"Dear John, speak to me; say what you will, that
you do but speak. Oh, God! he is dead; would that I had died with him!"
"There is but little use in living and fighting now," said Betty. "Both
him and the baste! see, there is the poor cratur, and here is the
master! I fed the horse with my own hands, the day; and the last male
that _he_ ate was of my own cooking. Och hone! och hone!--that Captain
Jack should live to be killed by the rig'lars!"
"John! my dear John!" said the surgeon, with convulsive sobs, "thy hour
has come, and many a more prudent man survives thee; but none better,
nor braver. O John, thou wert to me a kind friend, and very dear; it is
unphilosophical to grieve; but for thee I must weep, in bitterness
of heart."
The doctor buried his face in his hands, and for several minutes sat
yielding to an ungovernable burst of sorrow; while the washerwoman gave
vent to her grief in words, moving her body in a kind of writhing, and
playing with different parts of her favorite's dress with her fingers.
"And who'll there be to encourage the boys now?" she said. "O Captain
Jack! ye was the sowl of the troop, and it was but little we knowed of
the danger, and ye fighting. Och! he was no maly-mouthed, that quarreled
wid a widowed woman for the matter of a burn in the mate, or the want of
a breakfast.
Pages:
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615