Reading frequently such accounts as this, and even more alarming ones than this, is it strange that Catherine sickened with terror and anxiety for the safety of him who was exposed to all the horrors of this unsparing warfare.
At length the shock came. It was on the evening of the day after harvest-home, and she had given all her people a holyday, even down to the messenger whose daily duty it was to bring her papers from the post-office, telling him that he might take the whole day, and bring her the mail when he returned home at night. Thus, instead of receiving her papers, as usual, in the morning, Catherine had to wait until the boy’s return in the evening. She was sitting in the spinning-room, awaiting the assembling of her servants, whom she had just summoned to evening worship, when they all entered, and with them the post-boy, who came up and laid before her the single paper that had come that day. She took it, to lay aside until after the evening’s devotions were over—but a magic name on the outside arrested her attention. She caught up the paper, and read in large capitals:
“Engagement at St. Leonard’s. British forces under Admiral Cockburn repulsed with considerable loss. Major Clifton dangerously wounded.”
She read no farther—the room swam around her—she reeled, and fell into the arms of Henny, who sprang forward to receive her. Her people crowded around her, in great anxiety. But only one moment she fainted thus—then she recovered, controlled herself, resumed her seat, and after sending the servants all back to their places, by a wave of her hand, opened the Bible, and commenced the evening’s exercises. Her face was very pale, her hands quivered in turning the leaves, and her voice faltered, so as to be nearly inaudible, but she persevered, and got through with the service, even unto the benediction. After it was all over, she detained them a moment, by a gesture, and then said—
“Your master has been dangerously wounded.”
Murmurs of surprise, grief and anxiety agitated the assembly, and testified to their affectionate concern.
“Go now quietly to your homes, and to-morrow perhaps I may be able to tell you more.”
They dispersed slowly, turning glances of uneasiness and distress at the silent anguish of her countenance.
She too, went out. How she spent the night is best known to Heaven. In the morning when she appeared among her household—the wasted cheeks, the sunken eyes, the hollow temples, and the written agony of the brow, alone proved the consuming sorrow of her heart.
“Jack—I want Jack,” she said, as soon as she reached her parlor. And the favorite servant appeared before her. “Jack, I think you love me,” she said.