# 'Way Down East; or, Portraitures of Yankee Life/Polly Gray and the Doctors

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Polly Gray and the Doctors.
It was a dark, and rainy night in June, when Deacon Gray, about ten o'clock in the evening, drove his horse and wagon up to the door, on his return from market.
"Oh dear, Mr. Gray!" exclaimed his wife, as she met him at the door, "I'm dreadful glad you've come; Polly's so sick, I'm afraid she won't live till mornin', if something ain't done for her."
"Polly is always ailing," said the deacon, deliberately; "I guess it's only some of her old aches and pains. Just take this box of sugar in; it has been raining on it this hour."
"Well, do come right in, Mr. Gray, for you don't know what a desput case she is in; I daren't leave her a minute."
"You are always scared half to death," said the deacon, "if anything ails Polly; but you know she always gets over it again. Here's coffee and tea and ​some other notions rolled up in this bag," handing her another bundle to carry into the house.
"Well, but Mr. Gray, don't pray stop for bundles or nothin' else. You must go right over after Doctor Longley, and get him here as quick as you can."
"Oh, if it's only Doctor Longley she wants," said the deacon carelessly, "I guess she aint so dangerous, after all."
"Now, Mr. Gray, jest because Doctor Longley is a young man and about Polly's age, that you should make such an unfeelin' expression as that, I think is too bad."
The deacon turned away without making a reply, and began to move the harness from the horse.
"Mr. Gray, ain't you going after the doctor?" said Mrs. Gray, with increasing impatience.
"I'm going to turn the horse into the pasture, and then I'll come in and see about it," said the deacon.
A loud groan from Polly drew Mrs. Gray hastily into the house. The deacon led his horse a quarter of a mile to the pasture; let down the bars and turned him in; put all the bars carefully up; hunted round and found a stick to drive in as a wedge to fasten the top bar; went round the barn to see that the doors were all closed; got an armful of dry straw ​and threw it into the pig-pen; called the dog from his kennel, patted him on his head, and went into the house.
"I'm afraid she's dying," said Mrs. Gray, as the deacon entered.
"You are always scared half out of your wits," said the deacon, "if there's anything the matter. I'll come in as soon as I've took off my coat and boots and put on some dry ones."
Mrs. Gray ran back to attend upon Polly; but before the deacon had got ready to enter the room, Mrs. Gray screamed again with the whole strength of her lungs.
"Mr. Gray, Mr. Gray, do make haste, she's in a fit."
This was the first sound that had given the deacon any uneasiness about the matter. He had been accustomed for years to hear his wife worry about Polly, and had heard her predict her death so often from very slight illness, that he had come to regard such scenes and such predictions with as little attention as he did the rain that pattered against the window. But the word fit was something he had never heard applied in these cases before, and the sound of it gave him a strange feeling of apprehension. He had just thrown off his boots and put his feet into dry ​shoes, and held a dry coat in his hand, when this last appeal came to his ear and caused him actually to hasten into the room.
"Polly, what's the matter now?" said the deacon, beginning to be somewhat agitated, as he approached the bedside.
Polly was in violent spasms, and heeded not the inquiry. The deacon took hold of her arm, and repeated the question more earnestly and in a tender tone.
"You may as well speak to the dead," said Mrs. Gray; "she's past hearing or speaking."
The deacon's eyes looked wild, and his face grew very long.
"Why didn't you tell me how sick she was when I first got home?" said the deacon with a look of rebuke.
"I did tell you when you first come," said Mrs. Gray, sharply, "and you didn't take no notice on it."
"You didn't tell me anything about how sick she was," said the deacon; "you only spoke jest as you used to, when she wasn't hardly sick at all."
The subject here seemed to subside by mutual consent, and both stood with their eyes fixed upon ​Polly, who was apparently struggling in the fierce agonies of death. In a few minutes, however, she came out of the spasm, breathed comparatively easy, and lay perfectly quiet. The deacon spoke to her again. She looked up with a wild delirious look, but made no answer.
"I'll go for the doctor," said the deacon, "It may be he can do something for her, though she looks to me as though it was gone goose with her."
