CHAPTER II.
RESIDENCE AT ANTIGUA — DR. GRAHAM'S DEATH.
WITHIN three weeks after their arrival at Antigua, six companies were ordered to the island of St. Vincents to quell an insurrection of the Caribs. The doctor accompanied them, and Mrs. Graham was called to the pain of separation under circumstances more trying than she had as yet experienced, as the war with savages might expose him to the most cruel death. In these circumstances she wrote him as follows:
"ANTIGUA, January 16, 1773.
"MY DEAREST DOCTOR — This goes by Mr. W——, who sails to-morrow; also a letter to Captain G——. Mr. M—— begs to be remembered to you; he has been foot and hand to me since you left. My dearest doctor, suffer me to put you in remembrance of what you put in the end of your trunk the morning you left me,* and let it not lie idle. Read it as the voice of God to your soul. My dearest love, I have been greatly distressed for fear of your dear life; but the love I bear to your soul is as superior to that of your body, as the value of one surpasses the other; consequently my anxiety for its interest is proportioned. May heaven preserve my dearest love — lead you, guide you, direct you, so can you never go wrong — protect and defend you, so shall you ever be safe, is the daily prayer of your affectionate wife,
*Doddridge's Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul.
"I. GRAHAM.
"P.S. I am told that you have taken a number of prisoners. I know not if you have any right to entail slavery on these poor creatures. If any fall to your share, do set them at liberty."
On the 8th of June, Mrs. Graham wrote to her mother, expressing her gratitude for her husband's safe return, and noticing some gratifying indications of the calm and peaceful state of his mind:
"You would be surprised to hear the doctor preach. He says we ought to be thankful; we have hitherto been richly and bountifully provided for; we ought not to repine, nor doubt, seeing we have the same Providence to depend upon; that we ought not to set our hearts upon any thing in this world; being very short-sighted, we cannot know what is proper for us. Having done for the best, when we are disappointed, we ought to rest satisfied that either what we wish is not for our good, or it will in some future dispensation of Providence be brought about another way and in a fitter time. Indeed, my dear mamma, in some things he is a better Christian than I am. May God make him so in every thing."
Thus was the Lord preparing his servant for what was so soon to follow — not his dismission from the regiment, which he so ardently desired, but from this world and its temptations and snares. Mrs. Graham's prayers were answered, but "by terrible things in righteousness."
She added a request that her mother would receive her eldest daughter, who, though at the early age of five years, she feared would receive injurious influences from the corrupt state of society around her, and
accordingly, not long after, sent her to Scotland; but before her arrival, her grandmother had been called to a better world. In reference to this event Mrs. Graham wrote to her bereaved father as follows:
"ANTIGUA, August 21, 1773.
"MY DEAREST PAPA — The heart-rending tidings of my dear, my tender, my affectionate mother's death reached me yesterday. I am so distressed that I can scarcely write, and no wonder, for never was there such a mother. My loss is indeed great; but O, my dear, my afflicted father, how my heart bleeds for you. Father of mercies, support my aged parent, and enable him to place his hopes of happiness beyond this transitory world, and to follow the footsteps of the dear departed saint till he joins her in glory, never, never more to be separated.
"My dearest father, we may indeed mourn for ourselves; but she is happy — that is beyond all doubt. Her delight was with God while she was here; her closet was a Bethel; her Bible was her heart's treasure, and His people were her loved companions. She has now joined the innumerable company above, where she continues the same services without human frailty, and the enjoyment heightened beyond our highest conceptions.
"O then, my dear father, be comforted; let us now try to follow her; let her Saviour now be ours, and then shall we be blest with like consolations.
"My dearest father, I cannot tell you how much I feel for you; my tears will not allow me, they flow so fast that I cannot write; what would I give to be with you. But these are vain words.
"The doctor, however, fully expects that next
summer will bring him leave to go home; then, I trust, we shall be in some fixed place of abode, and, my dear papa, you will come and live with us. I shall feel it to be a privilege beyond what I can tell, to perform every service you stand in need of, soothe your pains and comfort you under the infirmities of old age.
