Pilgrim’s Progress, Baxter’s Saints Everlasting Rest, Fox’s Book of Martyrs and the Bible were the only books allowed, and a funereal atmosphere pervaded everything. When the guests left and the chores were done, the children went to bed thankful for the Sunday less.
Naturally a student, John worked hard, saved his money, studied every spare moment of his time and eventually was graduated with honors from Union College; then, broken in health, he went South to accept the Chair of Ancient Languages at Vicksburg College, Vicksburg, Mississippi, where he met and married Miss Bessie Ragsdale, a beautiful southern girl and an heiress; meantime pursuing the study of law and was admitted to the bar of that State two years after his arrival there.
In the sunny South on the bank of “The Father of Waters,” their life was a poet’s dream, “Where the sweet magnolia blossoms grew as white as snow, and they never thought that sorrow, grief nor pain would come.” True, there were mutterings of war, but none believed they would amount to anything, and when the firing on Fort Sumpter was heralded abroad people said it would be a short war. After the secession of Mississippi and the formal election of Jefferson Davis as President of the Southern Confederacy, the defeat of Commodore Montgomery at Memphis, its occupation by the Union forces, and the concentration of forces upon Vicksburg, they knew then that war in all its horrors was upon them. This last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi which had refused to surrender to Farragut’s fleet was strongly fortified. General Grant’s attempt to change the channel of the river, leaving Vicksburg some distance back, had failed, and the people were still confident until he attacked them from the rear. The railroads were destroyed and for six weeks the city was cannonaded unceasingly night and day. The siege of Vicksburg was John De Vere’s last picture of Mississippi; the city battered to pieces, the streets red with blood, two gallant young Confederate officers shot dead at his door, his home in ruins.
Hearing that he was about to be pressed into the Southern Army, he managed, through the influence of his wife’s family, to get on board a boat bound for St. Louis, taking what little money he could scrape together. His wife and children with the faithful Reuben and Margaret joined him the next morning and they started for the last-named city where he hoped to earn enough to take him North.
Will he ever forget that sail up the mighty stream so full of snags and timber from the far North? That river which has played so important a part in the destiny of our nation? In 1542, its muddy waters received the fever-racked body of its discoverer. Down this stream came Marquette with his devoted Canadian followers in their birch-bark canoes, “ready to seek new nations towards the South Sea who are still unknown to us, and to teach them of our God.” LaSalle, Iberville, Bienville and many others floated before his mental vision. The levees, which were built before each river plantation by the owners’ slaves, were simply artificial mud-banks sometimes strengthened by ribs of timber and sometimes not. These answered very well so long as kept in repair. An unusual flood, of course, was apt to destroy them, but slave labor was cheap. Mr. De Vere noted with dismay their present neglected condition. The largest and most substantial was the one over Yazoo Pass twelve miles above Vicksburg; but this was in bad shape, and he pictured the wholesale destruction which would follow the inevitable spring flood, and the dank pools left by the receding waters, filling the air with deadly miasma.
On the fourth day of their journey they reached St. Louis. Mr. McElwee, a member of the “Christian Commission,” which did such noble work in the armies, offered them the shelter of his home until work could be found and they gratefully accepted his offer. He used his influence and one day Thomas Murphy from a settlement near Lake Crevecœur, about thirteen miles west of St. Louis, offered Mr. De Vere the position of teacher in their school at a salary of fifty dollars per month and the use of a log house belonging to him. Autumn found them installed in their new quarters. Mrs. De Vere, accustomed to every luxury, yet accepted her lot uncomplainingly; and with the assistance of Reuben and Margaret the rude house was made to appear quite home-like. It consisted of two rooms, a living-room and a sleeping-room. Mr. and Mrs. De Vere and the children occupied the latter, and all that the bed would not hold were stored away on the floor. Reuben and Margaret slept on the floor of the living-room.
Time passed more quickly than they feared it would. Christmas came and went, but Mr. De Vere’s step was not so springy as formerly. His head ached continually and memory failed. All night long he tossed and moaned but stern duty demanded his services and when morning came he sought the school-house tired in mind and body. No butter nor milk; coarse corn bread, sweet potatoes and pork constituted their daily fare, but no one complained. Coffee at twenty dollars a pound was not to be thought of and they all declared corn coffee delicious.
One morning immediately after school was called and the arithmetic class was on the floor, for no apparent reason, Mr. De Vere dismissed them. This he did three times in succession, and each time a general titter went round. Suddenly Elisha Vedder, a great lubberly fellow, rose to his feet and in a ringing voice said, “Shame, you cowards! Don’t you see that our teacher is a sick man?” Then going up to Mr. De Vere, he said: “Mr. De Vere, your wife is not very well and wants you to come home with me, and George Murphy will bring the doctor”; at the same time putting on his own and his teacher’s hat. Mr. De Vere leaned heavily upon him, and when they reached the house he fell on the bed, too sick to undress. No doctor lived nearer than St. Louis, but George Murphy on Elisha’s mare was flying like the wind after one, and by evening, when the doctor arrived, Mr. De Vere was raving in delirium. After a short examination and a few intelligent questions, Dr. Hoff, the physician summoned, took Mrs. De Vere aside and said, “I need not question further, the diagnosis is clear. It is typhoid and about the end of the second week. An ordinary man would have added to his chances for recovery by having spent the time in bed. Though a very sick man, I trust that we may be able to pull him through. Who is to help you?”
Reuben, who had been stationed near his master’s bed, caught the last words and exclaimed, “Who but me, Massa?”
Eyeing him critically, the doctor said: “Ever had any experience in fevers?”