Saying this, he put on his hat and coat and started. Having half a mile to go, and finding the doctor in bed, it was half an hour before he returned with Doctor Longley in his company. In the meantime Mrs. Gray had called in old Mrs. Livermore, who lived next door, and they had lifted Polly up and put a clean pillow upon the bed, and a clean cap on her head, and had been round and "slicked up" the room a little, for Mrs. Livermore said, "Doctor Longley was such a nice man she always loved to see things look tidy where he was coming to."
The deacon came in and hung his hat up behind the door, and Doctor Longley followed with his hat in his hand and a small pair of saddle-bags on his arm. Mrs. Gray stood at one side of the bed, and Mrs. Livermore at the other, and the doctor laid ​his hat and saddle-bags on the table that stood by the window, and stepped immediately to the bedside.
"Miss Gray, are you sick?" said the doctor, taking the hand of the patient.
No answer or look from the patient gave any indication that she heard the question.
"How long has she been ill?" said the doctor.
"Ever since mornin'," said Mrs. Gray. "She got up with a head-ache, jest after her father went away to market, and smart pains inside, and she's been growing worse all day."
"And what have you given her?" said the doctor.
"Nothing, but arb-drink," said Mrs. Gray; "whenever she felt worse, I made her take a good deal of arb-drink, because that, you know, is always good, doctor. And besides, when it can't do no good, it would do no hurt."
"But what sort of drinks have you given her?" said the doctor.
"Well, I give her most all sorts, for we had a plenty of 'em in the house," said Mrs. Gray. "I give her sage, and peppermint, and sparemint, and cammermile, and pennyryal, and motherwort, and balm; you know, balm is very coolin', doctor, and ​sometimes she'd be very hot, and then I'd make her drink a good dose of balm."
"Give me a candle," said the doctor.
The deacon brought a candle and held it over the patient's head. The doctor opened her mouth and examined it carefully for the space of a minute. He felt her pulse another minute, and looked again into her mouth.
"Low pulse, but heavy and labored respiration," said the doctor.
"What do you think ails her?" said Mrs. Gray.
The doctor shook his head.
"Do you think you can give her anything to help her?" said the deacon, anxiously.
The doctor looked very grave, and fixed his eyes thoughtfully on the patient for a minute, but made no reply to the deacon's question.
"Why didn't you send for me sooner?" at last said the doctor, turning to Mrs. Gray.
"Because I thought my arb-drink would help her, and so I kept trying it all day till it got to be dark, and then she got to be so bad I didn't dare to leave her till Mr. Gray got home."
"It's a great pity," said the doctor, turning from the bed to the table and opening his saddle-bags. ​"Thousands and thousands of lives are lost only by delaying to send for medical advice till it is too late; thousands that might have been saved as well as not, if only taken in season."
"But doctor, you don't think it's too late for Polly, do you?" said Mrs. Gray.
"I think her case, to say the least, is extremely doubtful," said the doctor. "Her appearance is very remarkable. Whatever her disease is, it has made such progress, and life is so nearly extinct, that it is impossible to tell what were the original symptoms, and consequently what applications are best to be made."
"Well, now, doctor," said Mrs. Livermore, "excuse me for speakin'; but I'm a good deal older than you are, and have seen a great deal of sickness in my day, and I've been in here with Polly a number of times to-day, and sometimes this evening, and I'm satisfied, doctor, there's something the matter of her insides."
"Undoubtedly," said the doctor, looking very grave.
This new hint from Mrs. Livermore seemed to give Mrs. Gray new hope, and she appealed again to the doctor.
​"Well, now, doctor," said she, "don't you think Mrs. Livermore has the right of it?"
"Most unquestionably," said the doctor.
"Well, then, doctor, if you should give her something that's pretty powerful to operate inwardly, don't you think it might help her?"
"It might, and it might not," said the doctor; "the powers of life are so nearly exhausted, I must tell you frankly I have very little hope of being able to rally them. There is not life enough left to indicate the disease or show the remedies that are wanted. Applications now must be made entirely in the dark, and leave the effect to chance."
At this, Mrs. Livermore took the candle and was proceeding to remove it from the room, when the doctor, perceiving her mistake, called her back. He did not mean to administer the medicine literally in a dark room, but simply in a state of darkness and ignorance as to the nature of the disease. It was a very strange case; it was certain life could hold out but a short time longer; he felt bound to do something, and therefore proceeded to prepare such applications and remedies as his best judgment dictated. These were administered without confidence, and their effect awaited with painful solicitude. They ​either produced no perceptible effect at all, or very different from the ordinary results of such applications.