"My dear, my worthy brother — how has that tender letter, and the noble resolution he has taken, endeared him to me. It is certainly his indispensable duty to stay with you in your present solitary situation; such a dutiful, affectionate son must be a great comfort to you, and he will not lose his reward.
"I am anxious, my dearest father, to know the particulars of my mother's death: who attended her in her illness? was the nurse who was with her a good woman? was she sensible? did she expect death? and did she mention me, and leave me her blessing? My dear, dear father, tell me all.
"Farewell, my beloved father; may your God and Redeemer be your support and final portion, is the prayer of your affectionate daughter,
"I. GRAHAM."
In her grief for the loss of her inestimable mother, Dr. Graham had said to her that "God might perhaps call her to a severer trial by taking her husband also," and the warning appeared prophetic; but her own words best describe the emotions of her bleeding heart.
To Miss Margaret Graham, Glasgow.
"MY DEAR SISTER — Prepare yourself for a severe shock from an event that has robbed me of every earthly
joy. Your amiable brother is no longer an inhabitant of this lower world. On the seventeenth of November he was seized with a putrid fever, which, on the twenty-second, numbered him with the dead, and left me a thing not to be envied by the most abject beggar that crawls from door to door. Expect not consolation from me: I neither can give nor take it. But why say I so? Yes, I can. He died as a Christian, sensible to the last, and in full expectation of his approaching end. O, you knew not your brother's worth; you knew him not as a husband: he was not the same as when you knew him in his giddy years: he was to me all love, all affection, and partial to my every fault; prudent too in providing for his family. I had gained such an entire ascendency over his heart as I would not have given for the crown of Britain.
"On Wednesday, at one o'clock, the seventeenth day of November, 1773, my dear doctor was seized with a violent fever. I sent for his assistant, Dr. Bowie: he not being at home, Dr. Muir came, who prescribed an emetic in the evening, and his fever having greatly abated, it was accordingly given. In the morning Dr. Bowie thought him so well I did not ask for any other assistance. At ten o'clock his fever greatly increased, though not so violent as it had been the day before. He was advised to lose a little blood, which he did; and towards evening it again abated.
"I found he was not quite satisfied with what had been done for him; at the same time he would do nothing for himself. Thursday evening I begged Dr. Bowie to call in Dr. Warner's assistance, notwithstanding he
assured me there was not one dangerous symptom. Friday morning they both attended, and both pronounced him in a fair way of recovery.
"About three o'clock Dr. Eird came, who seemed surprised the thing had not been done which Dr. Graham himself had been dissatisfied for the want of the day before. Soon after the medicine was sent; but O, my dear doctor said it was then too late. In the evening they all again attended, and insisted there was no danger. Saturday morning he seemed very easy, and the physicians said he was in a fine way. The fever was gone; the decoction of bark prescribed; and they said he would be able to-morrow to take it in substance. I was not now the least apprehensive of danger, and was very earnest in prayer that the Lord would sanctify his affliction, and not suffer it to go off without leaving a sensible effect on his mind. Nay, I even said in my heart, 'the rod is too soon removed, it will do him no good.' Oh, that fools will still persist to prescribe to infinite wisdom and goodness. I was soon severely punished.
