J. Cole
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Emma Gellibrand >> J. Cole
"What is it?" I cried; "Mary says it's"--I could not say the words,
but seizing the candle from Mrs. Wilson's hand, I went into the
cellar.
The good doctor was close to me, with more light, by the aid of which
we beheld, in the far corner, facing us, what seemed to be a bundle
of blankets, from which protruded a head, a horrible red stream
surrounding it, and flowing, as it were, from the open mouth. One
second brought me close. It was Joe--Joe, with his poor limbs bound
with cruel ropes, and in his mouth for a gag they had forced one of
those bright red socks he would always wear. Thank God, it was only
that red sock, and not the horrible red stream I had feared. He was
dead, of course; but not such a fearful death as that.
The doctor soon pulled the horrid gag from his mouth, and the good-
natured cabman, who evidently felt for us, helped to cut the ropes,
and lift up the poor cold little form.
As they lifted him, something that was in the blankets fell heavily
to the ground. It was poor Bogie's dead body, stabbed in many places,
each wound enough to have let out the poor dumb creature's life.
By this time help had arrived, and once more the police took
possession of us, as it were.
Of course, _now_ everything was explained. The burglars had evidently
entered Joe's room, and Bogie, being in his arms, had barked, and
wakened him. A few blows had soon silenced poor Bogie, and a gag and
cords had done the same for Joe.
When the man saw me from the kitchen window he must have known that
help would soon come, and to prevent Joe giving information too soon
they had hastily seized him, bed-clothes and all, and put him into
that cellar, to starve if he were not discovered.
Perhaps they did not really mean to kill the poor child, and if we
had been in the habit of using that cellar we might have found him in
a few hours or less; but, unfortunately, it was a place we never
used, it reached far under the street, and was too large for our use.
Our coal-cellar was a much smaller one, inside the scullery; the door
of poor Joe's prison closed with a common latch.
Had there been any doubt in the detective's mind as to Joe's guilt,
he might have taken more trouble, and searched for him, even there;
but from the first everybody but ourselves had been sure Joe had
escaped with the burglars, so the cellar remained unsearched.
Mrs. Wilson, wishing to spare me the smell of the apples, thought
that cellar, being outside the house, a very suitable place for them,
and on opening the door had caught sight of something in the distant
corner, and sent Mary to see what it was. Then arose those fearful
shrieks we had heard, and Mary had rushed out of the cellar half mad
with fright.
In less time than it has taken me to relate this, Joe was laid on the
rug before the drawing-room fire, and I summoned courage to look on
the changed face.
"Could that be Joe--so white, so drawn, so still?"
Dr. Loring was kneeling by the little form, chafing and straightening
the poor stiffened arms, so bent with their cruel pinioning behind
the shoulders.
"Doctor," I said, "why do you do any more? Nothing can bring back the
poor fellow, murdered while doing his duty." Then I, too, knelt down,
and took the poor cold hands in mine,
"Oh, my poor child!" I cried, "my little brave heart; who dared say
you were false? Let those who doubted you look at you now, with dry
eyes, if they can."
"My dear," said Dr. Loring suddenly, "have you always hot water in
your bathroom?"
"Yes, doctor," I said; "yes. Why do you ask? Do you mean--is it
possible--there is life?" And I took Joe's little head in my arms,
and forgot he was only a servant, only a poor, common little page-
boy. I only know I pressed him to my breast, and called him by all
the endearing names I used to call my own children in after years,
when God gave me some, and kissed his white forehead in my joy at the
blessed ray of hope.
No want of willing arms to carry Joe up-stairs. Mrs. Wilson had the
bath filled before the doctor was in the room with his light burden.
"A few drops of brandy, to moisten the lips, first of all," said the
good doctor, "then the bath and gentle friction; there is certainly
life in him."
Now my good sister's clever nursing proved invaluable. All that night
we fought every inch of ground, as it were, with our grim enemy; the
dear, good doctor never relaxed in his efforts to bring back life to
the cramped limbs. The burglars had unknowingly helped to keep alight
Joe's feeble spark of life by wrapping the blankets round him; they
had meant, no doubt, to stifle any sound he might make; but by
keeping him from actual contact with the stone floor, and protecting
him from the cold, they had given him his little chance of life.
Oh, how I blessed that kind thought of Dr. Loring's to bring me a
barrel of apples! Had there been no occasion to open the cellar-door,
Joe would have died before another morning had dawned, died! starved!
What a horrible death! And to know that within a few steps were food,
warmth, and kind hearts--hearts even then saddened by his absence,
and grieving for him. What hours of agony he must have passed in the
cold and darkness, hearing the footsteps of passers-by above his
living tomb, and feeling the pangs of hunger and thirst. What weeks
those three days must have seemed to him in their fearful darkness,
until insensibility mercifully came to his aid, and hushed his senses
to oblivion.
