LETTER LXV.
From Mr. Paget to Capt. Percival Flint.
(Enclosed in the preceding.)
DEAR SIR, Kingston, Jamaica, &c.
The melancholy contents of this letter will sufficiently account for its being written by a stranger to you. The duty assigned to me will, however, at once show me the friend of Mr. Flint, and the painful witness of the distress, into which all his family are plunged.
The sudden death of Mr. Flamall, his uncle, is an event, which, under the common circumstances of human life, would require precaution, in the communication of it at Farefield Hall. But my poor friend has to dread every thing, lest the catastrophe of his uncle’s end, should reach his mother through the channel of the public papers. He conjures you to consult his brother Malcolm in those measures which are necessary to prevent this blow reaching the hall too suddenly for his mother’s strength. Before I begin the detail of those particulars, which you will naturally wish to have before you, permit me to have the satisfaction of assuring you, that my patient, and I may add my dearest friend, Philip Flint, is in a degree recovered from the illness brought on by the first agitation of his spirits; his amiable wife is well, and as yet a stranger to the shocking tale. I will now begin my melancholy task.
The arrival of a large vessel in this port, from New York, and commanded by a Captain Nelson, may be assigned as one of those cases which have produced the event before me. In consequence of Mr. Flamall’s having a concern in the cargo, he was induced to quit his retirement; and to come to the Creek plantation, near this place. To this circumstance I was a stranger, however, having, as Mr. Flint’s friend, dropped a man, generally condemned for his inflexibility; and at present forgotten by that society, which for some time he had so carefully, and gloomily avoided.
I happened to be at the general rendezvous, a coffee-house here, when a merchant, of the name of Gilpin, an intimate friend of mine, entered, with Captain Nelson, the newly arrived stranger. I was presented to him by my friend: and, in a way, which the captain and myself both appeared to understand. I found, that Mr. Gilpin had long known this gentleman; and in a few minutes I thought I had long known him myself, from the frankness of his manner. We were settling our plan for dining together; when one of the waiters told Mr. Nelson, that “Mr. Flamall was on horseback at the door, and wished to speak to him for a minute.” The captain instantly obeyed the summons, and, in a few minutes, he returned to the room, and I saw Flamall pass the window. I remarked to some one near me, that he looked ill and dejected. The captain, was now disturbed by a more serious business. Some one in the passage called loudly for assistance; and the captain was told, that “his steward was in the agonies of death in the corridor.” We flew to the spot; and, as a medical man, it became my duty to succour the sick one. He had been suddenly surprised, by the bursting of a large blood vessel, and the case was critical and justly alarming. I was, however, struck by the uncommon interest which the captain appeared to take in the poor man’s preservation. Every accommodation the house could afford was speedily procured; and I saw my patient in a spacious bedroom, with a negro woman for his attendant, whom I knew was a good nurse. Some abatement of the hæmorrhage, having succeeded to bleeding in the arm, and other remedies, I left him to his repose; and joined my friends at Mr. Gilpin’s, whose house was not remote from my patient. Captain Nelson listened to my account of him with the utmost anxiety. “I would give half I am worth,” said he, grasping my hand, “to save this man.” This complaint came on in a moment, they tell me: he was apparently well when I passed him; and that was not five minutes before you saw him; those near him say it was a fit; for they heard him groan, and he rose from his seat, as if to seek air, when he fell back and the blood gushed from his mouth. I saw, in this account, his hopes of the man’s recovery; which I could not encourage, and wished not to depress.
After dinner he attended me to visit him. “I have known this man many years,” said he. “I have no doubt of his having been unfortunate; his education and manners speak the gentleman: his conduct and industry the honest man. His reserve and dejection have imposed on me a respect for his misfortunes; and to this hour I only know, that his name is Charles, and that he is a very extraordinary man; for his fidelity to me, has not lessened his influence with my people; who all love him as their best friend. To-morrow morning, I shall bring his boy on shore to be with him.” “Then he has a son?” observed I. “One of his adoption,” answered he; “and his motives for so doing, will give you his character. I had lost sight of him for some years, having left him in London. In his passage from thence to New York, where, as it appears, he was as poor as when I first saw him, he was a common seaman: one of the crew, a native of New York fell sick and died on the passage, recommending to Charles his aged mother, and his child, this boy. He promised to take care of them, and he kept his word; for taking up his abode in the old woman’s miserable hovel, he supported the family by his labour. In this situation, I again met him. The death of the woman, and my offer to take the boy with him, induced him to accept the post of ship steward on board my ship; where he has been several years. You will judge of him as a schoolmaster, when you see George.” “Poor lad!” continued the captain, “he will break his heart; but I will be his friend.”