"About eleven he took the hiccup. I did not like it, but little knew it was so dangerous a symptom as I afterwards understood. I sent for Dr. Bowie, who assured me that though it was a disagreeable symptom with other attendants, in his case it was of no more consequence than if he or I were to take it. All that day it was so moderate that a mouthful of any liquid stopped it, though it always returned again: he often said it would be his death; but I imagined the pain it gave him extorted these words from him rather than a sense of danger, and was much pleased to hear him often pray that the Lord would give him patience and
resignation to his blessed will, and still more to observe that he bore it with a patience beyond what was natural to him. He was of a quick temper, and being of a healthy constitution, was but little accustomed to pain; but, during the whole of his severe and trying affliction, I do not remember to have heard a murmuring word escape his lips; so that I cannot doubt but his prayers were heard, and the grace prayed for bestowed. In the evening the hiccup increased, and all that night it was very severe, so that he could not bear to be any way disturbed, nor could I possibly prevail upon him to take his medicine, from two in the morning until ten o'clock, when the physicians again attended and persuaded him to comply. This was Sunday. About mid-day Dr. Warner sent some old hock, with orders that he should take some in his drink, and now and then a little plain. When the wine was brought in and put on the table, he asked me what it was. I told him. He said, 'Yes, they are now come to the last shift.'
"Mr. Frank Gilbert, a good man, and, I believe, a real Christian, having come to town to preach — for he is a Methodist minister — sent a note, kindly inquiring after him, and intimating, if it would be agreeable to him, he would visit him in the morning. He said, by all means, he should be very glad to see him. I said, 'My love, you know I have great faith in the prayers of God's people; suppose you should beg an interest in them this afternoon?' He answered, 'My dear, do you think they will forget me?' I said, 'I hope, my love, you are not ashamed to desire the prayers of the people of God; it is not now a time to mind the ridicule of the world.' He said, 'No, Bell, I care not a
farthing for the whole world, and you may make it my own request.'
"His disorder gained ground very fast that day, and I began to be much alarmed; yet still I thought it would not end in death, but though severe and dangerous, was sent in answer to my repeated, earnest prayers to awaken in him a real concern about his eternal interest, to set the world and its vanities in their true light, and bring about that entire change of heart which our blessed Lord styles the new birth, and without which, he says, we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.
"It was now become very difficult for him to speak; but by the motion of his hands and eyes, which were continually lifted up when he had the smallest respite, I could easily see his thoughts were fixed on the importance of his situation; besides, many sentences and half sentences broke from his lips at different times, which left me without a doubt. 'Farewell,' said he, 'vain world; an idle world it is, nothing but shadows, and we keep chasing them as children do bubbles of water, till they break, and we find them nothing but air.'
"Observing this inward recollection, I seldom disturbed him. He was perfectly acquainted with the truth, and believed it. The doctrines of religion were often the subject of our conversation, and in every point of faith we entirely agreed: they only wanted to be felt and applied to the heart. I remained in silence to my dear husband, but not to my God: I was incessant in prayer, begging and beseeching that the Lord himself would carry on what he had so graciously begun — that he would every way suit himself to his necessities, and give conviction or consolation, as he
saw needful; but when he spoke I endeavored to answer him from God's own word, as I was able or assisted. Once he exclaimed, 'Draw me, and I will run after thee;' at another time, 'Surely thou wilt not allow thy blessed Son to plead in vain for me, an obstinate sinner.' This was a degree of faith, and I endeavored to strengthen it. I said, 'My love, you know the way to the Father, through Christ, the only Mediator. You say right, he cannot plead in vain; fly to him; cast yourself at his feet; trust in him; hear his own invitation, 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;' 'him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.' At another time these words broke from his lips, 'Form me, train me, prepare me for thyself.' Here was a breathing after sanctification; might not the promise be applied, 'I will create a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within thee.'
"In the evening the physicians again attended, but could hardly get a word from him. While they sat by the bedside I went out to the gallery with Mrs. Grandidier; the apparent struggle she had to conceal her distress, the compassion and sympathy in her countenance struck me. I easily perceived she gave up hope, and, I began to suspect, not from her own judgment alone; she advised me to send away my children to a friend's house, and to send for a person who was capable of assisting me, it being no longer proper for me to be alone. Thus far I had not allowed any person to do the least thing about him but myself, nor stirred from his bedside, except for a few minutes, to pour out my soul into the bosom of my God. I hardly, if ever, prayed for his recovery, being willing the
rod should remain till it effected the purpose for which it was sent, and then I believed it would be removed — as if the Lord was to follow exactly the rules prescribed by my weak, foolish, ignorant heart.
