The Death of Dominie Quitman

MADAM’S bedroom at Linlithstown was a wide, square, shady room, with old-fashioned curtains of white dimity with knotted fringes, canopies of white dimity above the two narrow French beds, and spindle-legged chairs and sofas in white and gold, with dimity coverings. Everything was cool, quiet, and white, except a tall, old-fashioned escritoire of dark wood, clamped with brass. The days on which Madam looked over this escritoire were marked with a white stone in my calendar, for it contained certain cases of fine, old-fashioned jewels, and piles of letters, which, if yellow and musty, I soon found contained stories not to be despised. Two of these letters I was permitted to copy, and give them below.

BELLEVUE, MANOR OF BESTON,

January the 23rd, 17—.

HONOURED SIR AND DEAR BROTHER : Pray excuse my Paper not being finer, but I have none other by me, and you was pleased to bid me write. Indeed, our honoured Father also hath laid his Commands upon me ; saying with a Smile, that, since I was so mighty fond of my Pen, it were well that I should put it to some good Service, which, indeed, I am not loth to do. My Father hath commanded me to give to you a full account of the last Visit of our much-revered Friend, the Dominie Quitman. I am sure my beloved Brother remembers full well the Summer Afternoon when we were all gathered in the great Hall, we Sisters indeed crimping and ironing, while our Brothers looked on after a somewhat idle Fashion, and how we then overheard our revered Friend say in Conversation with our Parents, that it was his Wish to return to the Manor House, and die there, when his Hour came. Our honoured Mother afterward told Eliza that his reason for this was that in former Times he had greatly loved our Aunt Joanna, though, being then of poor Estate, he never told his Love, and that when he knew of her sudden Death, he was in deep Grief, and scrupled not to say that he was done with the Things of this World, as far as loving Them was concerned. Since then, he hath come into his Fortune, as you know, yet they say he hath ever held the Things of this World lightly. Our honoured Mother told us also that then, not only by Reason of his deep Pity for his Grief, but also for the Love he bore him, our dear Father prayed him to find ever a Home at the Manor House, and that he hath since come thither twice every Year, as we know ; and being at the Manor House when Joanna was born, himself baptized her, giving her the name she bears, in Memory of our Aunt. Truly it seems somewhat strange to think that the excellent Dominie, with his Wig ever awry, as I know you failed not to remark, and his large snuff Box, which he handles not after the most cleanly Fashion, since his Ruffles are ever besmeared with it, — it is hard, I say, to believe that he was ever so deep in Love, and so shaken with Grief, as our Parents say. But I must not run on thus, but rather back for six Months, even to the Day of Cousin Robert’s Funeral ; of which Event, and of the great Perturbation into which we were thrown, by Reason of the Corpse coming unexpectedly, when a Dinner was laid in the great Drawing Room, and nothing prepared, Kitty hath doubtless told you in the Letter she writ at that Time ; yet more likely not, since — having been given Charge of the Funeral Feast, our Honoured Mother and Sister Eliza both being ill — she was much grieved and mortified by the falling short of the Nutshells wherewith to burn the Funeral Wine, insomuch that she thought of nought else, and does now empty our Plates of our Nutshells before we have well finished our Dessert, so eager is she that the Like shall not happen again.

The good Dominie, being Cousin german to Cousin Robert, on the Mother’s Side, and also as Confidential Friend, walked after the bier, and went down into the Vault, and was there much moved, our honoured Father told us, by the Sight of our Aunt Joanna’s Coffin, of which he had full View, while the Corpse of our Cousin Robert was being suitably disposed in its final Resting Place. The Dominie was then, and after, greatly shaken, observing to our honoured Father that he had not been able to cease gazing upon it, and had noted that her Hair, which in Life, Father says, was long and abundant, shone through the chinks of the Coffin, like pure Gold. On his Departure, some Days later, he told our Parents that he felt that his End must be near at hand, so sorrowful of Heart was he, and that we should see him soon again, which, however, we did not, for ’t was only last Monday sennight that we saw him first.

