Chapter 2

"You brute! you fiend! ghoul! or whatever kind of demon you call yourself, begone! in the name of Heaven, begone!" exclaimed the heroic girl, her eyes flashing fire, and her whole frame trembling with disgust and horror.

Her demeanor cowed the fellow, and he actually cringed as he backed out at the door. But on the sidewalk he seemed to recover his coolness, or at least he assumed to, for stepping in again, he exclaimed:

"Mind, I'll be round in the mornin', and I don't want no gum games! I've got too much to do on my hands now."

Agnes paid no heed to him at all, but hastening back to her patients, she recommenced her nursing care of them.

There was no fire, and in fact none was needed, except for cooking and preparing the one or two simple remedies which Agnes used in connection with the treatment of the sick victims, and which she felt assured would not interfere with the medicine they were taking.

In truth, during the whole epidemic, it seemed as though mere medicine was of no avail whatever, and that really the methods and means used by the natives, independent of the doctors, did all the good that was done.

First, she got out of the store some mackerel and bound them, just as they came out of the barrel, brine and all, to the soles of the feet of both the mother and children.

This simple remedy acted like a charm, for in about three hours the fever began to break. Agnes put on fresh mackerel as before, removing the first ones, which, startling as it may seem, were perfectly putrid, though reeking with the strong salt brine when she applied them.

By nine o'clock that night the noble young woman had the inexpressible delight of seeing her poor patients so far changed for the better as to be completely out of danger.

On the next morning, true to his promise, the dead-wagon man came around. He was one of those in-bred wicked spirits which take delight in hating everything and everybody good and beautiful; just as the Greek peasant hated Aristides, and voted for his banishment, because he was surnamed the "good." This fellow already hated Agnes, and his ugly face was contorted with a hideous grin, as he thrust himself in at the store door and exclaimed:

"Hallo! where's them dead 'uns? fetch 'em out!"

Agnes had not expected him to put his threat of coming the next morning into execution. She was therefore somewhat taken aback on beholding him.

But she was a girl of steady, powerful nerves, and cool temper, and the instant she saw that the fellow had made up his mind to behave the way he did merely to vex and harass her, she made up her mind to "settle him off."

Paying no heed therefore to what he said, Agnes quietly put on her hat and shawl took her umbrella in her hand, and stepping directly up to the brutal wretch said, in a determined tone of voice:

"Come along with me; I intend to give you such a lesson that you will not forget in a hurry. You have given me impudence enough for the rest of your life. You have got to go back now with me to the office of the Superintendent, where I will have you discharged and then punished as you deserve."

Perhaps thoughts of dark and cruel acts he had already been guilty of, flashed across his mind, and made him tremble for the consequences to himself. He evidently believed that Agnes knew more about him than he thought. Or perhaps it was that mysterious influence which a positive mind in motion--like Miss Arnold's--wields over a vacillating temperament like the dead-wagon driver's.

Whichever of these causes it was, could of course never be positively known, but, like a flash of lightning, the fellow changed his insolent, braggart manner to one of the most contemptible, cringing cowardice.

"Don't, Missus, don't! Ef I've 'sulted yer, 'pon my dirty soul I'll beg yer double-barrelled pardon. Please don't yer go to complainin' on me. For ef I'd lose my place, my wife and young 'uns 'ud starve to death in no time. I oughter knowed better then to sass you anyhow, when I seed how good and purty ye wuz!"

"Please don't leave us! don't leave us, Miss Agnes, for you've been our Good Angel. You have saved our lives!" piteously exclaimed Mrs. Burton and her children in chorus at this moment, fearful that their nurse was really going away, and dreading if she did, that they would all be carried off either to the cemetery or some other dreadful place.

"Now, please go back, and don't go a tellin' on me fur a sassin yer. I oughter to be ashamed; and I am double-barrelled ashamed. An' ef you'll jest say you'll furgiv' me, I'll go down on my knees. There now, Miss Agony, ain't that 'nuff? Ef it ain't, why I'll do whatever you say fur me to do."

