Joshua Marvel

FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH

The river runs onward like a sparkling stream, now rushing between high banks of forest land, dotted here and there with miniature islands of rocks covered with lichens and shrubs, now settling into a still-looking reach, its surface covered with delicate mauve-colored water-lilies. Near to a great grove of palms upon the river's bank the native camp is fixed; and not far from the spot the channel forms a descent, more steep than abrupt, where it is cut up into hundreds of brawling streams by islands of beautiful shrubs. The natives have pitched their camp here, in accordance with Minnie's wish; they have been marching southward for more than a week, and Minnie has borne up bravely; but her strength has failed her at last, and she is compelled to succumb. It is understood among them that their Star is sick, and, the mintapas (doctors) are anxious to practise their healing arts upon her, but their efforts are firmly and gently repulsed by Joshua. For this, they look upon him with no friendly eye, and but for Opara his life among them would not be so pleasant as it has been. He pays no heed to them; his anxiety concerning Minnie engrosses all his thoughts now.

She is sinking fast, and has grown so weak that he is obliged to carry her about. The spot she most loves is where the river is still and quiet; there she will lie for hours, with Joshua by her side, watching the shifting shadows of the clouds in the water's depths. She says but little; but every time her eyes turn to Joshua, they are filled with gratitude and love. Once she expressed a desire to write something, and Joshua makes a little ink with paint and gum-juice, and makes a pen from a duck's quill; but paper he has none.

"Your Bible," says Minnie.

He gives it to her, and she writes a few lines on the blank page at the end. Then she tears out the leaf, and folding it carefully says, "This is for Dan, when you see him" (having a full faith that Joshua and Dan will meet); "do not read it, but place it carefully by."

He puts it with Ellen's lock of hair in the bag he wears round his neck.

That same night a change comes over Minnie. He has been away from the hut for a few minutes, and when he returns he sees her sitting in a listening attitude with her hand to her ear.

"Minnie!" he exclaims; but she holds up a warning finger, and says, -

"Hush, Joshua! I am listening to the singing of the sea. Is it not sweet?"

His heart beats rapidly, and he takes her disengaged hand in his, and asks her what she has in the hand she is holding to her ear.

"It is a shell," she says. She shows it to him and her face assumes the exact childlike expression of pleasure and simplicity it wore in the farewell interview he had with her before he first went to sea.

"You know me, Minnie?" he says, distressed.

"Yes, dear Joshua! What a question! But you must not be angry with me. I took the shell-but I took it for you."

"Nay but, Minnie," he says, striving to arrest her wandering thoughts; "listen to me" -

"Call me little Minnie," she pleads like a child, in the softest of voices.

"Little Minnie!" he sighs, with an almost broken heart.

"Little Minnie! Little Minnie!" she repeats. "The shell is singing it. Hush!" She remains silent for some time after this, and Joshua deems it best not to disturb her. An hour may have passed when she calls to him.

"Say that again, Joshua," she says. Wondering, he asks her what it is she wishes him to repeat.

"Nay," she answers, "that is to tease me. But you must say it after me, word for word: 'What you did, you did through love, and there could not be much wrong in it.'" He recognizes his own words to her, and in a troubled voice he repeats, "What you did, you did through love, and there could not be much wrong in it."

"I am satisfied," she says; "you have made me happy. I shall try to sleep now."

He covers her with a rug, and watches by her side during the night.

He has no heart for his birds, and were it not that she takes a childish delight in them, and is glad to have them around her, he would have taken them to the woods and set them free. She does not recover consciousness of her true position; she believes that she and Joshua are children together, and-it may be happily-all the horrors through which she has passed have faded from her mind. Her great delight is to play with the birds and listen to her shell. Sometimes the fancy that he is at sea possesses her, and she talks to him of himself, as she used to talk to Dan, and coaxes him to tell her the story of the death of Golden Cloud and other incidents of his boyish life. In this condition she remains for many days, until the time comes when she awakes from a deep sleep, and says, in her weak voice, "I have been dreaming, Joshua. I thought we were children again." Then opening her hand with the shell in it, looks at it, blushing, and says, "It is the old shell, Joshua. You remember."

