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Almost A Tragedy
by
For half the night, I lay awake, thinking of what had occurred, and settling in my mind the course of proceeding to adopt in the morning. I was up long before sunrise–in fact, long before anybody else was stirring–awaiting the appearance of the landlord, to whom it was my intention to give information of the dreadful deed that had been committed. Full an hour elapsed before he made his appearance. I immediately drew him aside.
“There has been a death in the house,” said I.
“Yes,” he replied. “The poor sick child that was brought here by the Eastern stage last evening died in the night. I did not suppose it would live till morning. To me, it seemed in a dying state when its parents arrived.”
“There has been foul play,” said I, with emphasis. “That child has not died a natural death.”
“How so? What do you mean?” asked the landlord, with a look of surprise.
“I mean what I say,” was my reply. “As sure as I am a living man, that child has been murdered.” I then related all I had heard, to the horror and astonishment of the landlord.
“A deed like this must not go unpunished,” he said, sternly and angrily. “It is horrible to think of it.”
After talking over the matter for some time, it was determined to call a council of half a dozen of the regular boarders in the house, as soon as breakfast was over, and decide upon the steps best to be taken. Accordingly, after breakfast, a few of us assembled in a private parlour, and I again related, with minuteness, all that I had heard. After sundry expressions of horror and indignation, a gentleman said to me–“Are you sure it was grains or granules of aconite and arsenic that were given to the child?”
“Grains, sir,” I replied, promptly.
“This is a serious matter,” he added; “and if there should be any mistake, it would be sad indeed to harrow the feelings of those bereaved parents by so dreadful a charge as that of the murder of their own offspring. My own impression is, that our friend here is under a mistake.”
“Can’t I believe my own ears, sir?” said I, a little indignantly.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” returned the gentleman, politely. “I don’t doubt you have heard all you say, and it may be even to the word grains; but I am under the impression that the arsenic and aconite given were in the homœopathic preparations, and therefore no longer poisonous.”
There was a long pause after this was said; every one present seemed to breathe more freely. I had heard of homœopathy, and something about infinitesimal doses, but had never seen the medicine used, neither did I know any thing about the mode in which it was sometimes practised.
“Suppose we send for the man,” suggested the landlord, “and question him,–but in a way not to wound him, if he be innocent.”
This, after some debate, was agreed upon, and a servant was sent to his room with a request that he would come to the parlour. He obeyed the summons instantly, but looked a good deal surprised when he saw a grave assembly of six or seven persons. The gentleman who had expressed the doubt in the man’s favour, said to him, as soon as he had taken his seat–“We have learned, sir, with sincere regret, that you were so unfortunate as to lose your child last night–a severe affliction. Though strangers, we deeply sympathize with you.”
The man expressed his thanks, in a few words, for the kind feelings manifested, and said that, as it was their only child, they felt the affliction more severely, but were still willing to submit to the loss, as a Divine dispensation, grievous to be borne, yet intended for good.
“You did not call in a physician,” said the individual who had at first addressed him.
“No,” replied the man. “Before starting for Cincinnati, yesterday morning, we learned that, no matter how ill our child might become, we could not get the advice of a homœopathic physician until we reached home, and we were not willing to trust our child in the hands of any other. We, therefore, before commencing our journey, obtained medicine, and advice how to administer it should alarming symptoms occur.”