The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

When the hour for the ceremony arrived, Mr. Armstrong sent round his carriage to convey the mourning family in the melancholy procession, while he and Faith, as the distance was short, proceeded on foot to the house. It was situated on a sandy beach, near the Wootúppocut, and a considerable company had collected together before their arrival. Poor Josiah's generosity and good-nature had made him a general favorite, and his acquaintances had pretty generally turned out to render to him the last testimony of affection it would ever be in their power to pay. The house was too small to hold all present, so that besides the relations, very few except females were admitted. Faith entered, but her father, though courteously invited in, and in consequence of his connection with the accident that caused the death, considered in some wise a mourner, preferred to remain on the outside. Meanwhile, during the preparations in the house, groups without were scattered round, engaged, in low voices, in various conversation. In some, expressions of condolence and pity were let fall for the condition of the widow and her family; others descanted on the good qualities of the deceased; others debated on what might be the feelings of Armstrong, and wondered what he would give the widow. They were all acquainted with his generosity, and doubted not of his desire to repair, so far as he was able, the misfortune with which the more ignorant would insist upon connecting him as in some sort, a cause. For this reason, some of them stole sly glances, from time to time, at his face, wishing not to be observed, as if they expected to read therein his purposes. But Armstrong, his eyes fastened on the ground, and absorbed in his own reflections, was unconscious of the attention he attracted. So lost was he, indeed, in his own thoughts, as not to observe many of the nods and greetings directed to him.

Presently low tones, as of one speaking, were heard issuing from the house, and those standing outside gathered round the open door, to listen to the prayer of the minister. It seems to be taken for granted that on such occasions the prayer must occupy some considerable time, whether because a short one would be irreverent to the Being to whom it is addressed, or disrespectful to the sorrowing friends, or because the mind cannot sooner be impressed with due solemnity. Hence it follows that as these prayers are extempore, and the abilities and taste of those who offer them of different degrees, they are of various shades of merit. Seldom is one made in which the canons of good taste are not violated, and some are not compelled to smile who ought to weep. The reverend gentleman who conducted the services, was not insensible to what was expected from him, and determined "to improve" the mournful event to the benefit of the living. After alluding to the gratitude his hearers ought to feel at not being thus hurried, like poor Sill, without time for preparation, before the bar of Judgment, who, however, he hoped, was prepared, and in order to heighten the feeling of thankfulness, contrasting the light and liberty of life with the darkness of the grave (as if the spirit were confined there), he ran through the usual common places, speaking with an assured conviction, as if the country beyond the grave were as familiar to him as the streets of the town. With a tedious particularity he then entreated the divine blessing upon the members of the bereaved family, mentioning them by name, beginning with the widow, to whom succeeded the children, two boys, one of four, and the other of two years of age, followed by fathers, and mothers, and brothers, and sisters to an indefinite extent, until the compliment was duly paid to all who were supposed to have any claim to it. The prayer was closed very much as it began, with a reference to the suddenness of the death, which was treated as a warning sent for their benefit, and a hope that it might be laid to heart, and induce sinners to fly from the wrath to come. The usual time being now consumed, the minister who had labored hard, and not without sundry hesitations and coughings to accomplish his task, brought it to a conclusion, and announced an appropriate hymn. There was something sadly sweet and touching in the homely words and simple tune, sung in low and suppressed tones, as if they were afraid of disturbing the slumbers of the dead.

Upon the conclusion of the hymn, the person who acted as master of the ceremonies went to the door, and, addressing those gathered round, said that all who desired might now have an opportunity to see the corpse. Several accepted the invitation, and among others, Mr. Armstrong.

The coffin was placed upon a table in the centre of the room, with a part of the lid turned back on hinges, so as to leave the face exposed. The former friends and acquaintances of the dead man, giving place and succeeding to one another, came, looked, and passed out again, moving lightly on tip-toe solemnized and subdued by the awful mystery of death. As they came in and left the house, they could see through an open door in an adjoining room the weeping widow in full mourning, with her little boys on either side, and the relations seated round in chairs.

All having gazed upon the corpse who wished, preparations now commenced for screwing down the lid of the coffin. The sobs and sounds of grief which had proceeded from the room where the mourners were collected, and which had been, as by an effort, suppressed during the prayer and hymn, now broke forth afresh.

"O, do not hinder me," poor Mrs. Sill was heard to say; "it's the only chance I shall have in this world."

"I guess you'd better not," said a voice, trying to dissuade her.
"It's no use; and, then, before all them strangers."

"I will see Josiah," she exclaimed, rising from her seat, and putting aside the well-meaning hand that strove to detain her. "Who has a better right to take the last look than me?"

With these words, her crape veil thrown in disorder back upon her shoulders, her eyes red and swollen with crying, and tears streaming down her cheeks, she advanced towards the body, all respectfully making room for her as she approached.

We are not a very demonstrative people. The inhabitants of New England are taught, from an early age, the lesson of self-control. They do not wear in their bosoms windows into which any eyes may look. It is considered unmanly for men to exhibit excessive feeling, and perhaps the sentiment has an influence even on the softer sex. The conduct of Mrs. Sill was unusual, and excited surprise; but it is difficult to stem strong passion and it had its way.