disease of the heart.
Certainly the old invalid could not have found a more suitable place sofar as rest and quiet were concerned. The season had early given suchlittle promise that several men of the Point betook themselveselsewhere; and the aged visitor had two or three vacant cabins fromamong which to select a dwelling-place. He chose to occupy the mostremote of all, which Carmen furnished for him with a cool moss bed andsome necessary furniture,--including a big wooden rocking-chair. Itseemed to him very comfortable thus. He took his meals with thefamily, spent most of the day in his own quarters, spoke very little,and lived so unobtrusively and inconspicuously that his presence in thesettlement was felt scarcely more than that of some dumbcreature,--some domestic animal,--some humble pet whose relation to thefamily is only fully comprehended after it has failed to appear forseveral days in its accustomed place of patient waiting,--and we knowthat it is dead.
IV.
Persistently and furiously, at half-past two o'clock of an Augustmorning, Sparicio rang Dr. La Brierre's night-bell. He had fiftydollars in his pocket, and a letter to deliver. He was to earn anotherfifty dollars--deposited in Feliu's hands,--by bringing the Doctor toViosca's Point. He had risked his life for that money,--and wasterribly in earnest.
Julien descended in his under-clothing, and opened the letter by thelight of the hall lamp. It enclosed a check for a larger fee than hehad ever before received, and contained an urgent request that he wouldat once accompany Sparicio to Viosca's Point,--as the sender was inhourly danger of death. The letter, penned in a long, quavering hand,was signed,--"Henry Edwards."
His father's dear old friend! Julien could not refuse to go,--thoughhe feared it was a hopeless case. Angina pectoris,--and a third attackat seventy years of age! Would it even be possible to reach thesufferer's bedside in time? "Due giorno,--con vento,"--said Sparicio.Still, he must go; and at once. It was Friday morning;--might reachthe Point Saturday night, with a good wind ... He roused hishousekeeper, gave all needful instructions, prepared his littlemedicine-chest;--and long before the first rose-gold fire of day hadflashed to the city spires, he was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion inthe tiny cabin of a fishing-sloop.
... For eleven years Julien had devoted himself, heart and soul, to theexercise of that profession he had first studied rather as a politeaccomplishment than as a future calling. In the unselfish pursuit ofduty he had found the only possible consolation for his irreparableloss; and when the war came to sweep away his wealth, he entered thestruggle valorously, not to strive against men, but to use his scienceagainst death. After the passing of that huge shock, which left allthe imposing and splendid fabric of Southern feudalism wrecked forever,his profession stood him in good stead;--he found himself not only ableto supply those personal wants he cared to satisfy, but also toalleviate the misery of many whom he had known in days ofopulence;--the princely misery that never doffed its smiling mask,though living in secret, from week to week, on bread and orange-leaftea;--the misery that affected condescension in accepting an invitationto dine,--staring at the face of a watch (refused by the Mont-de-Piete)with eyes half blinded by starvation;--the misery which could affordbut one robe for three marriageable daughters,--one plain dress to beworn in turn by each of them, on visiting days;--the prettymisery--young, brave, sweet,--asking for a "treat" of cakes toojocosely to have its asking answered,--laughing and coquetting with itswell-fed wooers, and crying for hunger after they were gone. Often andoften, his heart had pleaded against his purse for such as these, andwon its case in the silent courts of Self. But ever mysteriously thegift came,--sometimes as if from the hand of a former slave; sometimesas from a remorseful creditor, ashamed to write his name. Only yellowVictorine knew; but the Doctor's housekeeper never opened thosesphinx-lips of hers, until years after the Doctor's name haddisappeared from the City Directory...
He had grown quite thin,--a little gray. The epidemic had burthenedhim with responsibilities too multifarious and ponderous for hisslender strength to bear. The continual nervous strain of abnormallyprotracted duty, the perpetual interruption of sleep, had almostprostrated even his will. Now he only hoped that, during this briefabsence from the city, he might find renewed strength to do histerrible task.