’T was somewhat earlier than his usual Time for coming, as you doubtless remember, and happened in this wise. Our honoured Father being gone to Albany, on a Visit to the Patroon, we missed him much, a Snow Storm having set in, by reason of which we were unable to go abroad, and the Manor House seemed uncommon gloomy, as is, you know, ever the Case in our honoured Father’s absence. Our dear Mother, seeing that we were moped, bade Jemima set the ironing Tables in the great Hall, instead of in the Linen Room, and was good enough to promise that she would herself read aloud from the Life of Sir Charles Grandison, of which, as you well know, we never tire. John and Robert also came there to play at cabbage, and the Boys being occupied with a Game of Snowballing in the Court, we became in a Measure cheerful, seeing we were thus together. Indeed, in some little Time we became uncommon merry, since a Rivalry arose between Eliza and Kitty, concerning a new Fashion of crimping Ruffles, as to which each thought she had the Right of it, yet was unwilling to show it to the other; and Peggy, Joanna, and I, seeing that the Fashion of doing it was mighty similar, were in much mirth, at which Eliza and Kitty were displeased, and appealed to Mother to make us give over our Mockeries. Dear Mother, as you know, is ever on the side of Peace, so she begged them gently to crimp each a Ruffle for her, saying with her sweet Smile that she would then have a Daughter on each Arm. At which Eliza and Kitty smiled also, and we, being somewhat sobered, proceeded with our work, being, to tell the truth, more interested in Miss Harriette Biron than in the Peace of our Household. We had thus been quiet for a long time, listening to the sweet Tones of Mother’s Voice, when Harry burst in all agog, crying to Mother, “ Madam, I have news ! ” and all the while was soiling the Marble Pavement of the Hall with his wet Shoes.

Mother waved him off, for you know she never permits us to enter after that Fashion ; but be, forgetting his Manners quite, stood his ground, saying, “ Madam, I have news indeed. The Dominie is coming, he hath just entered the Park.”

“ Sure, child, you are mistaken,” said Mother quickly. “ The good Dominie would not be like to be out at this untoward season. Go now, remove your Shoes, and remember in future to enter after a more courteous Fashion.”

But thereupon Robert, who had been to an upper Window, returned, saying, “ Madam, he is coming, of a truth.”

“ I pray God that no evil has befallen your Father,” said Mother hastily. And thereupon, seeing the Dominie approaching the entrance, she, to our Surprise, ran bareheaded out into the Court, crying, “ Good Dr. Quitman, sure you are come to bring me ill News of my Husband, is it not so ? ”

We had scarce ever seen her so moved, and felt much dismayed, and the good Dominie looked not less so. “ Nay, Madam, God be praised,” said he, uncovering, “ I bring you no ill news, save that I myself am come to be a burden upon your hospitality.”

“Sir,” said Mother, courtesying, “that could so dear a Friend as you never be. You are to-day the more welcome because the House is for a Time without its Head, and therefore in a manner under a Cloud, so that so dear and honoured a Guest as you, Sir, brings Sunshine to a dark Place.”

“Madam,” answered the Dominie, gravely, “ I fear I can bring no Pleasure to your Household save that of doing good, to which I well know,” said he, bowing courteously to us all, “ you have accustomed yourselves ever.”

He was now come into the Hall, and being, as was his wont, relieved of his Hat and Coat by Joanna, turned to Mother, saying, “ Madam, I know that the Judge, my honoured Friend, and yourself meant truly when you promised me a Place in which to Die. Therefore I have come hither, trusting to that Promise, for I shall soon depart.”

“ Sure, Sir, you are jesting,” cried Joanna hastily ; an unseemly Interruption, for which Mother afterward rebuked her.

