Part 17

I have been in daily expectation of hearing farther from you, my dear Miranda. I received a letter from Octavia by the same mail that brought me yours, informing me of the melancholy change in their prospects, which I answered immediately and used every argument I thought could console her at such a time. Her firmness and resolution in relating the particulars, her reasoning on the subject, displayed the real superiority of her mind. She has had severe trials; the danger of her child, and now this stroke; I tremble when I think with how much less firmness I should probably have acted in the same trials. I am extremely anxious to hear all the particulars of their failure, how Mr. Browne bears it, where they will spend their winter. I wish with all my heart Octavia and her child would come and stay with me until Mr. Browne could arrange his affairs a little. But I suppose ’twould be in vain to urge her to leave her husband at this time. You mention that you were in hopes Papa would secure Octavia’s furniture for her. I wish you would write me particularly if he did. Octavia writes me he attached all the personal property he knew of at the time. Pappa too I fear will be quite a sufferer by their failure. I hear Webster is gone,—he, I think, had money of my Father’s. Mr. Bowne has always thought he played rather a hazardous game in letting out money in that way. I hope he is not materially injured,—he will, at any rate, have the consolation to know that the education of his children is principally accomplished; he will always have enough to live with comfort and ease, and as to leaving a great deal, I think ’tis very immaterial. I am glad to find his stock here has produced a very good dividend this month. I hope this won’t depress his spirits any,—old people feel the loss of property much more than younger ones. However, Papa’s is nothing to mention at these times, as he is not in debt, has a good farm, and will always have all the comforts of life; indeed, I think ’twill have a good effect. He has always been determined on leaving such a sum untouched, and from that darling object has deprived himself of the comfort of a comfortable house for many years past. Accident has interfered with the fulfilment of his plan; he will now enjoy what he has left without thinking of leaving just so much; his children are, or soon will be grown up, and he ought to have no other care but to enjoy what he has dearly earned, now in his old age. I am sure all his children most heartily wish it, if he should not leave a farthing for them. Old Mr. Codwise has failed, a dreadful thing for so old a man. Mr. Macomb [Ann and Robert’s father] is gone too; all the Franklins too, and a great many others I do not now recollect. Adieu; write me immediately and tell me every particular. My love to Arixene; is she at Miss Martin’s, for I have never heard?

E. S. BOWNE.

Miss Miranda Southgate.

Boston, December 21, 1808.

My best Friends:

In consequence of a letter from Mr. Bowne, received this day, I have to inform you that instead of proceeding to Scarborough, my next journey is to New York. He writes me that by the advice of Mr. King they have concluded it will be best for Eliza to go to Charleston, South Carolina, in order to avoid the severity of our winter; that he is under the necessity of remaining in New York till February himself, and that he wishes me to return and go on with Eliza and Octavia as soon as I can. As I have nothing of consequence to prevent me, I shall leave this in a day or two for New York, and shall be fully satisfied if I can render them the least service by my attentions. With sentiments of the highest esteem and regard,

I am your obedient servant W. BROWNE.

To Mr. and Mrs. Southgate.

New York, Dec. 27, 1808.

You are anxious, my Dear Mother, to hear from my own hand how I am. Octavia has told you all my complaints: my cough is extremely obstinate, I have occasionally a little fever, tho’ quite irregular and sometimes a week without any. I have a new Physician to attend me; he is a Frenchman of great celebrity, particularly in Pulmonary complaints, and has been wonderfully successful in the cure of coughs; he keeps me on a milk diet, but allows me to eat eggs and oysters. He does not give any opiates; Paregoric and Laudanum he entirely disapproves of; he gives no medicine but a decoction of Roots and Flowers;—the _Iceland Moss_ or _Lichen_ made in a tea he gives a great deal of, and for cough I take a white Pectoral lotion he calls it, made principally of White Almonds, Gum Arabic, Gum Tragacanth (or something like it), the Syrup of Muskmelon seeds. He thinks I am much better already. I have no pain at all, and have not had any. My cough seems to be all my disorder. He thinks he can cure that; indeed he speaks with perfect confidence, and says he has no doubt as soon as I get to warmer weather, my cough will soon leave me. Mr. Browne got here last night, and we shall probably sail by Sunday at farthest. Octavia will write particularly. You will hear from me, my Dear Mother, often,—at present my mind seems so occupied; leaving my children, preparing to go, and making arrangements to shut up my house. ’Tis quite a trial to leave my little ones; I leave them at their Grandmother’s. My little Mary[95] has a wet-nurse; she is a fine, lively child, and thrives fast. Adieu, my Dear Mother; I did not think I could have written half as much; love to all my friends.

