Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1874-03-07
faint, and about noon was moved by her
son from her chair to her bed, and so died,
as the sun went down.


faint, and about noon was moved by her
son from her chair to her bed, and so died,
as the sun went down.
John was alone in the house when she
died. Since his return from Montreal, he
had been made to feel that he had but one
friend besides his mother. Only one
neighbor had called upon him, and that
was Pete Searles. He had ever proved
true. But John did not like to trouble his
one friend who lived two miles away, to
come and stay with him during the night.
So he lighted candle, took down from a
shelf little Bible and hyma-book that he
and his mother had carried on an average
about four times a year to school house
used as a church, some six miles away,
and so alone with the dead he spent the
hours in reading and tears and meditation.
In the morning he locked the door of his
home and walked "over to Pete's." AS
he met his friend. he said in clear voice
but with his eyes averted, "She has gone,
Pete-if you will Just take the key and go
over there, I'll 90 down to the lake, and
get the things, and tell Downer, and we'll
have the funeral, say on Thursday"
Pete hestated moment, then took the
kew John offered him, and said, eye s,
John, | will tell my woman, and we will
90 over and fix it, and be there when you
come back" And so John went on his
way. .Downer' was the minister, and
1.-The things were coffin and a shroud.
On Thursday was the funeral. Pete
took care to have all the people of the
neighborhood there, although it hardly
seemed as if John desired it. The popu-
lar voice, having once decided it, still
held John as a murderer, and claimed
that he was cleared from the charge only
by the tricks of his lawyer. John knew
OF this decision. At the funeral he was
stern. cold, white and statue-like. While
others wept, but few tears fell from his
eyes, and even these seemed wrung from
him by an anguish for the most part sup
pressed or concealed.
He chose that his mother should be
buried. not in the "burying ground" al
the settlement, but upon theic own little
farm where she had lived. And SO in n
spot below the rocky ridge. where wild
violets grew, she was laid to rest
John spent the night following the iu-
neral at Pete's house, then returned to his
own home, and from that time his solitary
life began. He took his cattle and his
sheep over to Pete's. made all fast about
his home, and resumed his boating upon
Lake Champlain. He fully realized that
he was a marked man. He was advised
it was said even by his own legal counsel
to leave the country, and to leave his
name behind him. but no words in
fluenced him. Firm and steady in his
course, strictly temperate and just. he
won respect where he could not gain con-
fidence.
The years rolled by. Capt. John was still
boatman, and still kept his home at the
8 lonely Lighthouse on the edge of the grea,
valley, From each voyage he returned
aud spent day and night alone at the ole
place and it was noticed that a strong
high paling was built around his mother.
grave, and a marble maidstone was PLACED
there, and other flowers grew with the
wild violets. Even in winter, when there
was no boating and he boarded down b,
the lake, he made many visits to the ole
homestead. His figure, which, though
youthful, was now growing gaunt and thir
as his mothers had been. was often seer
by Pete at nightfall upon the top of Ger.
tain rocky ridge, standing clear and SHARP
against the cold blue steel of the winter
sky.
John had no companions and sought
none. The young men and women of his
set had married and settled in life : he was
still the same.
But there come change. Eleven year.
had passed since the mother died, and il
was June again. John was spending a
day at the old place once more. He sat in
the door, looking out on the magnificent
landscape, the broad lake and the dim line
of mountains away across the valley. The
lovely day seemed to cheer this stern,
lonely man.
Three persons came up the road; they
advanced straight to where John was sit
ting. One of them stepped forward
looked John steadily in the face, held out
his hand to him, and said, "John do you
know me ?'
The voice seemed to strike him with a
sharp, stunning shock. He quivered, held
his breath, stared into the eyes of the
questioner, and then suddenly becoming
unnaturally cool and collected, said, "Is
it you, William?
The two who stood back had once been
Johns warmest friends. They now came
forward, and with such words as they
could command, told the story of Williams
sudden return, and sought for themselves
forgiveness for the cruel suspicion which
had SO long estranged them from their
friend
John seemed to hear this as one in a
dream, he talked with William and the
men in a manner that seemed strangely
cold and indifferent abou. where William
had been voyaging so long in distant seas,
and of his strange absence. A quarter OF
an hour passed away. The men proposed
that John should go with them to their
homes, and said there would be gather
ing of friends there. They pressed the in
vitation with warmth. and such true feel
ing as our voices express when dear
friend had been greatly wronged. and we
humbly acknowledge it.
John said absently that he did not
know. lie looked uneasily around rs if
in search of something, perhaps his hat.
He essayed to rise from his chair but he
could not and in moment he fell back
ashy pale, faintng and breathless. They
famed the tanting man with their straw
hats, and soon as water could be found
applied it to his face and hands. lie soon
partially recovered and looking nm said