"Do you feel stronger, Minnie?"

"No, dear; I shall not grow stronger. It will be as I told you a little while ago. Spring is not gone yet; but it will be soon. Have they asked about me?" meaning the natives.

"Yes, many times every day, Minnie; and have brought their choicest food for you regularly."

"They have been very kind to us. Rough-and-Ready was not quite right about them. I used to tremble with fear when he spoke of them. Poor Rough-and-Ready and poor Tom! What has become of them, I wonder!"

They muse sadly over the memory of those two good friends.

"Some lives are very hard, Joshua," she continues. "His was, I am sure. I suppose it was as he said, and that he has done bad things. Yet how kind and gentle he was to us! It is hard to reconcile; but it seems to me, my dear, that our lots are shaped for us. We can't help our feelings; we don't make them; they come, and we must act as they prompt us to act. Opara and the savages now: they couldn't help being born savages, and they have had no good teaching. Don't think me wicked for what I am going to say, my dear."

"No, Minnie; go on."

"Well, I can't help believing that a good deal of what is called wrong is not wrong, and that bad is not always bad. I can't explain exactly what I mean, but I feel it." She appears to think that she has got out of her depth, and suddenly changes the subject. "Take me out, and let me see Opara. You must carry me; I am not as heavy as I was."

He lifts her in his arms, and carries her, with her arm round his neck, out of the hut towards the savages. They crowd round her, and she speaks a few words to them, and smiles upon them. Then, by easy stages, he carries her to her favorite spot by the river's side, and there they rest.

"All rivers have currents, Joshua?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Even this, that looks so still and quiet?"

"Even this, my dear; the current is running, although you cannot see it. But remember, the river is not so still everywhere. A very few miles away it is full of life; it is rushing over the rocks, and is never still for an instant day and night."

"Strange! So restless there, so quiet here! It has been so with me: so restless there, so quiet here! Look! we can see the fish in the clear depths. How beautifully the wild jasmine smells!"

He gathers a little for her, and a bunch of fringed violets, and she puts them in her breast. Then she encourages him to talk of home, and listens with sincere pleasure to his praises of Dan.

"It is good to be loved by such a heart," she muses.

"Ah, Minnie!" he ventures to say, "if it could have been with him as he once hoped it would!"

"About me?" she replies unhesitatingly. "Does not that seem to be a proof that our lots are shaped for us? Tell him that I was very, very sorry, and that I begged him to forgive me."

But it is chiefly about Joshua's mother that she speaks, and wishes that her mother had lived. In the midst of the conversation she falls into a light slumber, and opening her eyes half an hour afterwards, resumes from the point where they had left off, as if there had been no interval of silence.

On another occasion they are together on the same spot, and Joshua is telling her of a beautiful part of the river's bank which she had not seen. "The river is narrow there, and even more peaceful than this," he says. "The trees on both sides bend over the water until the topmost branches almost touch, so that the river is in shade. The sun was peeping through the arch of branches, lighting up the water here and there, and the golden light streaked the white leaves of the lilies, over which the pretty lotus-bird was running with so light a step as not to stir the flowers."

"How beautiful!" she says softly. "At night, when the moon is shining on the water and the lily-leaves through the arch of branches, how grand and peaceful it must be! Joshua, bend your head, my dear. When I am gone, let me be buried there. Nay, don't cry; but promise."

In a broken voice he promises her, and she is content. Then she bids him bring Opara to her; and the aged chief comes and sits by her side.

"Opara," she says, taking Joshua's hand and kissing it, "this my brother and I are one. You understand?"

"I understand," he answers; and Joshua wonders what it is she is about to say.

"You see how weak I have grown, Opara. Look at my hand; you can see the light through it."

"Say, my daughter," asks Opara: "you who know the language of birds and flowers, – you who know the mysteries of the Grand Vault, – can you not make yourself strong?"

"No, Opara; I am wanted."

"Cannot our mintapas make you strong?"