"I should like," said Doctor Longley to the deacon, "to have you call in Doctor Stubbs; this is a very extraordinary case, and I should prefer that some other medical practitioner might be present."
The deacon accordingly hastened to call Doctor Stubbs, a young man who had come into the place a a short time before, with a high reputation, but not a favorite with the deacon and his family, on account of his being rather fresh from college, and full of modern innovations.
After Doctor Stubbs had examined the patient, and made various inquiries of the family, he and Doctor Longley held a brief consultation. Their united wisdom, however, was not sufficient to throw any light upon the case or to afford any relief.
"Have you thought of poison?" said Doctor Longley.
"Yes," said Doctor Stubbs, "but there are certain indications in the case, which forbid that altogether. Indeed, I can form no satisfactory opinion about it; it is the most anomalous case I ever knew."
Before their conference was brought to a close, the ​deacon called them, saying he believed Polly was a going. They came into the room and hastened to the bedside.
"Yes," said Doctor Stubbs, looking at the patient, "those are dying struggles; in a short time all her troubles in this life will be over."
The patient sunk gradually and quietly away, and in the course of two hours after the arrival of Doctor Stubbs, all signs of life were gone.
"The Lord's will be done," said the deacon, as he stood by the bed and saw her chest heave for the last time.
Mrs. Gray sat in the corner of the room with her apron to her face weeping aloud. Old Mrs. Livermore and two other females, who had been called in during the night, were already busily employed in preparing for laying out the corpse.
It was about daybreak when the two doctors left the house and started for home.
"Very singular case," said Doctor Stubbs, who spoke with more ease and freedom, now that they were out of the way of the afflicted family. "We ought not to give it up so, Doctor; we ought to follow this case up till we ascertain what was the cause of her death. What say to a post mortem examination?"
​"I always dislike them," said Doctor Longley; "they are ugly uncomfortable jobs; and besides, I doubt whether the deacon's folks would consent to it."
"It is important for us, as well as for the cause of the science, said Doctor Stubbs, "that something should be done about it. We are both young, and it may have an injurious bearing upon our reputation if we are not able to give any explanation of the case. I consider my reputation at stake as well as yours, as I was called in for consultation. There will doubtless be an hundred rumors afloat, and the older physicians, who look upon us, you know, with rather an evil eye, will be pretty sure to lay hold of the matter and turn it greatly to our disadvantage, if we cannot show facts for our vindication. The deacon's folks must consent, and you had better go down after breakfast and have a talk with the deacon about it."
Doctor Longley felt the force of the reasoning, and consented to go. Accordingly, after breakfast, he returned to Deacon Gray's, and kindly offered his services, if there was any assistance he could render in making preparations for the funeral. The deacon felt much obliged to him, but didn't know as there was anything for which they particularly needed his assistance. The doctor then broached the subject of ​the very sudden and singular death of Polly, and how important it was for the living that the causes of such a sudden death should, if possible, be ascertained, and delicately hinted that the only means of obtaining this information, so desirable for the benefit of the science and so valuable for all living, was by opening and examining the body after death.
At this the deacon looked up at him with such an awful expression of holy horror, that the doctor saw at once it would be altogether useless to pursue the subject further. Accordingly, after advising, on account of the warm weather and the patient dying suddenly and in full blood, not to postpone the funeral later than that afternoon, the doctor took his leave.
"Well, what is the result?" said Doctor Stubbs, as Doctor Longley entered his door.
"Oh, as I expected," said Doctor Longley. "The moment I hinted at the subject to the deacon, I saw by his looks, if it were to save his own life and the lives of all his friends, he never would consent to it."
"Well, 'tis astonishing," said Doctor Stubbs, "that people who have common sense should have so little sense on a subject of this kind. I won't be baffled so, Doctor Longley; I'll tell you what I'll do. What time is she to be buried?"
​"This afternoon," said Doctor Longley.
"In the burying-ground by the old meeting-house up the road, I suppose," said Doctor Stubbs.
"Yes, undoubtedly," replied Dr. Longley.
