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David John's Flood Run Part VIII, Finale

6/17/2016

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Night-time, February 22, 1878

Cabin in the Rain
"Cabin in the forest" - Original Canadian oil painting by Shirley Levie
Two brothers, David John (1846–about 1900) and Thomas Albert (1839–1910) Hersey, stood in silence gazing south from the cabin's porch listening to the decaying pace of rainfall.  It was only a trickle, as compared to the torrent released in the earlier hours of the day and of the previous night.   The temperature was dropping and a few flakes of snow could be seen drifting in the wind.  Both brothers had warmed up and dried off inside the cabin, recovering from after their precarious, if somewhat comical, effort to ford   
the distance between Thomas's house thirty yards downhill to the cabin where their parents lived, and where they stood at that moment.  From the safety of the porch they watched the abating flood.

David, using an old pipe of his father’s, lit up, trying to calm himself.  The sweet aroma of tobacco blended well with the smell of fresh rain water.  Thomas, reflective, was considering the cut in his right thumb and strategizing what their next actions should be.   He eyed his brother, taking in David’s muddy and torn clothing; the cuts still bleeding from his eyebrows and scalp.   Perhaps a ten minute trek to Doctor Fee's residence was their next best move; he would be home at this hour. 

"David," Thomas said gently, not wanting to rankle his brother, "Why don't you change out of your clothes and put on something clean of father's? You would be warmer."
 
David's exasperated retort was short.
 
"I would rather go naked."
 
Thomas sighed and gave an understanding shrug. The Old Man had been unnecessarily hard on David.  
 
"Well. Let's make our way to Sam Fee's (about 1840-1905) house. It will be a short walk. The flood has ebbed." Thomas added an attempt at humor, "He can tend our battle wounds."
 
Not in the mood for levity, David snorted and threw Thomas a scornful sideways glance.  He also sighed, reluctantly accepting the suggestion. 
 
"Aye, all right.  To Fee's it is."  
 
The pair set out, leaving Thomas's two youngest sons with their parents in the cabin. Most likely young Ernest would prevent father from getting back onto the roof and creating another spectacle for the neighborhood.


Their pace was calm, a change from the frenetic activities of the past few hours. After about two hundred yards in a southerly direction they turned left onto the mud that was Princess Street. The only sounds were the sucking noises of their footsteps in the mud, a small wind in the trees, and the faint drops of water falling onto the sludge.

In the next minutes, off in the distance up Princess Street, came a series of growing sounds; cracks, thuds, short shouts. The two brothers stopped in their tracks and peered off into the dimming light. They next glanced at each other, four eyebrows raised in curiosity. The sounds became alarmingly louder. A blur of heaving white horses began to materialize in the distance, and the ominous sounds became dangerously present.

Thomas flew into action. "David!" he yelled; grabbing his brother, throwing him into the gutter of the road and falling on top of him protectively. Rushing past them was a horse drawn carriage flying at top speed. The cabby, who most likely had not seen the two in the dark, was wildly cracking his whip and shouting full voice at the racing horses. The carriage recklessly careened north off of Princess Street onto Chatham, spewing gushes of muck and spritzes of water every-which-way, mainly onto the two brothers. The pair remained on the ground for several minutes, catching their breath and waiting for their pumping hearts to calm. It was a very close call.


Racing Horses
"Horses Stepping Out" by Sera Knight, contemporary
It was at this point, after the hellish stormy afternoon, the evening of mud, wind, cold, crushing falls, and ruined attire, that David began to fall apart. He began to shake. The shaking grew and with his voice near panic, he started yelling.
"Thomas, I cannot take any more!!!" 

"Now, David, it is all right. The crazy fool is gone now.  Let's keep going."  In his head Thomas affixed extremely un-Methodist adjectives to the driver, the
horses, and to whoever was riding inside the carriage. 

Wet and muddy, they made the rest of the way to Dr. Fee's residence on Division Street.  Through the windows they could see lit lamps, a good sign.   They limped up the portico and Thomas knocked on the door.  After thirty seconds David began pounding his fists on the wood.  On the other side of the door they could hear a scurry of footsteps.  Thomas grabbed his brother’s arms to stop the banging. The lock rattled. The door opened just a peek to reveal a diminutive, red haired Irish girl wearing a maid's uniform. 
 
"We need Dr. Fee's help,” announced Thomas.  "I have a severely cut thumb and my brother here has gashes around his head." 
 
The girl eyed the condition of the David's clothes and closed the gap in the door just a smidgen more. 
 
"Doc Fee'd be not 'ere"
 
"What, girl??  Come now, we need help!"
 
"Yon 'bout two hour ago the 'ospital sent a carriage to fetch 'im.  There'd be an ‘ uge mass o' folk a’ needin' help this eve wit' the flood an' all."
 