"Hitherto I had suffered little, believing all to be the answer to my prayers; but I had not seriously thought of parting with him. I was now truly alarmed, and determined to know, as far as appearances went, the worst. Accordingly I stopped Dr. Bowie on the gallery: 'Tell me, doctor,' said I, 'what have I to expect? It is cruel to flatter me: if you give me some warning, and prepare me, I may perhaps be able to support it; but if you suffer it to come upon me all at once, I shall certainly sink under the shock.' He was silent for some time, and then replied, 'I am really at a loss how to answer you.' I said, 'I will answer for you, there is no hope.' He said, 'God forbid — he is in great danger; but still there is hope; and if you value his life, be calm.' I was composed. Strange composure; I neither cried nor complained; tears were denied a passage; I was fixed and dumb like a statue. Can I, or any one else, describe my situation, or what I felt at that moment? It was urged of what consequence it was that I should be composed, that I might be able to do my duty to him, as no one could supply my place to his satisfaction, and perhaps even now he might be in want of me. I returned to my post, which was, except when doing some necessary office about him, generally on my knees by his bedside, partly that I might not lose the least whisper that came from his lips, and partly because it is my favorite posture for prayer, from which I could not cease, no, not for one minute.
"There were different medicines prescribed for that night, some in case that others proved too strong for his stomach, others in case of the increase of the hiccup. I found my head confused and my memory incapable of retaining the variety of directions given. I therefore accepted of the offer of a friend of his to sit up with us that night, whom I begged to pay particular attention to the directions, and to watch the proper times the medicines were to be given. This he did with great care, and my dear doctor was very pliable in taking them as they were offered. As for me I was so deeply engaged with the concerns of his soul, I was unfit for any thing else.
"After Dr. Bowie let me know the danger he was in, I sent a letter to Mr. Gilbert, begging he would not delay his visit till morning, as perhaps by that time he might not be able to speak to him. Accordingly he came; he asked him how he did; he answered, 'Very ill;' he asked him the situation of his mind; he answered, 'Entirely resigned to the divine will;' he asked him what hopes he had; he said, 'his hope was in the mercy of God, through Christ;' Mr. Gilbert said, 'You have no dependence on any thing besides?' he said, 'No, no, I have nothing else to depend upon.' Then the doctor desired him to pray, but at the same time to be short, as he had but short intervals from the hiccup. After prayer, Mr. Gilbert told me it seemed difficult for him to speak, and he did not think it would be prudent to say more; that he would call again in the morning.
"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 God'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 God would give me some token, some assurance 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 God 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 God. 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? God works by means; O be persuaded to take every thing prescribed, and pray to God for the blessing; devote your future life to his service, and, for poor Bell's sake, offer up a petition for life.' He did not interrupt me, but answered, 'Disengage yourself, Bell, disengage yourself from me. I want to lift up my soul to God, 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 God, 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 God, all is over; I resign him up to thee. Only one parting word — something yet I require, to assure 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 quantities, 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 assurance; 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 assembled; 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 assured 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 passed 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 refreshing 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 circumstances 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
God; 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 circumstances was as sudden as it was great.
That sympathizing heart with which she was accustomed to receive and return the confidence of unbounded friendship, 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 God 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 circumstances afforded an opportunity for the display of the purity of Mrs. Graham's principles, and her rigid adherence to the commandments of her God 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 friendship of Dr. and Mrs. Graham misplaced. The seeds of gratitude 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 circumstances 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 accumulation of wealth, to the exclusion of every thought tending to holiness, to God, and to heaven. The portion which they desired they possessed. What then? They are since gone to another world. The magic of the words, "my property," "an independent fortune," has been dispelled; and that for which they
toiled, and in which they gloried, has since passed into a hundred hands; the illusion is vanished, and unless they made their peace with God through the blood of the cross, they left this world, and alas, found no heaven before them. But amidst apparent affliction and outward distress, God was preparing the heart of this widow, by the discipline of his covenant, for future usefulness — to be a blessing, probably to thousands of her race, and to enter finally on that "rest which remaineth for the people of God."