Morning was far advanced when, at last, Joe's eyelids began to
flutter, and his eyes opened a very little, to close again
immediately; even the subdued light we had let into the room being
too much for him to bear after so long a darkness; but in that brief
glance he had recognized me, and seeing his lips move, I bent my head
close to them.
Only a faint murmuring came, but I distinguished the words:
"Missis, I couldn't 'elp it! Forgive me. Say 'Our Father.'"
I knelt down, and as well as I could for the tears that almost choked
me, repeated that most simple, yet all-satisfying petition to the
Throne of Grace.
Meanwhile the doctor held Joe's wrist, and my sister, at a sign from
him, put a few drops of nourishment between the pale lips.
"My dear," at length said the doctor, "did you say the boy's brother
was in London?"
"Yes," I replied, "but I have no address, as I expect him here this
morning."
"That is well; he may be in time."
"In time?" I repeated; "in time for what? Is he dying? Can nothing
be done?"
The good doctor looked again with moistened eyes on the little white
face, and said sadly--
"I fear not, but the sight of this brother he seems to have such a
strong love for may rouse him for a while. As it is, he is sinking
fast. I can do no more, he is beyond human skill; but love and God's
help may yet save him. Poor little fellow, he has done his duty
nobly, and even to die doing _that_ is an enviable fate; but we want
such boys as this to live, and show others the way."
There was a slight sound at the room door, and on turning round I saw
Dick--Dick with wild, dumb entreaty in his eyes.
I pointed to the bed, and with a whispered "Hush!" beckoned him to
enter.
The shock of seeing his loved little lad so changed was too much for
even his man's courage, for, with a cry he in vain strove to smother,
he sunk on his knees with his face hidden in his hands.
But only for a moment he let his grief overcome him; then, rising, he
took Joe's little form in his arms, and in a voice to which love gave
the softest and gentlest tones said:--
"Joe, lad! Joe, little chap! here's Dick. Look at poor old Dick.
Don't you know him? Don't go away without sayin' good-by to Dick wot
loves you."
Slowly a little fluttering smile parted the lips, and the blue eyes
unclosed once more. "Dick!" he gasped; "I wanted to tell you, Dick,
but--I--can't. I--ain't--forgot. 'Own--up--to--it--wotever'--I minded
it all. Kiss me--Dick. God--bless--missis. Dick--take me--home--to--
mother!"
And with a gentle sigh, in the arms of the brother he loved, Joe fell
into a deep sleep, a sleep from which we all feared he would no more
awake on earth, and we watched him, fearing almost to move.
Dick held him in his arms all that morning, and presently towards
noon the doctor took the little wrist, and found the pulse still
feebly beating; a smile lit up his good, kind face, and he whispered
to me, "There is hope."
"Thank God!" I whispered back, and ran away into my own room to sob
out grateful prayers of thanksgiving to Heaven for having spared the
life so nearly lost to us.
When I went back, Joe had just begun to awaken, and was looking up
into his beloved Dick's face, murmuring: "Why, it's Dick. Are you a-
crying about _me_, Dick? Don't cry--I'm all right--I'm only so
tired."
And having drank some wine the doctor had ordered should be given
him, he nestled close to Dick's breast, and again fell into a sweet
sleep, a better, life-giving sleep this time, for the faint color
came to his pale little lips, and presently Dick laid him down on the
pillows, and rested his own weary arms. He would not move from Joe's
side for fear, he might wake and miss him, but for many hours our
little fellow slept peacefully, and so gradually came back to life.
We never quite knew the particulars of the robbery, for, when Joe was
well enough to talk, we avoided speaking of it. Dr. Loring said, "The
boy only partly remembers it, like a dream, and it is better he
should forget it altogether; he will do so when he gets stronger.
Send him home to his mother for a while; and if he returns to you,
let it be to the country house where there is nothing to remind him
of all this."
Joe did get strong, and came back to us, but no longer as a page-boy;
he was under-gardener, and his time was spent among his favorite
flowers and pet animals, until one day Dick wrote to say his father
had bought more land to be laid out in gardens, and if Joe could be
spared he and Dick could work together, and in time set up for
themselves in the business.
So Joe left us, but not to forget us, or be forgotten. On each
anniversary of my birthday I find a bunch of magnificent roses on my
breakfast table--"With J. and R. Cole's respectful duty," and I know
the sender is a fine, strong young market-gardener; but sometimes I
look back a few years, and instead of the lovely roses, and the big,
healthy giver, I seem to see a faded dusty bunch of wild-flowers,
held towards me by the little hot hand of a tired child with large
blue eyes, and I hear a timid voice say, "Please'm, it's J. Cole; and
I've come to stay with yer!"
THE END.