“ My good Friend,” said Mother, gently, “ I trust that you are mistaken, for sure, 1 have scarce ever seen you in better Health,”

“ No, Madam,” said he, gravely, “ I am not mistaken, for it hath pleased God to reveal to me in a Dream that I should die in this House, at Noon, to-morrow ; and,” he added with a faint Smile, “ I have for the past Month been setting my House in order, and have now no more to do save to add a Codicil to my Will, which I can do in the Morning.”

We were all dismayed, and Joanna burst into loud Weeping, upon which, calling her to him and taking her by the Hand, be exhorted her tenderly, saying, “ My good Child, you are grieved that I, an old man, am about to die ; yet I am threescore, and have almost reached the Time appointed for Man to die, and now I esteem myself happy in that it hath pleased God to warn me in a Dream, which was His way with holy Men of old, and of which I am unworthy. See, too, how he hath blessed me, in appointing my last Hours among kind and tender Friends, and a Grave among mine own People, for surely ye are my People”; and then rising, and spreading forth his Hands, he exclaimed, “ Peace be upon this House, and upon all who dwell therein ! ”

We were all grieved, and yet I was fain to smile, for Harry, plucking at my Sleeve, whispered me that he hoped the Dominie would dream nothing about him, lest he too should die. I did my best to quiet his Fears, and then, Diana being come to announce that the Dominie’s Chamber was ready, we all led him thither.

He had, as ever, the North East Chamber, which, as you know, hath two Doors, the one opening upon the Landing, the other on the Corridor. As he passed the Clock on the Stairs, he said to Mother, “ Good Madam Beston, I saw that Clock in my Dream, and was warned by a Voice, that when to-morrow came I should depart upon the first Stroke of the Hour of Noon.”

Being come into the Chamber, and noting the huge Fire and the many Comforts dear Mother had prepared for him, “ Truly, dear Madam,” he said, “ it is good to be here.”

We now left him with old Peter for a Time ; who, when questioned as to whether he had eaten any Supper, said, “ No, but that he had been much in Prayer.”

Dear Mother now bade Joanna carry him a Bowl of Soup, knowing well that he had a Fondness for all that came from her Hand.

Presently Joanna came forth weeping; he had refused the Soup, saying his Time was too short for creature Comforts.

“ Too short, indeed ! ” said Mother, displeased. “ He hath no right to shorten it by fasting.” And thereupon, bidding us follow her, she went again to his Chamber, and did very gently and wisely exhort him to eat, bidding him remember his long and cold Journey, that it was not his Right to shorten his Life by fasting, and she wound up saying tenderly, “ Good Doctor, how can you edity these Children it you come to your last Hour more faint and weary than God would appoint ?”

He was moved by this, and beginning to eat reluctantly, and with Distaste, yet did presently make a good Meal.

He then fell asleep in his Chair, Peter and old Diana keeping Watch. After a time, when he awakened, Peter and Diana got him to Bed, which was well warmed, and Mother presently brought him a draught of mulled Wine.

Mother, meaning to sit up all Night, had had a Fire built in the Tapestry Chamber, below the Dominie’s Room, and Joanna and I begged that we might sleep there, to which, after some Entreaty, she yielded, the more as Joanna was really in much Grief. We passed a restless Night, ever and anon stealing up to the Dominie’s Door, to keep Watch, and Mother, who was in and out, told us that he seemed every Hour weaker. At two o’clock Mother bade us keep in Bed and sleep, saying she feared much that the Morrow would be a sad Day for us all, and that, as it behooved us to rise early, it were well that we should have some Sleep, and that she herself would lie till Morning on a Sofa in the Dominie’s Room, and would send Diana to call us, if aught went ill.

Hearing this, we gave ourselves willingly up to Slumber, more especially as we had been much disturbed. How long we had been asleep I know not; but I was wakened suddenly by the opening of a Door in the North East Wing, which, as you remember, is ever closed in winter, and of which, by reason of its loneliness, we are in some Fear.