"Well, I'll have that corpse taken up this night, and you may depend upon it," said Doctor Stubbs, "I'll not only ascertain the cause of her death, but I want a subject for dissection, and she, having died so suddenly, will make an excellent one."
Doctor Longley shuddered a little at the bold project of Doctor Stubbs. "You know, Doctor, there is a law against it," said he, "and besides, the burying-ground is in such a lonely place and surrounded by woods, I don't believe you can find anybody with nerve enough to go there and take up a newly buried corpse in the night."
"Let me alone for that," said Doctor Stubbs. "I know a chap that would do it every night in the week if I wanted him to; a friend of mine down there in the college, in the senior class. He has nerve enough to go anywhere, and is up to a job of this kind at any time. The business is all arranged, Doctor, and I shall go through with it. Joe Palmer is the man for it, and Rufus Barnes will go with him. I'd go myself, but it would be more prudent for me to be at home, for in ​case of accident, and the thing should be discovered, suspicion would be likely to fall on me, and it would be important for me to be able to prove where I was. Rufus must go to the funeral and see whereabouts the corpse is buried, so he can find the place in a dark night, and I shall have to go down to the college the first of the evening after Joe myself, and get him started, and then come right home, and stay at home, so that I can prove an alibi in case of any questions. Don't I understand it, Doctor?"
"Yes, full well enough," said Doctor Longley, "but I had rather you would be in the scrape than I should."
That evening, half an hour after dark, there was a light rap at Joe Palmer's door in the third story of one of the college buildings. The door was partly open, and Joe said "Come in." No one entered, but in a few moments the rap was heard again. "Come in," said Joe. Still no one entered. Presently a figure, concealed under a cloak and with muffled face, appeared partly before the door, and said something in a low voice. Joe looked wild and agitated. Some college scrape, he thought, but what was the nature of it he could not divine. The figure looked mysterious. Presently the voice was heard again, and understood ​to utter the word Palmer. Joe was still more agitated, and looked at his chum most inquiringly. His chum stepped to the door and asked what was wanting. The figure drew back into the darkness of the hall, and answered in a faint voice, that he wanted Palmer. At last Palmer screwed his resolution up to the sticking point and ventured as far as the door, while his chum stepped back into the room. The figure again came forward and whispered to Palmer to come out, for he wanted to speak with him.
"But who are you?" said Palmer.
The figure partially uncovered his face, and whispered "Doctor Stubbs."
Palmer at once recognized him, and stepped back as bold as a lion, and took his hat and went out. In a few minutes he returned and told his chum, with rather a mysterious air, that he was going out with a friend to be gone two or three hours, that he need not feel uneasy about him, and might leave the door unfastened for him till he returned.
Doctor Stubbs, having given Joe and Rufus full directions how to proceed, telling them to get a large wide chaise, so that they could manage to carry the corpse conveniently, and informing them where they could find spades and shovels deposited by the ​side of the road for the purpose, left them and hastened home.
"Well now, Rufe," said Joe, "we'll just go over to Jake Rider's and get one of his horses and chaise. But we needn't be in a hurry, for we don't want to get there much before midnight; and we'll go into the store here and get a drink of brandy to begin with, for this kind of business needs a little stimulus."
Having braced their nerves with a drink of brandy, they proceeded to Jacob Rider's.
"Jake, give us a horse and chaise to take a ride three or four hours," said Joe. You needn't mind setting up for us; we'll put the horse up when we come back, and take good care of him; we know where to put him. We don't want a nag; an old steady horse that will give us an easy, pleasant ride."
"Old Tom is jest the horse you want," said Jacob, "and there's a good easy going chaise."
"That chaise isn't wide enough," said Joe; "give us the widest one you've got."
"But that's plenty wide enough for two to ride in," said Jacob; "I don't see what you want a wider chaise than that for."
"Oh, I like to have plenty of elbow room," said Joe.
​"Maybe you are going to have a lady to ride with you," said Jacob.
Joe laughed, and whispered to Rufus that Jake had hit nearer the mark than he was aware of.
Jacob selected another chaise. "There is one," said he "wide enough for three to ride in, and even four upon a pinch."
"That'll do," said Joe; "now put in old Tom."
The horse was soon harnessed, and Joe and Rufus jumped into the chaise and drove off.