ELIZA S. BOWNE.

Charleston, South Carolina, Jan. 1, 1809.

Our most esteemed Friends:

We have now been in the City a week. We find that Eliza has gained a little strength since she arrived, and that her cough is not quite so distressing as before we left New York. She complains of no pain, but her fever and night sweats continue to trouble her every other day and night, as was the case before. She can walk about her room with ease; and she rides when the weather is fine, which she is much pleased with, and no doubt it is of great service to her. The streets are entirely of sand, as smooth as possible, no pavements, not a stone to be seen, which renders it very easy riding for her. It is as warm as our first of May, (if not the middle,) and when the weather is fair, the air is clear, very mild and refreshing. The change is so great between this and New York that I cannot help thinking it must have a great and good effect on Eliza. I find as to myself that my cough is done away entirely, and I had a little of it most all the time at home in winter. Octavia has certainly grown fat, and our little Frederic is very well indeed. Eliza eats hominy, rice and milk, eggs and oysters cooked in various ways, vegetables too, which we find in great perfection here; fruit is plenty of almost every description. The oranges raised here are not sweet but are very large. Their olives, grapes, and figs are excellent. Their meats and fish are not so good as ours. Their Poultry is fine; a great plenty of Venison, wild ducks, and small sea-fowl; green peas we shall have in about a month; so that, beside the change of climate, we have many of the luxuries of a Northern summer. Uncle King gave us letters to Gen. C. C. Pinckney and his brother Major Thomas Pinckney,—both of them being out of town at their plantation; their sister, Mrs. Hovey, received the letters and has been very attentive and kind to us all. She is a widow, about 55 I should judge, of the first respectability, and appears a very pleasant, amiable and cheerful old lady. She sends some nice things to Eliza almost every day. Her daughters, Mrs. Rutledge, two Miss Pinckneys (daughters of the General), Mrs. Gilchrist and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Mannigault, Mrs. Middleton, Mr. and Mrs. Izard,[96] Mr. and Mrs. Dessault and Mr. Heyward make an extensive acquaintance for us. They all seem very kind and hospitable to us, plain and open in their manners, and yet the most genteel and easy. Eliza has seen only Mrs. Hovey, Mrs. Rutledge, and the two Miss Pinckneys, but she thinks in a few days to be able to receive short visits from a few of her friends, and even thinks it may be of consequence to enliven her. She rides whenever the weather is fine, and is very much pleased with the appearance of everything growing in the gardens here so like our June. We have had one visit from a Physician only; he thinks taking a little blood from her would be of service, but she has not yet consented. He approved of her diet and of the Iceland Moss tea which was recommended at New York, and which is said here to have had a great effect in removing complaints of the cough. Mrs. Mannigault told us yesterday she found immediate relief from it after she had been sick a long time. We expect Mr. Bowne in the course of a fortnight, and then I expect to return toward Scarborough immediately. We hope to hear from you in a few days; not a word have we yet from New York since we arrived. Our darling boy we think we see every day playing about us, without thinking who admires him at the distance of 1100 miles.

Our best wishes attend you always.

Affectionately, W. BROWNE.

To Mr. and Mrs. Southgate.

Charleston, Jan. 28, 1809.

Dear Caroline, I send by Capt. Crowel a little pair of shoes for Mary, a little Cuckoo toy for Walter, and a tumbler of Orange Marmalade for Mother. I have had only one letter from New York since I have been here, and that from Mary Perkins, not one line from my husband. I can tell you nothing flattering of my health: I am very miserable; at present I have a kind of intermittent Fever; this afternoon I shall take an emetic, and hope a good effect. How are my dear little ones?—I hope not too troublesome. Octavia is in fine health and grows quite fat for her. Frederic has been unusually troublesome. My dear little Walter!—I hardly trust myself to think of them,—precious children—how they bind me to life! Adieu. I have a bad headache and low-spirited to-day.

ELIZA.

Caroline Bowne (with 2 small parcels), No. 288 Pearl Street, Blazing Star. New York.

This appears to be the last letter written by Mrs. Bowne. (M. K. L.)

From Mrs. William Browne to Mrs. King.

Charleston, February 2, 1809.