The fellow pulled off his hat, and set himself in such a ludicrously woebegone attitude, that Miss Arnold had great difficulty in restraining herself from laughing outright. She managed, however, to keep a straight face, and replied:

"Well, this time I will allow it to pass; but never let me hear of such conduct again, or I will not be so lenient."

"Thank you, missus; and may I ask you a queshun?"

"Yes."

"I want ter ask you, how yer kep' them there fel's from a dyin'? 'Cause when they're bin tuk like they wuz tuk yer could jest bet every muel in the kerral that they'd peg out in twenty-seven hours at furthest."

"God did it, not I," replied Agnes.

"Don't call me sassin' yer, agin, Miss Agony, but that ain't so; 'cause thar's nuthin' 'll fetch 'em, when they're tuk the way they wuz tuk. It's magic done it, nuthin' else!"

"Well, in case you should feel the headache, sick stomach, and chill coming on at any time, or fall in with any person suffering that way, remember the following recipe. Take out your book again and put it down."

"Yes, Miss Agony, willin'."

The fellow produced his book and pencil, and holding the former flat up against the door, wrote at Miss Arnold's dictation:

"Put the feet immediately into hot and very strong mustard water--put in plenty of mustard. Quickly take a strong emetic of ipecac or mustard water. Go to bed immediately, and send for the doctor. While waiting for the doctor, get salt mackerel, directly out of the brine, and bind them to the soles of the feet. And the moment the patient craves any particular article of food or drink, do not hesitate to give it _moderately_. If mackerel cannot be obtained, use strong raw onions or garlic. In a few hours the mackerel will most likely become putrid; if so, remove them, and apply others."

"Golly! Golly! I knowed it was magic--somethin' like that, and not medicine at all!" exclaimed the fellow, nodding his head to himself.

"Let me look at your book, to see if you have it correctly written," said Agnes, stepping partially behind the driver.

"Lor' bless you, Miss Agony!" he exclaimed, "you'd never be able to read my writin'. Hold on, an' I'll read fur you myself, an' then yer ken tell me ef I'm wrong."

As Agnes still manifested a desire to look at the book, however, he held it for her inspection. But with the exception of here and there a small word, like _a_ or _the_, she could not decipher any of the scrawl. So she expressed her desire to hear it read.

The fellow promptly read it all off without a single mistake, much to the astonishment of Miss Arnold.

"Is that all straight, hey, Miss Agony?" asked he, with a comical expression of mingled pride and curiosity running over his countenance.

"Yes," replied Agnes; "and," added she, "my name is not what you call it, but Agnes Arnold."

"Well, now, don't think I wuz callin' yer that fur sass, Missus Arnold, for I wuz not. I'll hurry along now, for I've got a heap to do this mornin'. Things is a gittin' wuss an' wuss every day."

"I hope they will soon mend," said Agnes, fervently; "good day."

"Good-by, Missus Arnold, an' I hope God'll take best care uv you, anyhow," answered the driver.

"I trust in Him always, and you should also put your faith in Him. He is strong to save."

With this admonition to her rough companion, Agnes turned back into the rear room, and removing her hat and shawl, set herself about kindling a fire to prepare some little nourishment for her sick charges.

As the Burtons happened to keep a grocery store, she had no difficulty in selecting material fitted for her object.

They all continued on the mend until the succeeding day, when the physician having that district in charge made them a visit. He was completely astonished upon finding how favorably the surviving cases had turned out, and he held quite a long conversation with Agnes in regard to what she had done, after which he remarked:

"Indeed, Miss Arnold, I must confess to you that I feel disposed to credit these recoveries entirely to your faithful and intelligent nursing. For to tell you the truth, the modes of treatment which we physicians have hitherto used in cases showing the symptoms that these did, has failed in nearly eighty per cent. of every hundred. But it is true enough sometimes, that many of these 'grandmother remedies' as we call them, are more efficacious than any others."

