Chita-A Memory of Last Island [31]
lowlands. The watering-resorts became overcrowded;--then the fishing villages were thronged,--at least all which were easy to reach by steamboat or by lugger. And at last, even Viosca's Point,--remote and unfamiliar as it was,--had a stranger to shelter: a good old gentleman named Edwards, rather broken down in health--who came as much for quiet as for sea-air, and who had been warmly recommended to Feliu by Captain Harris. For some years he had been troubled by a disease of the heart.
Certainly the old invalid could not have found a more suitable place so far as rest and quiet were concerned. The season had early given such little promise that several men of the Point betook themselves elsewhere; and the aged visitor had two or three vacant cabins from among which to select a dwelling-place. He chose to occupy the most remote of all, which Carmen furnished for him with a cool moss bed and some necessary furniture,--including a big wooden rocking-chair. It seemed to him very comfortable thus. He took his meals with the family, spent most of the day in his own quarters, spoke very little, and lived so unobtrusively and inconspicuously that his presence in the settlement was felt scarcely more than that of some dumb creature,--some domestic animal,--some humble pet whose relation to the family is only fully comprehended after it has failed to appear for several days in its accustomed place of patient waiting,--and we know that it is dead.
IV.
Persistently and furiously, at half-past two o'clock of an August morning, Sparicio rang Dr. La Brierre's night-bell. He had fifty dollars in his pocket, and a letter to deliver. He was to earn another fifty dollars--deposited in Feliu's hands,--by bringing the Doctor to Viosca's Point. He had risked his life for that money,--and was terribly in earnest.
Julien descended in his under-clothing, and opened the letter by the light of the hall lamp. It enclosed a check for a larger fee than he had ever before received, and contained an urgent request that he would at once accompany Sparicio to Viosca's Point,--as the sender was in hourly danger of death. The letter, penned in a long, quavering hand, was signed,--"Henry Edwards."
His father's dear old friend! Julien could not refuse to go,--though he feared it was a hopeless case. Angina pectoris,--and a third attack at seventy years of age! Would it even be possible to reach the sufferer's bedside in time? "Due giorno,--con vento,"--said Sparicio. Still, he must go; and at once. It was Friday morning;--might reach the Point Saturday night, with a good wind ... He roused his housekeeper, gave all needful instructions, prepared his little medicine-chest;--and long before the first rose-gold fire of day had flashed to the city spires, he was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in the tiny cabin of a fishing-sloop.
... For eleven years Julien had devoted himself, heart and soul, to the exercise of that profession he had first studied rather as a polite accomplishment than as a future calling. In the unselfish pursuit of duty he had found the only possible consolation for his irreparable loss; and when the war came to sweep away his wealth, he entered the struggle valorously, not to strive against men, but to use his science against death. After the passing of that huge shock, which left all the imposing and splendid fabric of Southern feudalism wrecked forever, his profession stood him in good stead;--he found himself not only able to supply those personal wants he cared to satisfy, but also to alleviate the misery of many whom he had known in days of opulence;--the princely misery that never doffed its smiling mask, though living in secret, from week to week, on bread and orange-leaf tea;--the misery that affected condescension in accepting an invitation to dine,--staring at the face of a watch (refused by the Mont-de-Piete) with eyes half blinded by starvation;--the misery which could afford but one robe for three marriageable daughters,--one plain dress to be worn in turn by each of them, on visiting
Certainly the old invalid could not have found a more suitable place so far as rest and quiet were concerned. The season had early given such little promise that several men of the Point betook themselves elsewhere; and the aged visitor had two or three vacant cabins from among which to select a dwelling-place. He chose to occupy the most remote of all, which Carmen furnished for him with a cool moss bed and some necessary furniture,--including a big wooden rocking-chair. It seemed to him very comfortable thus. He took his meals with the family, spent most of the day in his own quarters, spoke very little, and lived so unobtrusively and inconspicuously that his presence in the settlement was felt scarcely more than that of some dumb creature,--some domestic animal,--some humble pet whose relation to the family is only fully comprehended after it has failed to appear for several days in its accustomed place of patient waiting,--and we know that it is dead.
IV.
Persistently and furiously, at half-past two o'clock of an August morning, Sparicio rang Dr. La Brierre's night-bell. He had fifty dollars in his pocket, and a letter to deliver. He was to earn another fifty dollars--deposited in Feliu's hands,--by bringing the Doctor to Viosca's Point. He had risked his life for that money,--and was terribly in earnest.
Julien descended in his under-clothing, and opened the letter by the light of the hall lamp. It enclosed a check for a larger fee than he had ever before received, and contained an urgent request that he would at once accompany Sparicio to Viosca's Point,--as the sender was in hourly danger of death. The letter, penned in a long, quavering hand, was signed,--"Henry Edwards."
His father's dear old friend! Julien could not refuse to go,--though he feared it was a hopeless case. Angina pectoris,--and a third attack at seventy years of age! Would it even be possible to reach the sufferer's bedside in time? "Due giorno,--con vento,"--said Sparicio. Still, he must go; and at once. It was Friday morning;--might reach the Point Saturday night, with a good wind ... He roused his housekeeper, gave all needful instructions, prepared his little medicine-chest;--and long before the first rose-gold fire of day had flashed to the city spires, he was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion in the tiny cabin of a fishing-sloop.
... For eleven years Julien had devoted himself, heart and soul, to the exercise of that profession he had first studied rather as a polite accomplishment than as a future calling. In the unselfish pursuit of duty he had found the only possible consolation for his irreparable loss; and when the war came to sweep away his wealth, he entered the struggle valorously, not to strive against men, but to use his science against death. After the passing of that huge shock, which left all the imposing and splendid fabric of Southern feudalism wrecked forever, his profession stood him in good stead;--he found himself not only able to supply those personal wants he cared to satisfy, but also to alleviate the misery of many whom he had known in days of opulence;--the princely misery that never doffed its smiling mask, though living in secret, from week to week, on bread and orange-leaf tea;--the misery that affected condescension in accepting an invitation to dine,--staring at the face of a watch (refused by the Mont-de-Piete) with eyes half blinded by starvation;--the misery which could afford but one robe for three marriageable daughters,--one plain dress to be worn in turn by each of them, on visiting