Part 2 (1/2)

”Monday morning he was greatly weakened, having had little rest all night from the severity of the hiccup. At ten o'clock the physicians again attended; but I could easily perceive they had but small hopes. My doctor asked Dr. Warner if he thought it would be long before he would be at rest, who said his pulse was still strong. He said, 'It is a hard thing to die!” Mrs. Brannan came to spend the day with us, one of the Methodist society, and Mr. McNab, whom my doctor desired to pray with him, which he did. All this day he said little, but still continued in inward prayer, as was visible by the motions of his hands and eyes; he had many agonizing struggles, and often exclaimed, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.' 'Blessed Jesus, come and receive me to thyself--come--come--blessed Jesus, come!' Once, after a long struggle, he exclaimed, 'Release me, O release me, and let me fly to the bosom of my Father!' All this time I never parted from his bedside but a few minutes to give my soul a freer vent at the throne of grace. I never prayed for life, but that he might be washed, sanctified, and have all G.o.d's salvation completed in his soul, and be received into the arms of his mercy. I also had been, and still was, very importunate that G.o.d would give me some token, some a.s.surance that he would save his soul, and give him an abundant entrance into the kingdom of his glory; and, by all that I had heard, seen, and felt, I was now satisfied that the most merciful G.o.d had sealed his pardon for Jesus' sake; and I found myself ready, dearly as I loved him, to resign him into the hands of divine mercy; but still I breathed after some further manifestation.

”In the evening Dr. Galloway, an old acquaintance, arrived from the island of Dominico, and hearing of his friend's illness, came immediately to visit him. When my doctor heard his voice only whisper how he was, he said, 'I hear Galloway's voice,' and stretched out his hand; so fully had he his senses to the last. Upon their feeling his pulse, he asked if they thought he would be long in dying. Dr. Eird replied, 'You must not talk of dying, but of living; you are stronger than when I was here this morning, and I have seen many worse recover.

Do, do be advised, take your medicine, and try for life.' These words brought a gleam of hope to my despairing soul, and what had been denied me for twenty-four hours, a flood of tears, and I was greatly relieved. I went out to the gallery and gave a free vent to my bursting heart. I now also begged the Lord for his life, and said in my heart, should he now be restored, how doubly blessed would he be, healed in soul and body. I returned to his bedside and thus addressed my beloved: 'My dearest life, the doctors still have hopes, and we know nothing is impossible with G.o.d. Who knows what further service he may have for you in this world; or whether he may not give you to my prayers, and restore you to your Bell and family? G.o.d works by means; O be persuaded to take every thing prescribed, and pray to G.o.d for the blessing; devote your future life to his service, and, for poor Bell's sake, offer up a pet.i.tion for life.' He did not interrupt me, but answered, 'Disengage yourself, Bell, disengage yourself from me. I want to lift up my soul to G.o.d, and bless him for Jesus Christ.'

”Dr. Galloway was determined to stay with him all night, and see him take his medicine. Some time after, he had a severe attack of hiccup, and said to Dr. Galloway, 'I hope you are now convinced.' He said, 'Of what?' My doctor said, 'That dissolution is near.' A little after, he said, 'Who died for all?' and again repeated, 'Who died for all?' I was forbid to speak to him, as rest was so much wanted, so I answered, 'Christ, my love; but give up your soul to G.o.d, and try to shut your weary eyes, and get a little rest for your body;' and so he did, and got a little sleep. All that night he did every thing he was desired, but would drink nothing but cold water, which had been allowed him; the wine he would not touch. His disorder increased so fast that Dr. Galloway, about five in the morning, said to me, 'I may go home--I can be of no service, and I cannot stand it.' I said, 'I suppose I need not disturb him any more with medicine.' He said, 'No, you may give him what he calls for.' Now, my G.o.d, all is over; I resign him up to thee. Only one parting word--something yet I require, to a.s.sure my heart that thou wilt receive his soul. Some time after he laid his hand upon Mrs. Brannan's lap and made a sign to her; afterwards he made a sign to me, who was at the back of the bed, to come round. Mrs. Brannan thought he wanted her to retire, which she did. He looked after her. I said, 'My love, she thinks you want to say something to me; can you speak?' He said, 'Join--pray,' which we did.

He spoke no more for some time, only, 'Come, sweet Jesus,' and frequently, 'Receive my spirit.' These words were given for my sake. I cried, 'I am satisfied, Lord, and I yield him up to thee with all my heart; thou hast given me all my asking. I will not be longer faithless, but believing. Continue to support his departing soul, and let the enemy find nothing in him.'

”The next attack of hiccup laid him back speechless, and I believe senseless in the last parting work: he had no further struggle, nor need of any person to support him. I therefore again placed myself on my knees by his bedside, determined not to quit the posture till his soul had entered its rest; but nature was worn out, and though I swallowed hartshorn and water in great quant.i.ties, I was so overcome that I was obliged to lie down at the back of the bed to save me from fainting. Three hours did he continue in this last work of the heart. I watched his last, and delivered him up with a hearty prayer and a full a.s.surance; but O, how earnestly I wished to go with him! I was, for the time, entirely insensible to my own loss: my soul pursued him into the invisible world, and for the time cordially rejoiced with the Spirit. I thought I saw the angel band ready to receive him, among whom stood my dear mother, the first to bid him welcome to the regions of bliss.