"This is not a grandmother's remedy, Doctor," smilingly replied Agnus. "It was told to me some years ago in New Orleans."

She here concisely narrated to him the history of her experience when she helped to nurse her father in the latter city.

"Who was it told you, Miss Arnold? was it Dr. Robinson? He was noted about that period for his success in treating bad cases of the fever.

"No, sir, it was a Spanish gentleman, who had lived many years in Havana. Once in Vera Cruz he took the vomito, and was saved by this treatment.

"Most astonishing!" mused the doctor. "I shall not fail to try it."

"I have another remedy which is equally efficient in small-pox, Doctor, that I got from the same gentleman. You might find it useful at some time, and I assure you I have never known it to fail even in the worst cases.

"Thank you, I will accept it with pleasure."

Miss Arnold repeated the following, and the doctor took it carefully down in his note book:

"As soon as the headache comes, and the chill down the back, and the stomach becomes sick, and the limbs begin to ache, clear the stomach with a strong emetic, put the feet in hot mustard water several times during the next twelve hours. Talk very often and encouragingly to the patient as the insanity begins to show itself. As soon as the thirst sets in, give frequently alternate small drinks of cold Indian meal gruel--no butter in the gruel--and moderately large drinks of the best plain black tea, _hot_, without milk or sugar. Occasionally the gruel may be changed and made of oatmeal, and the tea have a bit of toasted bread in it. As the disorder goes through its course, and a craving sets in, humor this at once with moderate supplies of what is craved. Air the room twice or three times each day, taking great care to cover up the patient completely, head and all, while the doors and windows are open. Keep the room dark, and at an even temperature. Pat the face, arms, &c., with warm barley water, and then with a feather oil the whole surface with sweet oil. This prevents all itching and pitting, or marks."

"Truly a plain and simple remedy," remarked the doctor, as he put away his book, "I shall not fail to try it also, if I should ever come across any cases of variola."

"And you may depend on it, Doctor," said Agnes, "that it will never fail when properly and intelligently carried out."

As he turned to leave, the physician said:

"Miss Arnold, please stay here until I send you a note or a messenger, which I will do within an hour or an hour and a half."

A STRANGE INCIDENT.

In less than the specified time a man came back from the doctor to inform Miss Arnold that her services were needed in a house about two squares away from there, and that he would show her the place. Her little trunk was already packed, her shawl and hat donned, when the messenger arrived. But she found it very difficult to get away from the Burtons. These poor, grateful people could not bear to part with her whom they almost worshipped as their preserver. Children and mother pleaded almost with anguish for her to stay with them.

"I would like to remain, Mrs. Burton," replied Agnes, "but there are hundreds being stricken down every hour around us, who have no one to wait upon them, and who may perish before help can reach them. You and these darlings are now comparatively safe, while others just taken are in deadly peril."

Her kind remonstrance had its effect, and the Burtons now consented to let her go.

All kissed her most fondly, bade her good-by, and called down the choicest blessings of Heaven upon her head.

"God bless you, and keep you safe from the horrible fever!" were the words still ringing in her ears, as the heroic and devoted girl followed the doctor's man out into the street.

It was not raining now, but the murky, mist-laden atmosphere was rendered like a damp, choking, heavy pall of gloom by the dense volumes of pitch and tar-smoke with which it seemed to be perfectly soaked, as a sponge is with water. It caused Agnes to cough violently and continuously until she arrived at her new destination, which was a private dwelling-house, apparently the abode of some one belonging to the middle class of society.

"This is the place, Miss Arnold," said the man, "a young lady was taken early this morning while she was visiting in the house, and a few hours ago a Sister of Mercy, who was sent in to nurse her, went down sick. And they're both in bed together."

Agnes could not account for it, but the moment she heard mention of the Sister of Charity, a feeling came over her that it must be one of the three with whom she had come hither in the cars.

Upon reaching the house, she found that her impression was correct. Sure enough, tossing in agony and delirium upon the bed, was Sister Theresa. By some mistake, a male nurse had also been sent to this house, of which circumstance Agnes, however, was very glad, as his services were very valuable until she had administered her first simple remedies to the two patients.

