Angel Agnes | Page 5

so, you may
remember the feelings that were within your heart as you left the last
friendly cover of woods, and double-quicked across the open space up
hill, and saw the artillery-men waiting till you got close up before
pulling the primer lanyards, so as to make sure work of you all.
To Agnes Arnold going into Shreveport, the emotions must have been
very much like yours in front of that battery. Yet there was no fluttering
of her pulse.
"Where shall I go first?" asked this splendid heroine of the gentleman
in charge of the district in which she chanced to find herself.
"Not far; right across the street there into that grocery store at the
corner. We haven't been able to send any one there. Just been able to
look in now and then and give them all their doses. Please give me your
name, and don't leave there till I come, and I'll look after your
baggage."
"My name, sir, is Agnes Arnold. I have no baggage except this one
small trunk, and I would rather you let this young man bring it along
directly with me."
"Very well, take it, Ned, and follow Miss Arnold, and see you don't ask
anything for the job."
"Yes, sir," replied the negro porter, and shouldering the trunk he strode
on hastily after Agnes. He would not go further into the house, however,
than the little room immediately in the rear of the store.

"Surely you are not afraid, you who live here!" exclaimed Agnes.
"De Lor' bless your soul, missus. Youse couldn't haul dis yer niggah
furder inter dis yallah house with an army muel team. Don't yer smell
dat 'culiah scent. O, Lor', good-by missus. Dat's de rele Jack, suah!"
And without waiting for any further argument or remark upon the
subject, the terrified fellow clapped his hand over his mouth and nose,
and actually bounded out into the street to where some men were
burning tar and pitch as a disinfectant. Nor did he seem to consider
himself safe until he had nearly choked himself by thrusting his head
into the dense black Fumes.
Agnes would have laughed at the silly man, but at this moment such
violent and agonized groaning fell upon her ears, that she started and
trembled. But it was only for a moment.
In an instant more she had thrown off her travelling costume and hat
and bounded up stairs.
There such a sight met her gaze as would have chilled, the stoutest
heart. In a narrow rear chamber were four living people and two
corpses. The two dead ones were the father, a man of about forty, and a
little girl of six years, his youngest child. The four living people were
the mother, thirty years old, a little girl, and two boys, of the respective
ages of nine, fourteen, and sixteen.
"Don't take us away to the cemetery yet! for God's sake, don't!"
groaned the woman in agony. "We're not dead yet. It won't be long. But
it won't be long. Leave us be a while, and then you can bury us all in
one grave. For God's sake! please!"
"My dear woman, I've come to try and save your lives, not to bury
you," replied Agnes in a low, kindly voice, patting the sick woman's
forehead.
"They take plenty of them away and stick them in the ground while
they are alive yet. Heaven help us, for we can't help ourselves."

These words were not spoken consecutively, but in fits and starts
between paroxysms of dreadful physical suffering. Her racked mind
and body prevented the mother from quickly comprehending Agnes.
And it was not until the latter had talked to her soothingly and
cheerfully for several minutes, that she began to perceive the real state
of affairs.
And then the re-action from the depths of despair was like the infusion
of new life and strength to the sick woman. She cried and sobbed as
though her heart would break for several minutes, which excitement
ended in a spasm.
Most women would have been terrified at such a scene as was at this
moment presented to Miss Arnold. But she was not a mere fancy nurse.
Far from it. Up went her sleeves, and for the next two hours she worked
with her four patients like a Trojan, first with the mother, and next with
the children. Her next care was to separate the living from the dead.
The child she wrapped up in a small sheet quite neatly, and for the
father she performed the same sad task, using a coverlet, so that when
about three o'clock the dead wagon came around with the coffins, both
bodies were decently prepared for interment.
"'Bout what time d'ye think I better git back fur