”I was then desired to leave the room, which I did, saying, 'My doctor is gone. I have accompanied him to the gates of heaven: he is safely landed; that is now not him that lies there. You, nurse, will see it decently dressed; then I may again be permitted to take another parting kiss.' So, embracing the precious clay, I went into the parlor. Some friends came in to see me. My composure they could not account for: our sincere and tender regard for each other was too well known to allow them to impute it to indifference. My distress at parting with him, even for a couple of months, when he went to St.

Vincent, and dejection of spirit the whole time till his return, left them as little room to impute it to want of sensibility: at last they imagined that I was stupefied with grief and fatigue; but they little knew that at that hour I rejoiced; indeed I told them, but I suppose was not believed. I was asked if I had any thing particular to say respecting the funeral. I said, 'Nothing--my charge is gone to rest; I would leave it to them.' It was then proposed to bury next day at ten o'clock. I said that was very early; they answered, by that time I would be satisfied it was not too early.

”In the evening I returned to our bed-chamber to take a last farewell of the dear remains. The countenance was so very pleasant I thought there was even something heavenly, and could not help saying, 'You smile upon me, my love; surely the delightful prospect opening on the parting soul left that benign smile on its companion the body.' I thought I could have stood and gazed for ever; but for fear of relapsing into immoderate grief, I withdrew after a parting embrace, and with an intention not to ask for another, lest a change in his countenance might shake my peace; for Oh, we are weak, and at certain times not subject to reason. I went to bed purely to get alone, for I had little expectation of sleep; but I was mistaken; nature was fairly overcome with watching and fatigue. I dropped asleep, and for a few hours forgot my woes; but Oh; the pangs I felt on my first awaking. I could not for some time believe it true that I was indeed a widow, and that I had lost my heart's treasure--my all I held dear on earth. It was long before day. I was in no danger of closing my eyes again, for I was at that time abandoned to despair, till recollection and the same considerations which at first supported me brought me a little to myself. I considered, I wept for one that wept no more; that all my fears for his eternal happiness were now over, and he beyond the reach of being lost; neither was he lost to me, but added to my heavenly treasure, more securely mine than ever. Those snares and temptations arising from the corrupt customs of a degenerate age, which had so often caused my fears, could never reach him there. The better, dearer half of myself was now secure beyond the possibility of falling, and waiting my arrival to complete his bliss. O happy hour, which shall also set my soul at liberty, and unite us, never to part more.

”In the morning I asked the nurse if there was any alteration; she said, no. I again returned to take another view, and was surprised to find his color and countenance unchanged. I began to be extremely uneasy at having consented to so early a burial. I returned again, and again; O, how I wished to have kept him for ever. Ten o'clock came; the company a.s.sembled; I became very uneasy; at last I discovered it to Dr. Bowie, begged he would only view him; how fresh the color--how every way like life. He a.s.sured me there was not the smallest doubt but that he was gone. I was not satisfied with this, but made them all inspect him. All agreed in the same thing, and I was obliged to yield, and the dear remains were ravished from my sight. What a night I pa.s.sed the night after the funeral! I had ordered our own bed to be made up, and at the usual time retired; but in vain did I try to sleep; the moment my senses began to lose sensibility, I was in a kind of dream. Finding myself alone, I imagined he was out at supper, though he seldom was without me; now I thought I heard his foot on the stairs, and started up to listen if it were he, and to bid him welcome, when my roused senses told me what I could still hardly credit, that I had no husband to expect, and threw me into a fresh agony, which kept me awake till I had in some measure again reconciled myself to my solitary situation. But having only slept a few hours since my dear doctor was taken ill, I no sooner got my mind a little composed, than sleep again began to overpower my senses, when the same, or a similar imagination roused me.

”The morning came. When I was called down to breakfast, the sight of his empty seat distracted me. I returned to my room, though I thought it my duty to take some nourishment. I had it brought to me.

Alas, I could nowhere turn my eyes but the sight was connected with this dear idea, and recalled past delights, never more to return. Our back windows looked into the garden, on which he had bestowed so much labor and pains, and which he was just bringing to perfection. Here we had spent many pleasant hours together, and indulged that freedom of conversation, the natural consequence of an unbounded confidence. The double arbor he had reared, and so contrived as to screen from both the south and the western sun, bid fair, in a short time, to screen us also from every eye. Hitherto we had been confined to morning hours, or afternoon, when it was shaded by the house; but had often pleased ourselves with the hours we should spend in this cool retreat, even at noonday, while, screened from the sun's scorching rays, we might enjoy the refres.h.i.+ng breeze through its leafy openings; but these delightful prospects were now for ever at an end. I might, indeed, there take my seat; but the tongue which everywhere charmed, was buried in deepest silence. The company which rendered every scene pleasant was gone, never to return: his sheep, his goats, nay, even the poultry, were often fed from his hand: every thing served to distract. As for my children, they were by kind friends kept for some time out of my sight; for not only to view them fatherless distressed me, but their thoughtless mirth and play was altogether insupportable.