Her temporal support was not, in her esteem, "an independent fortune," but a life of dependence on the care of her heavenly Father: she had more delight in suffering and doing his will, than in all riches. "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will show them his covenant." To those who walk with God, he will show the way in which they should go, and their experience will assure them that he directs their paths. "Bread shall be given them, and their water shall be sure." She passed through many trials of a temporal nature, but she was comforted of her God through them all; and at last was put in possession of an eternal treasure in heaven, "where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal." May this contrast be solemnly examined, and the example of this child of God made a blessing to many.
In anticipation of her approaching trial, with which her own life might be suddenly terminated, Mrs. Graham set her house in order, and wrote the two following letters: one to her friend Mrs. Grandidier, to whom and her husband Capt. Grandidier, she committed the charge of her family and affairs; the other
to her father in Scotland, commending her children to his protection. Her tender and affectionate appeals to each of them in respect to their own eternal welfare, are a beautiful specimen of that Christian fidelity and love of the souls of men which so strongly characterized her future life.
"ST. JOHNS, Antigua, 1774.
"MY DEAR MRS. GRANDIDIER — The long and steady friendship which has subsisted between us, in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, ever the same, without change or diminution, leaves me no room to doubt that it will extend to my little family, and that you will be as ready, to the utmost of your power, to befriend them, as you have been to the dear father already gone, and your friend, who is, perhaps, about to follow.
"If it should please God to take me away in my approaching confinement, I leave you and Capt. Grandidier full power to dispose of every thing in this house, and belonging to me in this island, as you shall think most for the advantage of my little family. You know my extreme tenderness for their dear father made me unable to part with any of his clothes, but these can be of no consequence to me when I shall again have joined him for whose sake I kept them; you may therefore dispose of them, and also of my own, if you think the avails will be of more service to the children. But I do not choose to leave any particular directions about my trifling effects; you will consult with other friends, and I am certain you will act for them to the best of your judgment. It is a great relief to my mind that I have such steady and tried friends to leave the charge of them upon. Miss
G. B—— has promised to take J——, and it is my desire that the others, and the infant yet unborn, if it survive, be sent to my father, where I will leave them to be disposed of and provided for by that God who has fed me all my life, by their heavenly Father, who has commanded me to leave my fatherless children upon him, that he will preserve them alive, and whose promise I have, that he will never leave them nor forsake them.
"Mr. Reid will not be less kind to the offspring of his friend when they have lost, than when they were under a mother's protection. May the blessing of the widow and the fatherless follow him wherever he goes, and may God recompense him a thousand-fold in blessings spiritual and temporal. Let Diana* be sent with my children; if there be an infant, you know a nurse must be found for it, whatever it cost. As for Susan,* I am at a loss what to do with her; my heart tells me I have no right to entail slavery upon her and her offspring; I know I shall be blamed, but I am about to be called to account by a higher power than any in this world for my conduct, and I dare not allow her to be sold. I therefore leave it to herself either to remain here, or if it be her desire, to accompany the children. I beg Mr. Reid will be kind enough to allow her a passage with the rest.
*The two Indian girls.
"And now, my dear friend, as the greatest happiness I can wish you, may that God whom I have chosen as my own portion, be yours also; may he, by his outward providence and by the inward operations of his Spirit on your heart, lead you to himself and convince you of the truth. But O, my dear friend, shut
not your eyes and ears against conviction. You are not satisfied that the Bible is indeed the word of God. Is it not worth inquiring into? What would you think of a man who had a large fortune, and the whole depending on proving some certain facts, and yet would not be at the pains to inform himself? Are the interests of this world of such importance, which in a few fleeting years we must leave and have done with for ever, and our final state in the next, which is to fix us in happiness or misery through the endless days of eternity, not worth a thought? Think then, and seriously ask, 'What if it be so? What if this be indeed the word of God given by inspiration, for the rule of both our faith and manners, and by which we are to be judged? What if this same God, who so kindly reveals his will to men, has with it given the clearest evidences and strongest proofs that it is his own word?' Think, I say, my dear friend, if it should be so, what they deserve who either reject or neglect it without taking the trouble to inform themselves, or to be convinced that it either is or is not of divine authority.