"Confound these college chaps," said Jacob to himself as they drove out of the yard; "they are always a sky-larkin' somewhere or other. There's one thing in it, though, they pay me well for my horses. But these two fellows wanting such a broad chaise; they are going to have a real frolic somewhere to night. I've a plaguy good mind to jump on to one of the horses and follow, and see what sort of snuff they are up to. It's so dark I could do it just as well as not, without the least danger of their seeing me."
No sooner thought than done. Jake at once mounted one of his horses, and followed the chaise. There was no moon, and the night was cloudy and dark; but a slight rattle in one of the wheels of the ​chaise enabled him easily to follow it, though entirely out of sight. Having gone about two miles the chaise stopped at the corner, about a hundred rods from the house of Dr. Stubbs. Jake got off and hitched his horse, and crept carefully along by the side of the fence to see what was done there. By stooping down and looking up against a clear patch of sky, he could see one of the two leave the chaise and go to the fence by the side of the road, and return again, carrying something in his arms to the chaise. He repeated this operation twice; but what he carried Jake could not discern. Perhaps it might be some baskets of refreshments. They were going off to some house to have a frolic. The chaise moved on again, and Jake mounted his horse and followed. They went up the road till they came to the old meeting-house; they passed it a little, and came against the old burying-ground. The chaise stopped and Jake stopped. The chaise stood still for the space of about five minutes, and there was not the least sound to be heard in any direction. At last, from the little rattle of the chaise wheel, he perceived they were moving at a moderate walk. They came to the corner of the burying-ground, and turned a little out of the road and ​stopped the chaise under the shadow of a large spreading tree, where it could not be perceived by any one passing in the road, even should the clouds brush away and leave it starlight.
"It is very odd," thought Jake, "that they should stop at such a place as this in a dark night; the last place in the world I should think of stopping at."
Jake dismounted and hitched his horse a little distance, and crept carefully up to watch their movements. They took something out of the chaise, passed along by the fence, went through the little gate, and entered the burying-ground. Here a new light seemed to flash upon Jake's mind.
"I hope no murder has been committed," thought he to himself; "but it's pretty clear something is to be buried here to-night that the world must know nothing about."
Jake was perplexed, and in doubt as to what he should do. He had some conscience, and felt as though he ought to investigate the matter, and put a stop to the business if anything very wicked was going on. But then there were other considerations that weighed on the other side. If murder had been committed, it was within the range of possibility, and not very unreasonable to suppose, that murder might ​be committed again to conceal it. There were two of them, and he was alone. It might not be entirely safe for him to interfere. He would hardly care to be thrown into a grave and buried there that night. And then, again, Jake was avaricious, and wouldn't care to break friends with those college fellows, for they paid him a good deal of money. On the whole, he was resolved to keep quiet and see the end of the matter.
Joe and Rufus walked two-thirds of the way across the burying-ground and stopped. Jake followed at a careful distance, and when he found they had stopped, he crept slowly up on the darkest side, so near that, partly by sight and partly by sound, he could discover what took place. There was not a loud word spoken, though he occasionally heard them whisper to each other. Then he heard the sound of shovels and the moving of the gravel.
"It is true," said Jake to himself, "they are digging a grave!" and the cold sweat started on his forehead. Still he resolved to be quiet and see it all through. Once or twice they stopped and seemed to be listening, as though they thought they heard some noise. Then he could hear them whisper to each other, but could not understand what they said. After ​they had been digging and throwing out gravel some time, he heard a sound like the light knock of a shovel upon the lid of a coffin.
"Take care," said Joe, in a very loud whisper, "it'll never do to make such a noise as that; it could be heard almost half a mile; do be more careful."
Again they pursued their work, and occasionally a hollow sound like a shovel scraping over a coffin was heard. At length their work of throwing out gravel seemed to be completed; and then there was a pause for some time, interrupted occasionally by sounds of screwing, and wedging, and wrenching; and at last they seemed to be lifting some heavy substance out of the grave. They carried it toward the gate. Jake was lying almost upon the ground, and as they passed near him, he could perceive they were carrying some white object about the length and size of a corpse. They went out at the gate and round to the chaise; and presently they returned again, and appeared by their motions and the sound to be filling up the grave. Jake took this opportunity to go and examine the chaise; and sure enough he found there a full-sized corpse, wrapped in a white sheet, lying in the centre of the chaise, the feet resting on the floor, the body ​leaning across the seat, and the head resting against the centre of the back part of the chaise.