I lay trembling, yet not daring to speak to Joanna, and presently we heard Steps, as of a Man wearing Boots, coming down the Corridor. I was now too much afeard to cry out, and Joanna, who, by this Time was awake, lay hold of me in much Terror, but we dared not scream, the more as the Footsteps halted at our Door, and then, after a Moment, entered. The Fire was blazing, but we dared not look, when the Men, there were two, walked up to the Fire Place.

“ Sure, they are Indians,” whispered Joanna to me.

“ They are Murderers, without doubt,” whispered I in return, yet dared not look. For a few Minutes we lay thus, but becoming so sick with Fear that we could not bear it, and the Bed being near the Door, and the Curtains hiding us, of a sudden we leaped out, and ran, wild with fear, to the South Wing. The Footsteps pursued us, but sure Fear lent us Wings, for in less Time than I write these words we had burst into Giles’ Room, waking him from a deep Sleep by our Cries.

“ What is this ?” said he, waking in some Anger. But being told, he ceased chiding, and seizing his Gun made for the Intruders.

Presently we heard a mighty laughing, and lo and behold ! our two men turned out to be the tame Deer, which, escaping from the Fold that that careless lad James had left open, had gotten into the North Wing, and so into the hall.

We had some Laughter, but presently, remembering that our dear Friend lay dying up Stairs, were quieted, and said naught of our Adventure until yesterday, when with much laughter we related it.

At Dawn Mother called us, saying the Dominie was much weaker, and that she had sent Peter to summon the Doctor. He came at nine, and hearing the whole Affair of the Dream, spoke mockingly of the Dominie’s illness saying it was but the idle fancy of a Ghost-seer, but presently, going up Stairs, and seeing the Dominie, who in truth looked ill, declared that questionless he was dying, but of what he knew not.

This spread much Sorrow through the household, and the blacks all made an excuse to pass the Dominie’s Chamber, who, though being now failing, had a kind Word for them all, and a coin of Value.

At ten o’clock we were all summoned, when, though in a feeble Voice, he exhorted us of Death and judgment and bade us Farewell, leaving his special Blessing for Joanna. The whole Household was now in Tears, yet we could not forbear smiling at Eliza and Kitty, who, though in much grief, had unlocked the Store Room, and were, with much care, collecting and setting forth the things for the Funeral Feast, being minded not to be caught napping a second Time. Mr. Ryckman, the Lawyer, who was sent for to add a Codicil to the Dominie’s Will, being now come, he was conducted up Stairs, and left alone with him at his Desire, the Doctor meanwhile remaining in the Corridor. Dear Mother going in from time to time to wet his Lips with Wine, “ Good Madam Beston,” said he, “sure you may spare yourself this Trouble, though it is sweet to me to be ministered unto by your Hand, and that of this dear Child here ” (looking at Joanna, who had crept in after Mother), “but for the Wine it avails me nothing, since, on the Stroke of twelve I must be gone, not sooner nor later.”

Here the Doctor, coming in, felt of his Pulse, and declared that it failed fast. The Dominie then begged that the Door opening upon the Staircase might be left open, that he might look at the great Clock. “ For,” said he with a Smile, “it is not every Man to whom it is given to know the Time of his Departing.” And the Business of the Will being concluded, be called for some one to read aloud to him, he meanwhile gazing steadfastly at the Clock. Joanna began to read, and made shift to get through a few Verses of Job (which the Dominie desired to hear), but being then overcome by Grief burst into loud Weeping, and was fain to give her Place to Robert, who read well, like the good steady Lad he is.

Dear Mother meanwhile went in and out, ever bethinking herself of something for his Comfort, while I betook myself to consoling poor Joanna, who was sunk down on the Staircase in much Grief. In truth, we were all in Sorrow, and in no little Fear as well. While we were thus waiting the End, Harry burst into the Hall, crying that Father was in Sight. I am sure you remember well what Comfort his coming ever brings. We all went down to the Door to meet him. He came in smiling, but noting our grave Looks, and Joanna, who was in Tears, said to Mother, “ What hath befallen, Sweetheart ? ”

Dear Mother then told him all, saying at the End,“ It is well that you are come in time to see him die.”