"How many great, learned, and wise men have sifted these evidences with the greatest care, and the deeper they entered into the search, the more clear they appeared, even those whose lives are entirely contrary to it, and whose interest it is to wish it false, cannot deny. As to the various explanations of it, it is every one's duty to read for himself, and although there may be some parts of it too deep for every capacity, and which may perhaps require a knowledge of the history of the times to understand, yet the simple truths of the gospel, what we are to believe concerning
God, and what duties he requires of us, and what he forbids, are equally plain and easy. If we can only once be satisfied that it is indeed the word of God, set ourselves to study it with an unprejudiced mind, with a sincere desire to know the truth and be led by it, with earnest prayer that the same Spirit which inspired the writers would make it plain to our hearts and understandings, that God himself would teach us its true meaning, and save us from error, we shall, I venture to say, be taught all necessary knowledge, and be led in the way to eternal life, and not suffered to err: we have God's promise that it shall be so. 'If any man will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God.'
"Forgive me, my dear friend; the subject appears to me so important that I know not how to have done. I love you with a true and sincere friendship: I love your soul, and am deeply interested in its eternal happiness. Once more I commit you to that God, who only can lead you to himself and to true happiness; and that you may know the truth of this from deep experience, to the eternal joy, peace, and safety of your immortal soul, is the last prayer of your affectionate friend, who hopes to meet and rejoice with you in our Redeemer's kingdom.
"ISABELLA GRAHAM."
Mrs. Graham to her Father.
"ANTIGUA, May, 1774.
"MY EVER-DEAR FATHER — If this ever reach you, it will be when I have taken my final leave of this world, and received my portion for eternity in the next, when I hope I shall have gained the summit of my wishes, and be happy in the society of my dear
husband and much-loved mother, in the kingdom of our Redeemer.
"My truly orphan children I have desired to be sent to you; though I see no visible way you have to provide for them, yet I am perfectly easy concerning them. I leave them upon that God who has fed me all my life, and whose tender care I have experienced in a thousand dangers — upon their and my heavenly Father, who has commanded me to leave my fatherless children upon him, and he will preserve them alive. The God of providence will prepare for them a home, and raise up friends, perhaps from a quarter neither you nor I could expect.
"My only concern and prayer to God for them is, that they may be early taught to love God and serve him — that they may fall into such hands as will carefully instruct them in the principles of morality and religion, and teach them the great, but too little thought of truth, that our chief business in life is to prepare for death. As to the polite parts of education, I look upon them as of no consequence; they may be as good Christians, perhaps better, without than with them; the perfection of their nature no way depends upon them. I am equally indifferent what station of life they may occupy, whether they swim in affluence or earn their daily bread, if they only act their part properly, and obtain the approbation of their God in that station wherein he in his infinite wisdom sees fit to place them.
"Remember to give my love to all my dear children. I reckon all that sprung from my dear doctor mine; and though I did not suffer a mother's pangs for them, Heaven knows how equally I love them with
those who cost me dearer. Tell them I leave them a mother's blessing; and my last prayers, if it please God to continue my senses, shall be for their best interests.
