Fifteen Days: An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal

by Mary Lowell Putnam

"A relation?"

"No."

He went on with more assurance.

"Mr. Dudley was here about a month ago. He had a sick boy with him, whom he left here, in a manner under my care. He was to have taken him away to-day. He arrived yesterday afternoon and asked me to send for the boy. I sent for him. Mr. Dudley was expecting you yesterday afternoon, and walked over to the Jefferson to see if there was any mistake.

"The boy was his. It was all regular. He had him of Ruffin, who never does anything unhandsome. I knew all about it. Ruffin was here with a lot of all sorts he had been picking up round the country. He told me to keep the boy pretty close while I had him in charge; and I boarded him outside the town, with an old granny, who didn't know but he was really in hiding. But it was all right. He was a pet servant, spoiled till he grew saucy, and his master swapped him off,—but quietly, the family set so much by the boy. They were to think he'd been enticed away. But it must happen, that, exactly yesterday afternoon, one of the sons came riding up to this very house. He left his horse to the servant he brought with him; then comes up to the door and asks if Mr. Dudley is here; hears that he has walked out, and so walks out too. The first thing he meets, just out here on the square, is this boy, whom he had been fond of, and only over-kind to. The boy checks up, and then, like a fool, turns and runs. The young man calls to him to stop,—and then, to stop or he'd shoot. The boy only runs faster. Dudley was crossing the square, on his way back from the Jefferson, and came up at the moment. He told Orphy to stand still, and, stepping right between him and the levelled pistol, called to the other to hold on. But the man was so mad with rage at seeing his servant flout him and mind another, that he could not stop his hand. I was standing where you are now. I saw Dudley come up, with his even step, just as usual. I heard his voice, clear and cool. I did not look for mischief until I heard the crack of the pistol,—and there he was on the ground! I ran down to him. I was going to have him taken into the house, but he wanted to lie in the open air. We carried him round to the green behind the barn. There was an army-surgeon here, on his way West. He did what he could, but said it was only a question of hours. Dudley knew it. He wanted to keep on till morning, thinking you might come. He lasted till after daybreak. Will you go to him?"

I followed Brompton into the house, along the entry, across the yard, through the great barn. A road led from a gate on a side-street to a shed. Before us, on the other side of the road, was a green field with one great tree. The grass under the tree was flattened.

"Yes, it was there," said Brompton. "He asked to be laid under that tree. The sun was just setting over there. When evening came, we wanted to take him to the house; but no. We let him have his will. It was natural he should want to see the sky while he could."

Brompton led the way to the shed.

What struggles must have rent that strong young breast before the life was dislodged from it! How must the spirit which had known this earth only through innocent joys and sweet affections and lovely hopes,—how must it have clung to its dear mortal dwelling-place! how mourned its dividing ties! how claimed its work, unfinished, unbegun! This grief, this yearning, this reluctance would have left their story on the cold immovable face. With these, bodily torture would have done its part to alter and impair! I followed my guide, foreboding that the dumb anguish in my heart was to be displaced by a fiercer pain.

There was no pain in his presence. In death, as in life, he kept his own gift of blessing. The holy light still lay on the brow; about the lips hovered a smile, last ethereal trace of the ascended spirit. My soul lifted itself to his. I understood the peace that passeth understanding.