"Only some scrape of the doctor's after all," said Jake to himself, who now began to breathe somewhat easier than he had done for some time past. "But it's rather shameful business, though; this must be Deacon Gray's daughter, I'm sure; and it's a shame to treat the old man in this shabby kind of way. I'll put a stop to this, anyhow. Polly Gray was too good a sort of a gal to be chopped up like a quarter of beef, according to my way of thinking, and it shan't be."
Jake then lifted the corpse out of the chaise, carried it a few rods farther from the road, laid it down, took off the winding-sheet, wrapped it carefully round himself, went back and got into the chaise, and placed himself exactly in the position in which the corpse had been left. He had remained in that situation but a short time before Joe and Rufus, having filled up the grave and made all right there, came and seated themselves in the chaise, one on each side of the corpse, and drove slowly and quietly off.
"I'm glad it's over," said Rufus, fetching a long breath. "My heart's been in my mouth the whole time. I thought I heard somebody coming half a dozen times; and then it's such a dismal gloomy place ​too. You would n't catch me there again, in such a scrape, I can tell you.."
"Well, I was calm as clock-work the whole time," said Joe. "You should have such pluck as I've got, Rufe; nothing ever frightens me."
At that moment the chaise wheel struck a stone, and caused the corpse to roll suddenly against Joe. He clapped up his hand to push it a little back, and instead of a cold clammy corpse, he felt his hand pressed against a warm face of live flesh. As quick as though he had been struck by lightning, Joe dropped the reins, and with one bound sprang a rod from the chaise and ran for his life. Rufus, without knowing the cause of this strange and sudden movement, sprang from the other side with almost equal agility, and followed Joe with his utmost speed. They scarcely stopped to take breath till they had run two miles and got into Joe's room at the college, and shut the door and locked themselves in. Here, having sworn Joe's chum to secresy, they began to discuss the matter. But concerning the very strange warmth of the corpse they could come to no satisfactory conclusion. Whether it could be, that they had not actually taken up the corpse from the grave, but before they had got down to it some evil spirit had ​come in the shape of the corpse and deceived them, or whether it was actually the corpse, and it had come to life, or whether it was the ghost of Polly Gray, were questions they could not decide. They agreed, however, to go the next morning by sunrise on to the ground, and see what discoveries they could make.
When Jacob Rider found himself alone in the chaise, being convinced that Joe and Rufus would not come back to trouble him that night, he turned about and drove back to the burying-ground.
"Now," said Jake, "I think the best thing I can do, for all concerned, is to put Polly Gray back where she belongs, and there let her rest."
Accordingly Jake went to work and opened the grave again, carried the corpse and replaced it as well as he could; and filled up the grave and rounded it off in good order. He then took his horse and chaise and returned home, well satisfied with his night's work.
The next morning, some time before sunrise, and before any one was stirring in the neighborhood, Joe and Rufus were at the old burying-ground. They went round the inclosure, went to the tree where they had fastened their horse, and looked on every side, but discovered nothing. They went ​through the gate, and across to the grave where they had been the night before. The grave looked all right, as though it had not been touched since the funeral. They could see nothing of the horse or chaise, and they concluded if the corpse or evil spirit, or whatever it was in the chaise, had left the horse to himself, he probably found his way directly home. They thought it best therefore immediately to go and see Jake, and make some kind of an explanation. So they went over immediately to Jake's stable, and found the horse safe in his stall. Presently Jake made his appearance.
"Well, your confounded old horse," said Joe, "would n't stay hitched last night. He left us in the lurch, and we had to come home afoot. I see he's come home, though. Chaise all right, I hope?"
"Yes, all right," said Jake.
"Well, how much for the ride," said Joe, "seeing we didn't ride but one way?"
"Seeing you rode part way back," said Jake, "I shall charge you fifty dollars."
Joe started and looked round, but a knowing leer in Jake's eye convinced him it was no joke. He handed Jake the fifty dollars, at the same time placing his finger emphatically across his lips; and ​Jake took the fifty dollars, whispering in Joe's ear, "dead folks tell no tales." Jake then put his finger across his lips, and Joe and Rufus bade him good morning.