Buried," said she.

I burst out into a torrent of imprecations. "Where have they buried her?

Take me to the place!" I cried, as I flung a piece of gold to the woman.

She grasped it eagerly. "Bring a spade, and come quick, for G.o.d's sake!

_She is not dead!_"

How did I have such a mad fancy? I will tell you. This ship-fever often terminates in a sort of stupor, in which death generally takes place.

Sometimes, however, the patient who has fallen into this stupor revives again. It is known to the physicians as the "trance state." I had seen cases of this at sea. Several times people were thrown overboard when I thought that they did not have all the signs of death, and at last, in two cases of which I had charge, I detained the corpses three days, in spite of the remonstrances of the other pa.s.sengers. _These two revived._ By this I knew that some of those who were thrown overboard were not dead. Did I feel horror at this, my Teresa? No. "Pa.s.s away," I said, "unhappy ones. You are not dead. You live in a better life than this.

What matters it whether you died by the fever or by the sea?"

But when I saw Edith as she lay there my soul felt a.s.sured that she was not dead, and an unutterable convulsion of sorrow overwhelmed me.

Therefore I fainted. The horror of that situation was too much for me. To think of that angelic girl about to be covered up alive in the ground; to think of that sweet young life, which had begun so brightly, terminating amidst such black darkness!

"Now G.o.d help me!" I cried, as I hurried on after the woman; "and bring me there in time." There! Where? To the place of the dead. It was there that I had to seek her.

"How long had she been in that house before I fainted?" I asked, fearfully.

"Twenty-four hours."

"And when did I faint?"

"Yesterday."

A pang shot through me. "Tell me," I cried, hoa.r.s.ely, "when she was buried."

"Last night."

"O G.o.d!" I groaned, and I could say no more; but with new strength given to me in that hour of agony I rushed on.

It was by the eastern sh.o.r.e of the island. A wide flat was there, washed on one side by the river. Here more than a thousand mounds arose. Alas!

could I ever hope to find her!

"Do you know where they have laid her?" I asked, tremblingly.

"Yes," said the woman, confidently.

Hope returned faintly. She led the way.

The moon beamed out brightly from behind a cloud, illumining the waste of mounds. The river murmured solemnly along the sh.o.r.e. All my senses were overwhelmed in the madness of that hour. The moon seemed enlarged to the dimensions of a sky; the murmur of the river sounded like a cataract, and in the vast murmur I heard voices which seemed then like the voices of the dead. But the l.u.s.tre of that exaggerated glow, and the booming concord of fancied spirit-voices were all contemned as trifles.

I cared for nothing either natural or supernatural. Only one thought was present--the place where she was laid.

We reached it at last. At the end of a row of graves we stopped. "Here,"