I have been waiting day after day, my Dear Aunt, in the hope of having something pleasant to communicate to you, but I do very much fear I shall now have nothing, if ever, to say about our Dear Eliza but will give you pain. I sat down to write to you without knowing what to say. I have been so in the habit of dissembling lately that I can hardly throw it off, for when I write my Father and Mother everything is so glossed over, ’tis impossible to come at the truth. You know not how I am affected, my Dear Aunt. I fear I am doing wrong in deceiving them, for it is my firm opinion she never will be well. Do advise me, tell me what I ought to do. I think to you I may say the truth—I think she has been growing sicker every hour since she left New York. Her voyage had a singular effect upon her: she suffered but little from seasickness, but every bad symptom she had before seemed increased; she coughed a great deal and very hard, her fever and night sweats were excessive. You may imagine she was much weakened; but I hoped this was a temporary thing, and a few days of quiet and of rest would restore her; but instead of that, directly after our arrival a sort of intermittent fever took place, she had a regular chill and fever every day, she lost her strength very much, no appetite at all. This last four or five days her disorder wears another appearance. ’Tis now Thursday. On Sunday Dr. Irvine ordered her to take Quashy in order to prevent a chill; she took it according to his direction—it brought on her fever at 1 o’clock in the morning, and it never left her till 12 o’clock at night, it absolutely raged all day. Since then she has had no night sweats, no chill, but her cough and fever very much increased. Her nerves are extremely disordered; such a tremor that to-day she cannot feed herself at all. She is so weak and exhausted that she cannot walk alone. ’Tis now 11 o’clock—I am sitting by her side, and she is still coughing and in such a hot fever she can bear nothing to touch her. I have not asked her Physician’s opinion concerning her; ’tis unnecessary I feel, I know what it must be. Yet is it not strange she keeps up her spirits? She is looking forward with the greatest anxiety to warm weather. God grant it may not be too late! Dr. Irvine was the Physician Mrs. Hovey recommended; he is indisposed and has left his patients in the care of Dr. Barrow. The exchange has pleased us very much, for Dr. Barrow is considered quite as skilful, and is extremely kind and fatherly in his manners, indeed he reminds us so strongly of our Dear Father that we already love him very much.

February 3.

Poor Eliza had a most distressing night last night. She coughed so long that she was entirely exhausted; her fever was very high, and she has scarcely spoken a loud word to-day. Her nerves are in a dreadful state. I inquired of Dr. Barrow what he thought of her situation; he says he can say nothing encouraging. He said the disorder had taken great hold upon her, and had shattered her nerves in a terrible manner. He very much fears a nervous fever,—that her pulse was very bad, as nearly as he could count up to 150. Is it not very evident from his being so candid, my Dear Aunt, that he has but little or no hope of her recovery? And yet so strongly do I sympathize in every feeling of hers, that seeing her easier and more comfortable this evening has renewed my hopes and put me quite in spirits. She has been much better this afternoon and evening, less fever, less tremor upon her nerves, and since she has been in bed has had no bad coughing spell. The mail went to the Northward to-day. I have so little time to write that I have missed it. I will let you know to-morrow how she is, and the next day is post-day again. I know what a kind interest you and my uncle take in our dear Eliza, and I know I cannot be too minute. Our friends here are kinder than I can express to you. It seems sometimes as though we were among our own relations. They think of every little thing for Eliza’s comfort and convenience that I could myself.

Monday, February 6.

This morning Eliza was better, my Dear Aunt, than she has been for a week past. Her voice has returned and she appears stronger in every respect. Yesterday and last night she had a little fever, this morning is delightful and she is going to ride. You shall hear again from us before long. I know Mrs. Bogert will need no apology, I am sure, for my not writing. The repetition of such symptoms are distressing to me beyond expression.

Your affectionate niece O. S. BROWNE.

To Mrs. Bowne.

New York, Feb’y 4, 1809.

Your letter, my love, of the 13th and 14th has comforted me. You must keep up your spirits; you will do well, Dr. Bergere says; attacks similar to yours are not of the dangerous kind that some think; he approves of your taking the Lychen again. I have sent a bundle from Mr. King by Capt. Slocum, who sails to-morrow. I am distressed I cannot go with him, but so it is. It is next to impossible I should leave here till about the 25th of this month. Mr. Jenkins, my assistant, is absent, and I cannot leave the office until he returns without relinquishing it altogether, and I have most of my houses to let this month, those I have lately built included, and which are not finished, but I am determined to leave here in all this month. I hope you have a comfortable place now; what abominable lodgings the first were! Don’t mind the expense: get everything and do everything you like, we can afford it. I wish my presence in this place could as well be dispensed with, but so it is. I think it right you should have a Physician. I will bring the things you mention; our children are well.