We, watching closely, were surprised to see him smile ; then, turning to the Doctor who was come to meet him, “You bring ill news of your patient, Sir. Yet I hope soon to show you that I have a Remedy.”

Then meeting Kitty on the Stairs, with a large basket of Nutshells in her Hand, he said, “What have you there, daughter? Put them aside : it is unseemly to hasten our good Friend’s Departure.”

“ Sure, Sir,” said Kitty, hurt, “ I am in Grief that our good Dominie should die, yet I am but anxious to do my Duty in preparing the Funeral Feast.”

“ Truly, I know you are a good, thrifty girl,” said dear Father, smiling, “ and you shall prepare us a Feast, yet not a Funeral Feast, God willing.”

We were all amazed to hear him speak thus ; and being now come to the Landing, dear Mother pausing for a Moment to relate what measures she had taken for our good Friend’s Comfort, he kissed her Hand tenderly, saying with a smile, “Sweetheart, you are so wise that I marvel that no thought of stopping the Clock hath come to you.”

“And wherefore?” said Mother in amaze.

“ I am much mistaken,” said dear Father, smiling again, “if it prove not a potent Remedy.”

Then, bidding Mother stand near the Clock, and us all to keep Silence, he went toward the Dominie’s Chamber, the Door of which standing open, we could see and hear all that passed. Dear Father being come in, the Dominie said, “ Alas, good Friend, you are but come in time to see me die.”

“God be praised, dear Dr. Quitman, that I am come in Time to see you,” said Father gravely ; “ I am the more glad as I have somewhat of importance to say to you.” Then, making a Sign to Mother to stop the Clock, he took his stand at the Foot of the Bed, thereby hiding the Clock altogether from the Dominie, and said, “ Good Doctor, you were ever ready with Charity ; let me beseech you now to call your Lawyer up again, and add yet a Codicil to your Will in favor of poor Dominie Von Brunt of Duanesburgh, who now lies ill and sorely in Want of Help.” And thereupon, without more ado, he bade Robert lay aside the Bible, and fetch Master Ryckman.

“Truly, I wish Dominie Von Brunt well, and would fain do him a Kindness, for he is a very worthy Man,” said the Dominie, “ but I fear it is now too late.”

“Not so,” said Father cheerily, and then, Mr. Ryckman having come into the Room, having had a Hint from Mother, laid forth his Papers with much Show.

“ I fear me the Time is too short,” said the Dominie again.

“ No, Sir,” said Father, moving to show him the Clock, which indeed marked but ten Minutes after eleven, “you have yet ample Time, and in the mean while drink this Cup of Wine which Joanna brings you. If it lengthen not your Life, it may make you stronger to do a manifest Charity to a worthy Man, for such this Codicil will be.”

Then the Dominie having drunk the Wine, which was of great Strength, and the Business of the Codicil commencing, our honoured Father did so deftly bring up many knotty Questions of the Law, and so interest our dear Friend by opposing him, which, as you well know, he can noways suffer, that the good Man soon seemed to forget his mortal Sickness in the keenness of Disputation ; and good Master Ryckman and the Doctor did so well second our Father’s efforts that we, listening, were startled when dear Mother, laying her Finger on her Lips, showed us that it was five Minutes past twelve by her Watch, which as you know is a good Timekeeper. We had thought that but a few Minutes had passed since our Father’s coming, and lo, the Hour of the Dominie’s Death was gone by and he still lived.

He, being still plied duly with Wine, said presently, “ I feel heavy with Sleep. Sure, Judge, it is the Sleep of Death.”

“ Not yet, good Doctor, please God.” said Father gravely. “ The Clock yet marks but twenty Minutes after eleven, if it please you to look at it” (which was indeed true, Joanna having moved the Hand as Father spoke, and before he moved aside to show the Clock to the Dominie), “and you must finish the Codicil, or, better, sleep, Sir, for ten Minutes, and we will rouse you presently.”

