Anxious to relieve my parents, in their present reduced circumstances, from the burden of maintaining myself and my boy, I entered with some zest upon my new duties, and each morning found me the centre of a little group of children, with books, work and music; and, to add to this feeling of repose, we ascertained that my husband had shaken the dust of Africa from his feet, and departed for England.
But he left me his curse, and it pleased Providence that it should be fulfilled.
My boy was suddenly stricken with fever—you know how impossible it is in the desert to obtain timely medical aid. When the surgeon from a distant garrison arrived, it was too late to save my precious treasure.
He lay upon his little bed, moaning as he moved his aching head from side to side, his pretty curls all strewed about his pillow. The children would come to him—he recognised them at times; then the large blue eye would grow dim—the angel face would flush and pale by turns—the lips would murmur indistinct sounds, and he would grasp my hand convulsively—“Water, water,” was his perpetual cry—a burning-thirst tormented him. One of his young playmates held the cup to him, my darling drank from it, and tried to raise his weary head and bow his thanks, but sunk back with a cry of anguish.
The few sands in the hour-glass of that little life ran slowly out; the light from the beautiful eyes shone into mine like rays of hope. The children gazed tearfully upon their “pretty Frank;” he would try to smile, and once he spoke. “Mamma,” he whispered, “you will be sorry for poor little Francy—kiss me, mamma; I love you.” I bent down—my hot tears fell upon his face—he felt them not—my little flower faded so gently away, that we knew not the moment his spirit departed.
My cup of sorrow was full to the brim.—With anguish too deep for tears, I performed the last offices of love for my darling. I would fain have followed him to his grave in the burying-ground near the fortress; often it seems to me now that there only could I find rest.
But this is sinful—I should rather pray that my sorrows may be my blessings in futurity. Mr Trail came to me with his gentle words of peace and consolation, but my rebellious heart refused all comfort.