”I accepted an invitation from Mr. Gilbert's family to spend some time in the country with them; for though it was impossible for me to forget for one moment, yet, when these objects were removed from my sight, I was more able to turn my thoughts upward, to where my heart's treasure now is, and where I myself expect to be. We had two men-servants, and my two Indian girls; one of the men I dismissed, the other I left to take care of the living creatures about the place. One of my girls I boarded where she would be in good company, and with my children and their maid I abandoned my solitary dwelling. I met with a very tender reception from that worthy family. My situation here was such as I both expected and wished, and attended with many outward circ.u.mstances which had the probability of making it supportable. I was allowed to be as much by myself as I chose. No one intruded on my privacy without my consent; but one or other of the Mrs. Gilberts often visited me in my own room, and drew from my bursting heart all its griefs, sympathizing, soothing, and advising at the same time.

They are both women of great piety, having for many years devoted their hearts, time, talents, and fortune to the service of G.o.d; and their two husbands likewise, whose business it has been to instruct the ignorant negroes without fee or reward. Had it not been for this family, I know not where the distraction of my mind might have ended.” * * * *

Thus was Mrs. Graham, at the early age of thirty-one, left a widow in a land of strangers. Her husband, companion, protector, was gone: a man of superior mind, great taste, warm affection, and domestic habits. She was left with three daughters, the eldest of whom was not over five years of age, and expecting an increase of her infant charge. Of temporal property she possessed very little: she was at a distance from her father's house: the widow and the fatherless were in a foreign land. The change in her circ.u.mstances was as sudden as it was great.

That sympathizing heart with which she was accustomed to receive and return the confidence of unbounded friends.h.i.+p, and thus, by reciprocal communion, to alleviate the trials and enrich the enjoyments of life, was chilled in death. All the pleasing plans, all the cherished prospects of future settlement in life were cut off in a moment. While sinking into a softened indifference to the world, in the contemplation of her severe loss, she was, on the other hand, roused into exertion for the sustenance and support of her young family, whose earthly dependence was now necessarily upon her.

Not satisfied with the custom of the island, in burying so soon after life is extinct, her uneasiness became so great that her friends judged it prudent to have her husband's grave opened, to convince her that no symptoms of returning life had been exhibited there. The fidelity of her heart was now as strongly marked as her tenderness.

She dressed herself in the habiliments of a widow, and determined never to lay them aside. This she strictly adhered to, and rejected every overture afterwards made to her of again entering into the married state. She breathed the feelings of her heart in a little poem, in which she dedicated herself to her G.o.d as a widow indeed.

On examining into the state of her husband's affairs, she discovered that there remained not quite two hundred pounds sterling in his agent's hands.

These circ.u.mstances afforded an opportunity for the display of the purity of Mrs. Graham's principles, and her rigid adherence to the commandments of her G.o.d in every situation.

It was proposed to her, and urged with much argument, to sell the two Indian girls, her late husband's property; but no considerations of interest or necessity could prevail upon her thus to dispose of immortal beings, the work of her heavenly Father's hand. One of these girls accompanied her to Scotland, where she was married; and the other died in Antigua, leaving an affectionate testimony to the kindness of her dear master and mistress.

The surgeon's mate of the regiment was a young man whom Dr.

Graham had early taken under his patronage. The kindness of his patron had so far favored him with a medical education, that he was enabled to succeed him as surgeon to the regiment.

Notwithstanding the slender finances of Mrs. Graham, feeling for the situation of Dr. H----, she presented to him her husband's medical library and his sword: a rare instance of disinterested regard for the welfare of another.

This was an effort towards observing the second table of the law, in doing which she was actuated likewise by that principle which flows from keeping the first table also. Nor was the friends.h.i.+p of Dr. and Mrs. Graham misplaced. The seeds of grat.i.tude were sown in an upright heart. Dr. H----, from year to year, manifested his sense of obligation, by remitting to the widow such sums of money as he could afford. This was a reciprocity of kind offices, equally honorable to the benefactors and to them who received the benefit: an instance, alas, too rarely met with in a selfish world.

It may here be remarked, in order to show how much temporal supplies are under the direction of a special providence, that Dr.

H----'s remittances and friendly letters were occasionally received by Mrs. Graham until the year 1795; after this period her circ.u.mstances were so favorably altered as to render such aid unnecessary; and from that time she heard no more from Dr. H----, neither could she learn what was his subsequent history.

It may be profitable here to look at Mrs. Graham, contrasted with those around her whose condition in the world was prosperous. Many persons then in Antigua were busy and successful in the acc.u.mulation of wealth, to the exclusion of every thought tending to holiness, to G.o.d, and to heaven. The portion which they desired they possessed.