After the singing of that hymn, I bade him adieu for the second time, never to meet him again except in that Promised Land, where we will sing the eternal Alleluia around the throne of the Lamb, who was slain for us, and who redeemed us all in His blood.
Chapter XXXII.
THE MIRACLES OF ROME—ATTACK OF TYPHOID FEVER—APPARITION OF ST. ANNE AND ST. PHILOMENE—MY SUDDEN CURE—THE CURATE OF ST. ANNE DU NORD, MONS RANVOIZE, A DISGUISED PROTESTANT.
The merchant fleet of the fall of 1836 had filled the Marine Hospital of Quebec with the victims of a ship-typhoid fever of the worst kind, which soon turned into an epidemic. Within the walls of that institution Mr. Glackmeyer, the superintendent, with two of the attending doctors, and the majority of the servants, were swept away during the winter months.
I was, in the spring of 1837, almost the only one spared by that horrible pest. In order not to spread terror among the citizens of Quebec, the physicians and I had determined to keep that a secret. But, at the end of May, I was forced to reveal it to the Bishop of Quebec, My Lord Signaie; for I felt in my whole frame, the first symptoms of the merciless disease. I prepared myself to die, as very few who had been attacked by it had escaped. I went to the bishop, told him the truth about the epidemic, and requested him to appoint a priest, immediately, as chaplain in my place, for I added, I feel the poison running through my veins, and it is very probable that I have not more than ten or twelve days to live.
The young Mons D. Estimanville was chosen, and though I felt very weak, I thought it was my duty to initiate him in his new and perilous work. I took him immediately to the hospital, where he never had been before, and, when at a few feet from the door, I said: “My young friend, it is my duty to tell you that there is a dangerous epidemic raging in that house since last fall, nothing has been able to stop it. The superintendent, two physicians and most of the servants have been its victims. My escape till now is almost miraculous. But these last ten hours I feel the poison running through my whole body. You are called by God to take my place; but before you cross the threshold of that hospital, you must make the generous sacrifice of your life; for you are going on a battle-field from which only few have come out with their lives.”
The young priest turned pale and said: “Is it possible that such a deadly epidemic is raging where you are taking me?” I answered: “Yes! my dear young brother, it is a fact, and I consider it my duty to tell you not to enter that house, if you are afraid to die!”
A few minutes of silence followed, and it was a solemn silence, indeed! Did the angels of God appear to show him the crown given to those who die for their brethren? I do not know. What I do know is that, a few months later, that young priest won the glorious crown by falling at his post of duty. He then took his handkerchief and wiped away some big drops of sweat, which were rolling from his forehead on his cheeks, and said: “Is there a more holy and desirable way of dying than in ministering to the spiritual and temporal wants of my brethren? No! If it is the will of God that I should fall when fighting at this post of danger, I am ready. Let his holy will be done.”
He followed me into the pestilential house with the heroic step of the soldier who runs at the command of his general to storm an impregnable citadel, when he is sure to fall. It took me more than an hour to show him all the rooms, and introduce him to the poor, but very dear sick and dying mariners.
I felt then so exhausted that two friends had to support me on my return to the parsonage of St. Roch. My physicians were immediately called (one of them, Dr. Rousseau, is still living) and soon pronounced my case so dangerous that three other physicians were called in consultation. For nine days, I suffered the most horrible tortures in my brains and the very marrow of my bones, from the fever, which so devoured my flesh, as to seemingly leave but the skin.