As soon as she could, she thanked the man, and informed him that she could now get along without him, and that he had better report to the doctor for assignment to some other house.

He left, and Agnes now commenced her task of peril and unceasing labor.

The lady whom Sister Theresa had come to nurse was comparatively quiet. But, strange as it may seem, Theresa herself was extremely violent at intervals. Yet when in her right mind, she was the sweetest and gentlest of her sex. Alas! how unlike her natural self was she, now that reason was dethroned.

All through the long, long, dreary night, Agnes never once closed her eyes. All night long, too, she never flagged in her devoted attention to her patients. Minute by minute, instant by instant, inch by inch, as it were, she battled with the demon fever that held so fiercely the two sick women in his horrible grasp.

Ah, noble, noble Agnes, when thy soul appears on that final day before God's judgment-seat on high, how thrice enviable will be thy reward! What hymns of glorious praise shall heaven's choir chant for thee!

It was nearly day-dawn ere Agnes succeeded in getting the Sister of Mercy into a somewhat quiet state, and then, completely worn out, she was herself obliged to seek a little rest. Even her manner of doing this showed how little she dreaded the pestilence, for, instead of going to another room, she lifted Theresa further over in the bed, and laying herself down beside her, placed her arm over her, kindly, lovingly, so that if she should chance to move, though never so slightly, it would awaken her.

Uttering a prayer, first for her patients, and then for herself, Agnes fell at once into a light but refreshing slumber, from which, however, she awakened at about the proper time to administer another dose of medicine. This done, she again lay down as before, and in this way she obtained three or four hours of good sleep, which had the effect to refresh her very much indeed; after which she rinsed her face, hands and neck in cold water, and partook of as good a breakfast as she could possibly get under the circumstances.

By careful attention in such particulars as these, Agnes managed to keep up her health, strength and good spirits, when all the rest of the nurses, both male and female, were completely fagged and wearied out both in mind and body.

Just after partaking of her frugal meal, Agnes was obliged to spring to her bedside, for all of a sudden Sister Theresa had started up out of her sleep, weeping most piteously, and Agnes feared she would throw herself out of bed. But in a few minutes, by her kind, soothing voice, she had quieted her patient and got her to lie down again.

Agnes never was without her Bible, and bethinking herself that its holy words would have a good effect upon Theresa, she quickly opened it as chance directed. It was at the twenty-third Psalm.

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters."

Agnes was a magnificent reader, and as her flute-like voice, in clear, grand, musical tones, uttered word after word of this most beautiful psalm, not only Sister Theresa, but the other patient, seemed quickly to alter. And ere she had concluded her reading. Agnes noticed that both, but especially Theresa, looked better, or rather supremely happy.

"You are indeed an angel!" she exclaimed, seizing the hand of her nurse and covering it with kisses. "They told me that the patients you were nursing called you Angel Agnes, and I am sure you are. May God and the saints keep you ever an angel, as you are now."

"Yes, yes," added the other patient, fervently, "God bless you! If we had all the rest of the nurses like you, I do not believe any body would die. The hired nurses are nearly all worthless. They work for money alone, and do not care whether the people they nurse live or die."

"That is horrible. I hope there are not many nurses of that description."

"O, indeed, all are that way except the Sisters and yourself," replied the lady.

At this juncture the doctor entered in a hurried manner.

"Well, Miss Arnold," he exclaimed, "how are you all getting along?"

"O, very well, sir, very well. I think we are all past danger."

Agnes answered the inquiry in a light, cheery tone, that in itself was worth, as the saying goes, a cart-load of medicine.