Mosquitoes bit savagely; and the heat became thicker;--and there wasyet no wind. Sparicio and his hired boy Carmelo had been walkingbackward and forward for hours overhead,--urging the vessel yard byyard, with long poles, through the slime of canals and bayous. Withevery heavy push, the weary boy would sigh out,--"Santo Antonio!--SantoAntonio!" Sullen Sparicio himself at last burst into vociferations ofill-humor:--"Santo Antonio?--Ah! santissimu e santu diavulu! ...Sacramentu paescite vegnu un asidente!--malidittu lu Signuri!" Allthrough the morning they walked and pushed, trudged and sighed andswore; and the minutes dragged by more wearily than the shuffling oftheir feet. "Managgia Cristo co tutta a croce!" ... "Santissimu esantu diavulu!" ...
But as they reached at last the first of the broad bright lakes, theheat lifted, the breeze leaped up, the loose sail flapped and filled;and, bending graciously as a skater, the old San Marco began to shootin a straight line over the blue flood. Then, while the boy sat at thetiller, Sparicio lighted his tiny charcoal furnace below, and prepareda simple meal,--delicious yellow macaroni, flavored with goats' cheese;some fried fish, that smelled appetizingly; and rich black coffee, ofOriental fragrance and thickness. Julien ate a little, and lay down tosleep again. This time his rest was undisturbed by the mosquitoes; andwhen he woke, in the cooling evening, he felt almost refreshed. TheSan Marco was flying into Barataria Bay. Already the lantern in thelighthouse tower had begun to glow like a little moon; and right on therim of the sea, a vast and vermilion sun seemed to rest his chin. Graypelicans came flapping around the mast;--sea-birds sped hurtling by,their white bosoms rose-flushed by the western glow ... AgainSparicio's little furnace was at work,--more fish, more macaroni, moreblack coffee; also a square-shouldered bottle of gin made itsappearance. Julien ate less sparingly at this second meal; and smokeda long time on deck with Sparicio, who suddenly became verygood-humored, and chatted volubly in bad Spanish, and in much worseEnglish. Then while the boy took a few hours' sleep, the Doctor helpeddelightedly in maneuvering the little vessel. He had been a goodyachtsman in other years; and Sparicio declared he would make a goodfisherman. By midnight the San Marco began to run with a long,swinging gait;--she had reached deep water. Julien slept soundly; thesteady rocking of the sloop seemed to soothe his nerves.
--"After all," he thought to himself, as he rose from his little bunknext morning,--"something like this is just what I needed." ... Thepleasant scent of hot coffee greeted him;--Carmelo was handing him thetin cup containing it, down through the hatchway. After drinking it hefelt really hungry;--he ate more macaroni than he had ever eatenbefore. Then, while Sparicio slept, he aided Carmelo; and during themiddle of the day he rested again. He had not had so muchuninterrupted repose for many a week. He fancied he could feel himselfgetting strong. At supper-time it seemed to him he could not getenough to eat,--although there was plenty for everybody.
All day long there had been exactly the same wave-crease distorting thewhite shadow of the San Marco's sail upon the blue water;--all day longthey had been skimming over the liquid level of a world so jewel-bluethat the low green ribbon-strips of marsh land, the far-off fleeinglines of pine-yellow sand beach, seemed flaws or breaks in theperfected color of the universe;--all day long had the cloudless skyrevealed through all its exquisite transparency that inexpressibletenderness which no painter and no poet can ever reimage,--thatunutterable sweetness which no art of man may ever shadow forth, andwhich none may ever comprehend,--though we feel it to be in somestrange way akin to the luminous and unspeakable charm that makes uswonder at the eyes of a woman when she loves.
Evening came; and the great dominant celestial tone deepened;--thecircling horizon filled with ghostly tints,--spectral greens and grays,and pearl-lights and fish-colors ... Carmelo, as he cr
ouched at thetiller, was singing, in a low, clear alto, some tristful little melody.Over the sea, behind them, lay, black-stretching, a long low arm ofisland-shore;--before them flamed the splendor of sun-death; they weresailing into a mighty glory,--into a vast and awful light of gold.
Shading his vision with his fingers, Sparicio pointed to the long leanlimb of land from which they were fleeing, and said to La Brierre:--
--"Look-a, Doct-a! Last-a Islan'!"
Julien knew it;--he only nodded his head in reply, and looked the otherway,--into the glory of God. Then, wishing to divert the fisherman'sattention to another theme, he asked what was Carmelo singing.Sparicio at once shouted to the lad:--
--"Ha! ... ho! Carmelo!--Santu diavulu! ... Sing-a loud-a! Doct-alik-a! Sing-a! sing!" .... "He sing-a nicee,"--added the
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