On that evening Mrs. Hawker wrote to his sister, Mrs. Kingdon, a very aged lady at Holsworthy, to tell her that her brother had had a stroke, and that the medical attendant had “forbid him doing any duty if he goes back to Morwenstow.... Of course the knowledge that he can be no longer of use at Morwenstow is a terrible blow to his mind.” She also requested Mrs. Kingdon to keep his sickness a profound secret from every one. At Whitstone he was in vain expected, day after day, for lunch. Nor were his brother and niece at Boscastle aware that his illness was serious, and that life was ebbing fast away, till all was over.
Mr. Claud Hawker informed me that even on that Tuesday, when he learned that he must not take duty again in his loved church, he was restless to be off, and would not have the things unpacked. On that day one of the arteries of the left arm with the pulse had stopped. On Wednesday the companion of Mrs. Hawker, who helped to nurse him, was satisfied that he knew her, and seemed to be pleased with her attentions. His wife ministered to him with the most devoted tenderness, and would allow no hired nurse near him, nor even one of the servants of the house to invade the room, so jealous is love of lavishing all its powers on the object of affection. On Thursday his pulse was weaker, and consciousness scarcely manifested itself. His solicitor from Stratton had been telegraphed for, and arrived on that day: he was informed by Mrs. Hawker that her husband was quite unconscious, and not fit to see any one. Understanding that there was no chance of Mr. Hawker recovering sufficiently to discuss final arrangements of money affairs, and that it was therefore useless to stay in Plymouth, he returned to Stratton.
Mrs. Hawker and her friend, finding themselves unable to raise the sick man in bed, sent for his servant-man from Morwenstow; and he arrived on Friday. His master recognised him, and gave tokens of pleasure at seeing him at his side. The same evening he knew the medical man who attended him, and said a word or two to him in a faint whisper; but his brain was in part paralysed, and he hovered between consciousness and torpor, like a flickering flame, or the state of a man between sleeping and waking.
On Saturday morning Mrs. Hawker informed him that she was going to send for the Roman Catholic Canon Mansfield to see him. She believed that he seemed pleased; and, as so often happens shortly before death, a slight rally appeared to have taken place. According to her statement she sent for the priest at his request. Mrs. Hawker, herself, was not, however, received into the Roman Catholic communion till after his death.
During the day he murmured familiar psalms and the “Te Deum.”[[45]]
In the evening at half-past eight o’clock he was visited. He was in a comatose condition; and, if able to recognise his visitor, it was only that the recognition might fade away instantaneously, and he lapsed again into a condition of torpor.
It was then clear that Mr. Hawker had not many hours to live. At ten o’clock at night Canon Mansfield was introduced into the dying man’s chamber; and the sacraments of baptism, penance, extreme unction and communion, four in all, were administered in succession.
During the night his groans were very distressing, and seemed to indicate that he was in great suffering. At eight o’clock next morning he was lifted up in his bed to take a cup of tea, with bread sopped in it. A change passed over his face, and he was laid gently back on the pillow, when his spirit fled.
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last!