Ever, WALTER BOWNE.

The Ship—General Eaton—has not yet arrived, I will write to Mr. Brown by this vessel if I have time; if not, by mail on Monday or Tuesday.

(With a bundle of Lychen for E. S. B.)

The following letter from Mr. Rufus King to his nephew Horatio Southgate, will show how much alarm was felt about Mrs. Bowne’s health.

New York, February 9, 1809.

Dear Sir:

I have to beg your excuse that I have so long delayed my answer to your letter written I believe in November. The Plants were a long time on their way, and did not arrive till Christmas, when we had a few days of mild weather, which enabled us to put them in the ground. Mr. Mars is entitled to credit for the manner and care with which the Plants were packed, and altho’ they were much longer out of the ground than they sh^d have been, I am in hopes that many of them were saved. Inclosed I send you a Post-note (payable to your order) on the Boston Branch Bank for 47 dollars, being the amount of Mars’s account, and I beg you to accept my acknowledgments for the trouble you have given yourself in this Business. Should there be an opportunity direct from Portland to N. York in the Spring, any time in Ap^l or May would do (for that is the true season, even on to the middle of June, to remove evergreens), I wish Mars to send me a few more spruces, one moderate sized Box, together with some of the small Evergreen shrubs found in the woods and pastures, and which I remember abounded in the Pasture of Knight’s Farm, and which we called laurel, or sheep poison. Any other small plants may be added to fill up the Box.

We yesterday heard from Mrs. Bowne, who had recovered from the fatigue of her voyage, and thought herself something better. I am in hopes that the soft weather of an early spring will do more for her than medicine could have effected in the rude weather of our winter and spring. I ought not to conceal from you, tho’ I think you sh^d not unnecessarily increase the anxiety of your mother, that I am not free from apprehensions regarding your Sister’s complaint; it is so flattering and insidious, that I do not place the same Reliance upon favorable Reports w^h in any other case I sh^d be inclined to do. I by no means think that she has no chance of recovery. On the contrary, I have the satisfaction to believe and expect that she will regain her accustomed good health. Mrs. Browne’s being with her is a very important circumstance in a case in which good nursing and careful attention is of so much consequence.

With sincere Regards, I remain, D^r Sir,

Y^r obliged serv’t, RUFUS KING.

Horatio Southgate, Esqr., Portland, Maine.

Charleston, February 21, 1809.

I will permit no one but myself to transmit to you the dreadful intelligence this letter will convey to you, my dear Parents. A good and merciful God will not forsake you at this awful moment. Our dear Eliza is freed from her earthly sufferings and I humbly trust is now a blessed spirit in Heaven! I offer you no consolation; I commit you into the hands of a Good God, who has supported me when my strength failed me. She had her senses at intervals for the few days last of her illness. She spoke of her approaching change with great composure, said she had thought much of it, that she trusted in God for future happiness with great satisfaction and confidence; wished her time might come speedily that she might be relieved from the pain of seeing her distressed friends. She suffered with wonderful patience; never murmured. At the very last she looked the satisfaction she had not the power to speak. At 2 o’clock yesterday afternoon was this most afflicting scene. Octavia had great fortitude to sit by her when she could speak only with her eyes. She knew us, and listened with apparent satisfaction to a prayer I read only an hour before the sad moment. It was a day of trial with us most severe.

With much affection and regard to all, W. BROWNE.

Poor Mr. Bowne has not arrived.

To Mr. & Mrs. Southgate.

Charleston, March 12, 1809.

I hope, my dear Miranda, this will be the last letter you will receive from me at Charleston. Poor Mr. Bowne arrived here on Thursday. Not a word had he heard, and owing to his having left New York he had not received a single very alarming letter. He was entirely unprepared for the shock which awaited him; never did I pity any one so. He is indeed borne down with the weight of his grief. But the violence I dreaded I see nothing of. There is no judging from the effect little troubles have upon people, how they will bear great ones. I know it by myself—I see it in him. He is more composed to-day, and we are making arrangements to get away. He is much gratified that we waited here for him, which we had some doubt about on account of the great expense in these houses. The Minerva, a very fine Packet, arrived from New York yesterday. We shall return in her. She will go in the course of a week or ten days. What a melancholy voyage! But yet I will not think so. I am going to my dear father and mother, my kind sisters,—indeed, ’tis a delightful thought.

Your sister, O. BROWNE.

Among the letters which were so carefully preserved by her daughter, Mrs. Lawrence, was found the following extract from a daily paper:—