CHAPTER XXI.
CONSECRATION.
As the weeks passed by, bringing no intelligence to New Hope that Paulwas living,--when there was no longer a doubt of his death,--FatherSurplice held a memorial service. It was on Sunday, and all the peoplewere at church. Appropriate for the occasion were the words which heread from the New Testament of the widow of Nain,--how, "as Jesus camenigh to the city, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of hismother, and she was a widow; and when the Lord saw her, he hadcompassion on her, and said, 'Weep not!'"
Consoling and comforting were his own words, which sank deep into thehearts of the stricken people; and though the good man said, "Weep not!"tears dropped from his own eyes, and fell upon the great Bible which layopen before him. It was a sad and solemn service. Though the heart ofthe mother was yearning for her son, yet she could say, "The Lord gave,and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
Mrs. Parker still lived in the little old cottage. The neighbors werevery kind, and she wanted for nothing, for Colonel Dare remembered hispromise. Peaceful was her life. The birds sang cheerful songs; sweet wasthe humming of the bees, fragrant the flowers in the garden, and steadythe flowing of the river; and as she listened to the waterfall, shethought of Paul as standing by the River of Life. How, then, could shemourn for him? Yet she missed him. Sometimes she listened as if to hearhis footsteps coming up the garden walk. Sometimes her eyes filled withtears, as her heart went out to the lonely battle-field where shethought him lying. O, if she could but behold him again,--clasp him inher arms,--and once more lay her hand upon his brow, and bless him witha mother's tenderest love!
But he was gone, and for him she could work no more. His comrades werebearing on the flag, upholding it on bloody fields, fighting as hefought, suffering as he suffered, needing help and comfort and cheerfrom those at home. There was work to be done for them; so through thedays she sat in the old kitchen, knitting and sewing for the soldiers,wishing that she had half a dozen hands instead of two, that she mighthelp them more.
There was one who came to aid her every day,--Azalia, who, in thesilence and seclusion of her chamber, had looked out upon the yellowharvest-fields where the farmers were gathering the first ripe ears ofseed-corn, and had tried to still the wild commotion in her heart byremembering that it was just and right for the Lord of the harvest togather his "choicest grains." Down on the lowlands by the river thenurserymen were selecting their fairest trees, and transplanting them intheir orchards on the pleasant hills beyond the stream. Why, then,should she complain if the kind Father had seen fit to do the same?
It was consoling to take from her bureau drawer, where her keepsakeswere stored, the letters which Paul had written, undo the black ribbonwhich she had tied around the package, and read again and again thatwhich she almost knew by heart. What manly words were there: "Life isworth nothing unless devoted to noble ends. I can see the millions yetto come beckoning me to do my duty for their sake. What answer can Igive them if I falter?"
So read one of the letters. They were words which she could not forget.They were written from the trenches before Vicksburg, when the prospectsof the country were dark and gloomy,--when craven men at home werecrying, "Peace! Peace! Let us have peace at any price!" forgetting thatthere can be no reconcilement between right and wrong. Paul hadsacrificed everything--life itself--for the sake of those who were tocome after him,--for Truth and Justice. She thought of him as asleepbeneath the sod of the battle-field where he fell,--of all that wasmortal lying there, but of his soul as having passed up into heaven,perhaps even then beholding her from the celestial sphere. "What answercan I give to those who come after me?" The question haunted her throughthe waning days and the lonely nights. What could she do? How listlessher life! of how little account! How feeble, forceless, and narrow allher efforts! What sacrifices had she made? None. She had lived forherself alone. Was this all of life? In the silent hours, when allaround were hushed in slumber, her longing soul, with far-reachingsight, looked out upon the coming years, and beheld the openingprospect,--a country saved, a nation redeemed, justice and truthtriumphant, and Peace, with her white wings, brooding over the land!This through sacrifice of blood, of strength, of ease and comfort. Towithhold the sacrifice was to lose all. To her the coming millions werebeckoning as they had beckoned to him. With prayers of consecration shegave herself to the country,--to go wherever duty called, to labor, toendure hardship, and brave scenes which would wring out her heart'sblood,--to face disease and death itself, if need be, to hand down apriceless inheritance to the coming ages.
"You will get sick, my child. You have not strength to be a nurse in thehospital," said her mother, when Azalia told her that she must go andtake care of the soldiers.
"I cannot spare you, my daughter," said her father, tenderly taking herin his arms, and kissing her ruby lips. She was his only child, and heloved her dearly. "I don't think it is your duty to go; and how lonesomethe house would be without my darling!"
And so, knowing that it was her duty to do whatever her parents wished,she tried to be content. But the days dragged wearily. She was everthinking of the soldiers,--thinking through the days and through thenights, till the bright bloom faded from her cheek. Her heart was faraway. Her life was incomplete,--she felt that it was running to waste.
Her father saw that his flower was fading. At last he said, "Go, mydarling, and God be with you."
"I don't think that Judge Adams ought to let Azalia go into thehospital. It isn't a fit place for girls," said Miss Dobb, when sheheard that Azalia was to be a nurse. But, giving no heed to Miss Dobb,with the blessing of her parents following her, she left her pleasanthome, gave up all its ease and comfort, to minister to the sick andwounded, who had fought to save the country.
She went to Washington, and thence to the hospitals at Annapolis. It washard work to stand all day by the side of the sick, bathing theirfevered brows, moistening their parched lips, binding up their bleedingwounds. It was painful to look upon the quivering flesh, torn andmangled by cannon-shot. But she learned to bear it all,--to stand calmlyby, waiting upon the surgeon while he ran his sharp knife into the liveflesh. It was a pleasure to aid him in his work.
Her step was light upon the floor; soothing and tender the touch of herhand. There was no light so sweet and pure as that which beamed from herearnest eyes. The sick waited impatiently for her appearance in themorning, watched her footsteps through the day, thanked her for all shedid, and said, "God bless you!" when she bade them good night. Men whowere in the habit of uttering fearful oaths wept when she talked withthem about their mothers; she wrote their letters, and read to them thewords of affection which came from home. She sang the songs they lovedto hear. It was like wine to the weak. The down-hearted took newcourage, and those who were well enough to be hobbling about oncrutches, who were telling stories of the battles, forgot what they weresaying while listening to her voice. Her presence was noonday, herabsence night. Once, when through long watching and patient waiting herstrength gave way, and the fever raged in her own veins, it was touchingto see their sorrow. The loud-talking spoke in whispers, and walkednoiselessly along the wards, for fear of increasing the pain whichracked her aching head; the sick ones, who missed the touch of hermagic hand, and the sweet music of her voice, and the sunlight of herpresence, whose fevers were raging because she was absent, when thephysician went his rounds in the morning, at noon, and at night,inquired not about themselves, but her. When the fever passed,--when shewas well enough to walk through the wards, and hold for a moment thehands which were stretched out on every side,--it was as if her verypresence had power to heal.
How blessed her work!--to give life and strength; to soothe pain, changesorrow to joy; to sit beside the dying, and talk of the Lamb of God thattaketh away the sin of the world; to wipe the dampness of death fromtheir brows, listen to their last words, and, when the spirit had flown,to close the sightless eyes, and cut from the pale brow a lock of hairfor a fond mother fa
r away, thinking ever of her dying boy.
So the months went by,--autumn to winter, winter to spring, and springto summer.
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