"Upon my honor, ladies," continued the doctor, as he advanced to the bed and took each of the invalids' wrists at once, in order to save time, "our nurse here, Miss Arnold, is the most wonderful lady I have ever seen. She has not failed to break the worst cases we have had. Now your symptoms were of the most desperate character, and when you were taken, I never expected to see either of you alive this morning, and yet here you are recovering, and I verily believe beyond further danger. Let me see your tongues. Well, well, well, this is really astonishing. You are both doing splendidly. Just be a little careful, and you are perfectly out of peril. Miss Arnold, you are worth all our nurses; and really I'm afraid all us physicians also put together."

"Ah, Doctor, you flatter me," laughed Agnes, much pleased at the same time to hear the flattery, as well because it seemed to have a brightening effect upon the patients as for any other reason.

"Indeed I do not flatter you at all, Miss Arnold. I really begin to wish I was a woman myself, so that if I should get the fever I might have you to nurse me well again."

"O never mind about the being a woman, Doctor," archly rejoined Agnes, "if you should be so unfortunate as to get it, I'll come and nurse you."

"Will you? well now that's kind and brave of you, I am sure. And speaking of a man, Miss Arnold, that reminds me. While inspecting a train at the first station, we found a young gentleman aboard, who was coming to Shreveport here, expressly to see you. His name was Harkness"--

"O, Doctor!" interruptingly exclaimed Agnes, as the color left her cheeks and lips. "I hope you did not permit him to come into this danger!"

A far duller observer than the doctor could have seen the intense love of this beautiful girl for the young man referred to.

"He's out of peril, Miss Agnes," explained the doctor, "for we refused to allow him to pass in."

No actress ever trod the stage on whose features the emotions of pleasure and regret portrayed themselves at once, as on the face of Agnes when heard these words.

"Would you rather have had us permit his entrance?" asked the doctor.

"For my own satisfaction and curiosity I would rather have had it so, Doctor. But for his sake, no; a hundred times no."

"Ah, Miss Arnold, heart disease is sometimes worse than Yellow Jack," remarked the doctor half-seriously.

"Yes, yes, it is always so," said Agnes earnestly.

"I am surprised he allowed you to come here, Miss Arnold."

The doctor was evidently deeply interested in his wonderful and beautiful nurse, and the artificial twinkle he forced into his gray eyes could not mask his sincerity from Agnes, who answered:

"Doctor, Mr. Harkness was my intended husband; but a jealous and mischievous young lady, who envied me I suppose, managed, through deceit, to estrange us. And so"--

Agnes did not know how to finish the sentence. She studied what words to utter in conclusion, until the pause became painfully awkward, seeing which the doctor with much consideration said:

"I can guess Miss Arnold, what you would say, and I fear there has been too much haste on both your parts for each other's happiness. But Mr. Harkness evidently has for yourself at least a powerful sentiment of something stronger than mere friendly affection, to leave the other young lady and come hither into the midst of such a deadly peril as Yellow Fever. He has found out the deception, and has, I suppose, come like a man, to tell you so and ask your forgiveness."

"That must be it, Doctor, that must be it," replied Agnes with much warmth, "that's his disposition, I know. He has a noble disposition."

After a short further conversation the physician left, with the same request as before, for Agnes to remain until he sent her a message where to go next.

This was not long delayed, as in about half an hour or so a message came for her to go to a house a few squares away, where a whole family had just been taken down with the disorder.

Bidding her two patients farewell, Agnes hastened away to the new scene of duty.

AN UNEXPECTED PATIENT.

The good and beautiful girl, upon arriving at the stricken home, at once set herself to the heavy task she was called on to perform, with cheerful alacrity; but it was the worst case she had yet had. Indeed, it would have been utterly impossible for her to get through, but for the fact that there was an old negress employed by the family, and who, having had the fever last year, was not afraid of it.

Silver, odd as it may seem, was the name of this negress, and she proved herself to be quite as sterling as her name implied. She was also quite intelligent, and carried out all of Miss Arnold's directions to the letter.

Yet, for all this, one of the patients, a little girl of six years, died. Agnes was exceedingly pained to lose the little darling; but the wonder was that it lived and stood the attack of the fever as long as it did, for it had been already suffering several days before with an acute summer complaint.