Letter Twelve
My Dear Grandchildren:
In this simple sketch of the life of an unpretending Christian man, whose highest aim was to discharge his duties, as such, in the position in which God had placed him, I am aware there is nothing particularly interesting, or congenial, to the feelings or taste of the worldling. By the worldling I mean a man, or woman, who-perhaps without deliberately weighing things as they exist, and regardless of the future-is content with the short-lived pleasures and advantages of this world. But I cannot better describe the worldling than in the language of your grandfather, taken from a letter which lies open before me. In speaking of a certain lady who expressed to him a regret that she had not fifty thousand dollars per annum to spend in living, he says: She is a poor, worldly woman, whose chief end in life is to dash!-shine, and out-shine-consequently envies those who have more means, or appear to out-shine her. I would not swap my old woman for as many of such as could stand between this and Mobile, and the fifty thousand per annum in the bargain! To such among you (God forbid that there should be such!) I do not write; for I know how the world blinds by its dazzle, and you could see no beauty or use in living for the glory of that Being who made and preserves you, and before whom you must stand to be judged. Made in His image, with an immortal soul, you might dwell forever with the Redeemer, in the mansions he has gone to prepare. But, like the butterfly, you fritter away your earthly existence, and, by so doing, throw away the only cup of real, unadulterated pleasure of this present life; and, when Time, with all its fleeting joys, has passed away forever, where, oh, where! do you expect to dwell?
But for those who are the worthy descendants of him who lived the life of the righteous, and who find pleasure in reading these imperfect letters, I will recommence a review of the past, recording, as I have done, such facts as I think will interest you, and acquaint you still better with him. You have seen his Christianity exhibited in many ways; and I have not kept from your view his faults and imperfections. You have seen him as a son, and as a brother, a friend, and a husband. As a father, you know but little of him; and now I will relate the circumstances which led to a temporary separation from his child and her mother, and will quote from his letters, that you may learn, from himself, his views and desires as a father, and his manner of intercourse with this only child of his heart.
During the winter of 1846-after we had removed from your great-grandmammas, and were again enjoying a home of our own—my health gave way, to an alarming extent. Although able to go about the house, it was evident (declared so by my physicians) that I was in a decline. When I grew no better from the concentrated wisdom of three of the Faculty, my husband determined to try the effect of a change of air and scene, first having consulted the doctors as to the expediency of it, and having been assured by them that, if it did me no good, it could do me no harm. With his accustomed dispatch he hastened to the river, secured our passage on a boat, which was to leave in three days, and at dinner asked me if I would not like to take a trip to Havana? The question startled me, for there was more business done in March and April than in any other two months of the whole year, and I could not see the practicability-indeed, it had previously seemed almost impossible for him to leave home at that time. But his answer to my exclamations of surprise-Business is of no importance compared to health, and the question, Can you be ready by day after tomorrow? accompanied by the assurance that our state-rooms were already engaged -put a stop to further discussion, and set my sister earnestly to work to get me ready. Lizzie must leave school, (papa said), for she, too, may go along to help take care of mamma-and never was a mamma better taken care of, with two such nurses as she had.
This arrangement acted like a charm, for I began to mend before we started, from the effect upon my mind, in being drawn off from myself and my ailments to the necessary thought required in giving directions for the packing of trunks, and in making arrangements generally for leaving home. After reaching New Orleans, we were advised that it was too late in the season to visit Havana, and we determined to steer our course toward Pensacola; but, upon our arrival in Mobile, our friends there suggested Pascagoula, as a better place, and, as it was more accessible than the former, we decided upon trying the effect of the sea-breeze there. It was early in the season to visit a watering-place, but we were not the less welcomed by the proprietors of a delightful hotel, (which has since been burned down), for, as it happened, they were old acquaintances of ours. This hotel was a commodious, and cheerful looking establishment, with its large dancing saloon attached, and had every convenience for the amusement and comfort of the gay crowd that assembled there in the summer months for pastime or health. It stood on an eminence, and commanded a beautiful view of the bay. The large yard in front, which gradually sloped down to the beach, was planted with evergreens and shrubbery, presenting a gay contrast, which, with the flowered vines, so prettily trained around the pillars of the long piazza, made it rurally picturesque, and filled the air with odors of the sweetest kind. But nothing was so sweet to me as the unadulterated sea air, which I delighted to drink in, every breath of which seemed to send vigor into my wasted and weakened frame. At first, I could walk but a little way along the beach; but soon, by leaning on the arm of my husband, I could walk half a mile out on the pier, and, sitting down in a chair (provided for me), would remain there, with the rest of the party, for hours, as deeply interested in fishing as ever that famous old angler, Sir Izaak Walton, could have been. And if he had been as successful as we were in hooking and pulling out the great variety of fish, large and small-with an occasional monster of the deep, which caused us to open our eyes in amazement-I am sure he could not have ruminated to his hearts content, as he did, and made the world so much the wiser for his having lived and angled in it.
Pascagoula, as it was then, was by far the most fascinating place I had ever seen. Besides its natural beauties and advantages, (its health-giving influences being, no doubt, the greatest to the invalid), we had a pleasant little society of cultivated people, all bent on pleasure and sport. Sometimes we would go rowing, and then sailing. At other times we would course up the Pascagoula river-a beautiful little stream, all studded with the gardens of cottagers. One of these was an Italian, who, devoted to the land of his birth, had, as it were, transplanted the home of his heart to this romantic spot in the far-off world. It looked decidedly foreign; but its greatest beauty (to my taste) was the background, which was composed a grand old forest of towering pines.
In contrast with this little river, were the island which dotted the bay, adding beauty to the scene and affording tempting attractions to those who are fond of pic-nics. One especially-Island Casot, formed by the beautiful bayou of the same name-is shaded by immense live-oak trees, and lies just south on the border of the finest oyster bed (for flavor) in the South. We spent a whole day there, having first amply provided ourselves with every luxury, even to comforts and pillows to lounge on. Your grandfather admired this beautiful little island so much that he thought seriously of purchasing it, to improve in a cheap and simple way, to be used as an occasional resort for health and pleasure. He and your mother were evidently as much charmed with Pascagoula, and its surroundings, as I was. Both were the picture of happiness. They engaged in many amusements, of which I was incapable, and could only look on and laugh at-such as catching crabs, and speering flounders by torchlight. They bathed and swam, too, (the latter with a life-preserver), but they were afraid to venture out too far, on account of sharks, which were occasionally seen near the shore. At a certain season of the year there was frequently heard, near the bath-houses, a strain of music, like the Aeolian harp, which had never been satisfactorily accounted for, although many wise heads had pondered over it. Some supposed that it proceeded from a certain kind of small fish, which, in their perambulations through the mighty deep, for some secret reason best know to themselves, touched at this point at the stated season, just to whisper a few sweet notes, and would then retire. Other said it was only an echo borne upon the waters (when the wind was in a certain direction), from the playing of the waves against the sandy shore of an island, three miles distant. There is an Indian legend, which I will relate, that gives a more interesting account of this phenomenon than either of these. A war party of the Pascagoula tribe, headed by their chief, having been hotly pursued by a victorious enemy, had rushed into the bay (sooner than submit), and were drowned, while singing a melancholy dirge, which annually returns in token of the sad event. They:
Sing of death and life undying,
In the Islands of the Blest
In the kingdom of Ponemah,
In the Land of the Hereafter.
But perhaps it is irrelevant to my subject to dwell so minutely upon scenes and incidents so remotely associated with it. He was with me then, and it makes me for awhile forget my loneliness.