WORD of Jamie’s death had spread
with rapidity, as disastrous news always does in a country settlement,
and long before Mr. Rolphe arrived, the home of the widow was filled
with neighbours. The widow stayed in her little parlour, with her
daughters and a few women friends. She was pale and spent, but calm and
resigned. Such comfort as could be administered by her friends was
offered, but these Scottish women well understood Mrs. McNabb’s nature;
they realised that mere words were of no avail, so they contented
themselves by assisting in such little preparations as were necessary
before the arrival of the body.
The moments seemed weighted with
lead, so slowly did they pass, but the sound of wheels was at last
heard, and in a moment all was bustle and suppressed excitement. The
casket was deposited in the little parlour, and soon the lid was removed
and the widow and her children were permitted to view by themselves the
face of the departed.
Mr. Rolphe’s greeting of Mrs.
McNabb when she came to speak to him, after the scene at the casket, was
respectfully sympathetic, and as cordial as the occasion would admit. He
gazed earnestly into her pale, fine face, and as he took her hands in
his own and pressed them warmly, he yielded to what appeared to be an
impulse of the moment, and bending, reverently kissed her brow.
"I am honoured," he said, "in
meeting the mother of such sons. I have brought your last born home to
you, and although his voice is stilled, the work he did will live after
him. Many a home in New York is blessing his name; for under Heaven he
was permitted to bring light and hope to many weary mothers’ hearts and
succour to many famishing children. Why this promising life should be
cut off in the midst of such great usefulness and necessity is one of
those mysteries we are not permitted to penetrate."
Taking her hand, he led her
reverently to a seat, and placing himself beside her, related to the
mother the story of her son’s death.
"No doubt," he began, "you knew of
his devotion to the rescue work among the saloons of our city. The lad
had an inveterate hatred of the drink traffic, and I think I never knew
any one so terribly in earnest in a desire to see it utterly
annihilated. He often told me that it was the pictures of want, squalor,
and misery among the unfortunate wives and children of drink’s victims
that impelled him. And when Jamie enlisted in any cause he was a real
force and a valiant soldier.
"I am not going to recount the
work he did," continued Mr. Rolphe. "You will hear all about that from
lips other than mine, for one of the men who established the drunkard’s
rescue home on Broad Street, in connection with which Jamie cooperated,
will be here, and if you agree, will preach the boy’s funeral sermon. He
has long desired to visit some friends in Canada, and so took the
present opportunity of coming. He will tell you all about your son’s
work. I must confine myself to telling you of the manner in which he met
his death.
"There was a family named Sheppard
living down on one of the streets that lead to the river, which Jamie
had become intensely interested in, for the mother was a Canadian, and
belonged to a good family in Montreal. She had four interesting
children, but the dark shadow caused by drink had entered the home.
Sheppard had fallen from a good social position to be a poor despised
drunkard. Naturally the family was speedily reduced to the direst want,
and it was only by plying the needle, while her children sold
newspapers, that it was possible to keep body and soul together. This
was the way Jamie first knew about Sheppard; he saw him reeling along
the street one night, and Jamie, learning his address from a policeman,
took him home and sat with him and his wife, until the former’s stupor
had passed, when he learned all their sad history.
"Well, your son had a terrible
time with poor Sheppard, and had he not possessed the patience of Job,
he would have relinquished the task of reform long ago. But he stuck
manfully to the work, and every time the poor drunkard would fall, Jamie
would hasten to the rescue and endeavour to stand him upon his feet
again. He told me he could not endure the hopeless expression that would
flit across Mrs. Sheppard’s face, whenever he exhibited the least
symptom of despair in regard to her husband’s case. ‘For he is my
husband, after all,’ she would say to him, ‘and I can’t give him up.’
And so Jamie persevered.
"Last Friday night, as he was
quitting the railway office, one of Sheppard’s children, very much
excited, accosted him and said her mother wanted to see him at once
about the father, and would he please lose no time. Jamie hurried to
Sheppard’s apartments, and was met at the door by the unhappy woman, who
told him that her husband was in a terrible condition at the saloon
around the corner.
"Jamie hurried to the place,
followed by Mrs. Sheppard. He entered the grogshop, while the woman
remained at the door. A number of brawling, intoxicated men were
quarrelling as he went in, while upon the floor lay poor Sheppard,
helplessly drunk. One of the men gave him a kick, telling him to get up.
"Jamie expostulated with him, and
was immediately set upon by the entire semi-inebriated gang. He would
have succeeded in extricating himself but for the interference of the
landlord, who, because of Jamie’s notoriety as an enemy of the saloon,
had conceived a deep-seated aversion to him. Passing from behind the bar
to the room where the scuffle was going on, he directed the operations
of the inebriates that were attacking the young man. One of these — a
foreigner— fired a pistol which he kept concealed in his coat. The aim
was deadly; and poor Jamie fell.
"A messenger from his bedside
reached me two hours after the crime, and I hurried to obey the summons.
I found him calm and resigned. The surgeon had given him to understand
that he could not recover, although he might linger for some hours. I
remained with him till the end came, which was not until ten o’clock the
next morning. His mind never wandered for a moment, and when he felt
that the end was at hand, he asked me to turn him on his right side, so
that he might take a last look at the sun. He complained of thirst
during his last hours, and often said that if he could just stoop down
at the old spring on the farm and drink a long, cooling draught, he
could die easily. He talked about you all, and said how much he would
like to live, because he wanted to do something in life to make his
mother proud of him."
"My poor boy, my noble Jamie!"
sobbed the widow, burying her face in her hands.
"Yes," went on Mr. Rolphe, "and he
recalled many incidents connected with his life on the farm. After he
had made me write down a score of messages to his old friends and
schoolmates in the settlement, which I promised to deliver, he closed
his eyes for a time and appeared to rest. When he opened them again, he
seemed to wonder for a moment where he was. Then, coming to himself, he
said there was one thing upon his mind, about which he had hesitated to
speak.
"‘Speak freely to me, my boy,’ I
said. Then he told me he had always feared the loneliness of a cemetery;
and he asked that he be buried beneath his favourite apple-tree, at the
foot of the old orchard. He wanted to be near the brook and the animals
he loved so well, and he wanted to be near his brothers and sisters. I
promised him that his wish should be carried out. He grew weaker very
rapidly, and soon lapsed into unconsciousness. But he opened his eyes at
length. I had lifted the window, and the curtain being up, the morning
sun was streaming into the room. When he recognised it, he smiled, and
whispering a word about the glory of the eternal sunshine, he closed his
eyes and was gone."
And so we buried Jamie beneath his
favourite apple-tree at the foot of the orchard. The brook runs close to
his humble sepulchre, murmuring its soft music. The memory of Jamie has
faded from the minds of most of those who knew him in childhood, but the
brook has not forgotten him, nor will it ever forget him. He asked for
its companionship, and until the Heavens are rolled up that
companionship will not be withheld.
* * * * * * * * *