I returned to my patient, but did not allow him to speak; he was told that his George would be with him in the morning, and his hand only was offered to the captain.
On entering the room the following day, I found George at his post. The patient was raised by his pillows; and one of the finest youths, my eyes ever beheld, filled the space they had left. He was bending over the sick man, in an attitude convenient for his head to rest on the lad’s shoulder, who was, as I judged, between fifteen and sixteen, and in the full vigour of youth. He raised his penetrating large black eyes to my face, whilst I made my enquiries of the woman, relative to the condition of his father. Her replies were not unfavourable; and never shall I forget the look of gratitude I then received! But overcome by his sensibility, he wept most bitterly, and hid his face. Captain Nelson entered at this moment. “Why, how is this, my boy,” cried he endeavouring to hide his feelings, “Did you not promise to have a good heart! The doctor will soon set us all to rights again; so have courage.” The doctor, my dear Sir, was not so sanguine; but recommending silence and repose took his leave: George assuring me, that he would watch his father’s eyes, and those would tell him what he wanted. In the evening I was with him again. All was in order, and a silence, like death, prevailed in the room. George was reading a French Telemachus; the patient was dosing; and the negro woman was dismissed for some hours of needful rest. The next day I had hopes, that my patient had a chance; but the following morning I found, to my surprise, only the nurse with him. On enquiry, I learned from her, that his father had sent him with a letter to the Creek plantation. “Why did you not find a porter?” asked I. “Because he said,” answered she, in a low whisper, “he could not die contented, unless he knew that it was delivered to Mr. Flamall.” Though by no means pleased with this exertion of writing, I said but little to the sick man, contenting myself with his answer. “I shall write no more.” I prolonged my stay, partly to supply nurse’s absence, whom I sent for something needful, and partly to gratify my curiosity. The sick man’s person was calculated to excite it. His physiognomy was noble; his features regular; dark blue eyes, which, though sunk and dimmed by his condition, were expressive of manly fortitude; his hair was of a light chestnut colour, but in places, striped with the signs of age, for it was even changed to nearly white; he was extremely fair; and the paleness of death was relieved, by a lingering colour in his lips. Observing the beauty of his teeth, I asked him his age. He replied, that he believed he was turned of fifty. He was neatly dressed in a blue and white cotton waistcoat and trowsers; and reclined on the outside of the matrass. A statuary would not have wished for a more perfect model of the human form! He was in height, I should think, within six feet. I observed to him, that his chest was not made to oppress his lungs; and that I flattered myself, the malady which had so suddenly overtaken him, might have for its course, a less dangerous source. He smiled, and said, he had never had any tendency to consumptive symptoms; nor did he ever attribute his want of health to a weak constitution. At this instant George entered, covered with dust, and exhausted by heat and fatigue. He approached the bed, and said, “I have seen Mr. Flamall, and given your letter into his own hand.” “It is well:” replied my patient, with an emotion that alarmed me; for I was still feeling the pulse, and those would have betrayed it, without the suffusion which passed his cheek. I turned towards George, and after lecturing him with kindness, for his imprudent speed, I insisted on his leaving the room, and laying down for some hours. A sign, from his father which he understood, made him docile, and he retired. Soon after I left the sick room, cautioning the nurse, neither to admit Mr. Flamall nor any message from him or others to reach her charge; and taking some sherbet in my hand, I sought George’s little room. He had obeyed me, and had taken off his clothes. I told him the consequences which would result from any exertion or surprise to his father; warning him to be on the watch. He said, he did not believe his father expected either a visit, or an answer from the gentleman in question. He had told him not to wait for any orders; and had appeared only anxious, that his own letter should reach him safely.