“ Will you so, sir ? ” said he. “ Then I will sleep, for in truth I can scarce keep my Thoughts together.”

He then slept tranquilly for near an Hour, the Doctor sitting by his Bed the while and holding his Pulse, which, as he affirmed, though weak, grew steadier.

Said dear Father, smiling, “I doubt he is so refreshed with his Turn at Argument, that he will live now.” Then, seeing that it lacked but a few Minutes of one o’clock, he awoke the Dominie, saying, “ Dear Friend, you have now slept some Time, and it were well that the Business of the Codicil were completed. But, first, that I may be assured of the Truth regarding the warning you received, I would gladly hear the story of your Dream from your own Lips.” Which Trap the Dominie readily falling into, related his Dream at much Length, repeating again, how he had been warned that after Twelve, Noon, he should no longer be in this World.

“Then, good Sir,” said Father, smiling, “if you should be alive after Twelve o’clock to-day, you might outlive us all; is it not so ? ”

“ Sure, Sir,” said the Dominie, hurt, “ I little thought that so good a Friend and worthy a Man as you would be full of Mockery at such a Time.”

“ God forbid ! ” said Father, earnestly. Then stepping up to the Bed, and taking the Dominie’s Hand in both his, “ Good Sir,” said he, “ God will call you when he pleases, but not yet. The Hour passed in your Sleep, Sir, and ’t is now One o’clock.” Then, moving, he pointed to the Clock, which, being set on again, was now on the stroke of Two.

We all gathered round the Door, and dear Mother, seeing that the Dominie was like to faint with Surprise, bade Robert read a Psalm, and that being finished did herself read the Thanksgiving for recovery from Sickness, amid Tears of Joy from us all. The Dominie, then calling us round him, exhorted us in moving Words as to the Preparation for Death and Judgment, and, being afterward left alone with the Doctor, slept many Hours and rose refreshed. He came down to Supper, looking somewhat pale, but well and able to eat a good Meal. And he bore with Patience some Jesting from dear Father as to his Love of Disputation, which Father will have it called him back from Death. He hath just left us, having been mild and gentle, not rebuking us for levity, as is his Wont.

Dear Mother writes by this Mail. Pompey hath come in to tell me that the black Mare has a colt, and perceiving my Letter, which I told him was going to England, hath inquired if they have Horses in that Country, and I, answering, “ Finer than here,” have much surprised him. Diana sends her respectful Duty. Eliza and Kitty beg that by the first Ship coming to this country you will send them Feathers, which they hear are lately come in Fashion at Court. Peggy, Joanna, and I send much Love.

Your faithful and Affectionate Sister,

BETSEY BESTON.

This letter is indorsed in a man’s hand :

“ Received this letter from my Sister Betsey, at Oxford, June —th, 17—, giving the Tale of the good Dominie Quitman’s intended Dying, and my honoured Father’s Cure for his mortal Sickness.”

Tied up with this is another letter bearing date twenty years later, and addressed to Governor Charles Fleming.

HONOURED SIR AND DEAR FATHER : My Mother bids me Write to tell you that we are all well, and pray daily for your safety. She hath lamed her Hand, and cannot hold a Pen, and, by reason of the Sloop stopping but a moment, I must needs be brief. My Mother bids me say that nothing hath occurred since she writ last, save the Funeral of the late Rev. Dominie Quitman who was buried in the Family Vault on Thursday last, his Corpse being brought hither from Albany. It seemeth he was an old Friend of my Grandparents, but by reason of his infirmities hath not been here for many years. My Grandparents were much moved by Reason of his Decease. My Mother bids me say that you doubtless remember the Tale ; so with my loving Duty, I will conclude.

Your affectionate and Dutiful Son,

JOHN ROBERT FLEMING.

Marie L. Thompson.