"And now, my dear father, suffer one parting word, though from one no way entitled to advise: this is the third loud call for you to be also ready; according to the course of nature, you must very shortly follow; you can have very little more to do in this world, and therefore the smallest share of your attention is due to it. The young, the gay, the giddy, and thoughtless hold it a wise maxim to forget their departed friends as soon as possible; this may be worldly, but it cannot be heavenly wisdom. To be fully and entirely resigned to the will of God in all things, is certainly the characteristic of a Christian; but this is perfectly consistent with the most tender remembrance. That resignation — but indeed it deserves not the name — which consists in forgetfulness, in banishing thought and drowning reflection in worldly cares and amusements, can be no grateful offering to Him who has commanded us to have our loins girt and our lamps trimmed, and to be always ready, for in such an hour as we think not 'the Son of man cometh.' How often are we commanded to watch, to set our affections on things above, to be dead to the world, to lay up treasure for ourselves in heaven. These injunctions are inconsistent with forgetfulness; and if it be our duty to meditate on death and eternity, nothing more naturally leads our minds to that subject than the recollection of departed friends, who, if pious, are not lost, but only gone a little while before, taken from our earthly and added to our heavenly treasure.
"Believe me, my dear father, to a mind abstracted
from the world and devoted to God, death, though solemn, has nothing dreadful in it; on the contrary, to a mind rightly disposed it is rather a desirable object. Just conceptions of God, and converse with him, will very soon change the aspect of the king of terrors to a welcome messenger, who comes to set open the gates of immortality, and to usher us into the kingdom of our heavenly Father. And now may our most gracious God grant you, through your few remaining days, his direction and consolation; may he bestow upon you that peace which the world can neither give nor take away; and when the appointed time of your change shall come, may the comforts of his Holy Spirit so cheer and refresh your soul, that you may be able, without a doubt or a fear, to resign it into the hands of your Redeemer.
"Give my love to Hugh. The sentiments expressed in his letters bespeak him a worthy brother, and deserving of my highest esteem. I would have written to him, but I have still some directions to commit to writing concerning my little family, and my hour is at hand; but tell him I will remember him in my last prayers. I charge him not to banish the idea of his worthy and now glorified mother, lest with that he also forget her precepts; but prepare to meet us who are gone before; and O, that our meeting may be with joy on both sides. It is hard for youth, in the present age, to follow our Christian pattern. Every real Christian, every Bible Christian, must lay his account with being branded with the name of enthusiast; but tell him to remember that the opinion of the world cannot alter the nature of holiness, nor the maxims of Christ. Let him read, think, and judge for
himself with an unprejudiced mind; with a hearty desire to know and be led by the truth; to be taught of God, and conformed to his will in all things, and I venture to promise he will not be suffered to err. But let him avoid disputes about religion, they are seldom productive of any good; let him fortify his mind against banter and ridicule, it is no small degree of persecution. Yet, if he be determined to follow his Lord, he must expect to meet with it, and I know from experience it is hard to bear. I have found the safest way is to receive it in silence; for those who are disposed to ridicule the appearance of religion in another, are not in a fit disposition to be convinced by any argument, at least at that time, and few can dispute without heat, which is a transgression against the virtue of meekness, and very apt to lessen our love to the person who opposes us. We lose the spirit of brotherly love in hot-headed zeal, which perhaps deserves a harder name, but conceals itself under that appearance; and it is no small victory gained over ourselves if we are able to love, wish well to, and be ready to serve those whose sentiments differ from ours.
"I leave you and yours, and mine, upon the Fountain of all goodness, and may the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, be among you, and remain with you always. Amen.
"Your ever dutiful and affectionate daughter,
"ISABELLA GRAHAM."
It pleased God to preserve the life of Mrs. Graham, and to make her the grateful mother of a son, whom
she called after the name of his father, and endeavored, in humble trust, to consecrate to the Author of his being.
Having now no object to induce her to stay longer at Antigua, she disposed of her slender property, and placing her money in the hands of Major Brown, requested him to take a passage for herself and family, and to lay in their sea-stores. After seeing a railing placed around the grave of her beloved husband, that his remains might not be disturbed until mingled with their kindred dust, she bade adieu to her kind friends, and with a sorrowful heart turned her face towards her native land.