She eyed the two of them suspiciously.  "Ye best be on your way to 'ospital, now."  And she slammed the door in their faces. 
 
The brothers shared a few tense moments of silent irritability, staring at the goblin door knocker positioned inches from their noses.


Door Knocker
They had no other available choices; they continued south on Division Street towards the hospital. 

Then it happened again; cracks, thuds, short shouts, swiftly becoming louder.  This time they were forewarned.  They stumbled as quickly as they could to the side of the road.  The same crazy carriage shot west off of Chatham Street galloping towards them up Princess. 


"Whoa, Whoa,” the cabby shrieked at the horses as they reared almost out of control.   The insane driver pulled the horses to a stop on the corner directly in the brothers’ path.   The carriage door flew open and out leaned their brother-in-law and David John's employer, wealthy lumber merchant William McRossie (1839–1896).  Wild, fierce, frowning and Scottish, William hailed them, waving them to the carriage. 


Angry Scotsman
"Red Scottsman" by Craig Elliot, contemporary
"Get, in, Get, in ya' disheveled vagrants.  David, donna' ye' 'ave a brain?  Ya' left de front door of t’office unlocked when ya' left!!"
 
Oh, mental agony.  David had known he had forgotten something.  This put him even closer to the breaking point.  Thomas knew it.
 
"Leave David alone, William. He's been through a hard day.  And did you know that you near killed us racing up Princess Street?  You almost ran us down.  Are you mad?" 


William was brooding and silent as the brothers climbed into the carriage.  Then he motioned the cabby forward, yelling 'to ta’ 'ospital, man,’ and he snapped shut the carriage door. 
 
"Sorry," William muttered.  More silence enveloped as the carriage rocked and bumped full speed towards medical help.  But William just couldn't keep quiet. Dramatically rolling his “r's” he proclaimed,
 
"I been oot checkin' on everyone. I just was at your house, David, not twenty minutes past.  My Eltea (Elthea Annie Hersey McRossie, 1843–1904) is with your 'Lisabet (Elizabeth Kells Hersey, 1845–1931) now, David, an' your children."
 
Oh, praise God, William.  Thank you," said David, gratefully.
 
William struggled to keep his thoughts to himself.
 
"Lisabet's a wreck, David.  How could’a leave her alone with da children?  And ye boys outside in da rain muckin’ in as much mud as t’ey could.  Really, David!  Canna' ya’ control t’ose two renegades?"
 
At this, David finally blew his proverbial top.  He yelled at the top of his voice:

 
"So what, William.  Why shouldn't they play in the rain?  What is so sinful about that?  Why shouldn’t the two get as much enjoyment out of life as they can? There surely is enough pain and grief for them later in life." 
 
David's voice rose higher to shriek level.  "And you know perfectly well that my daughters are very capable and able to take care of Elizabeth when her panic takes over.  I knew exactly what I was doing leaving Elizabeth in their care." 
 
The shriek acquired a jeering quality.   "And would you rather we left father in the rain, on the roof, screaming to God for all the neighbors to enjoy?"
 
For at least the third time that day Thomas rolled his eyes.  "Settle down. Settle down.  We are all brothers here.  We are each trying to do our best."
 
With these words an egalitarian silence surrounded the three for a few minutes. But William could not restrain himself.
 
"All right, all right, keep ye hats on," he muttered.  Unable to stop, William pursued the attack.  "T’at certainly brings to mind, David, what in ta name of God did you do to ya suit?  Where in tarnation is ya right boot? You look like a corpse just climbed from a grave.  So much money spent on fancies just to ruin t’em!"
 
With this, all civility exited stage (or carriage) door left.  The three rode on, yelling at each other all the way to the hospital.
 
In time, the trio arrived at Kingston’s City Hospital to receive the needed medical help.  The flooding was over.  The night cleared.  Most was forgiven. William McRossie, thinking what a fool family he had married into and satisfied that everyone was properly looked after, rode his two brothers-in-law home, bringing David John’s Flood Run to an end at last. 
  
End of David John’s Flood Run. 



Notes:
  • When David expelled the words "They should get as much enjoyment out of life now; there surely is enough pain and grief for them later in life," he knew well the truth of the statement. But he knew not the bitter prophesy of coming events these words would prove to be.
 
  • I must repeat myself: You should be able to tell that I am very fond and partial to my great, great, great uncle David John.  This story is, of course, fiction.   But the people, their dates, and occupations are accurate.  There was a flood on Thomas Hersey's property in February 1878 as you can read  in “Ducks in a Millpond.” The particulars of each personality are out of my imagination.  However Thomas Albert and David John Hersey both had distinctive scars, as you can read by scrolling to the end of “David John’s Flood Run Part IV.” The scars on David John's head seem unusual for a book-keeper.  I am guessing that Thomas Albert was left handed because of his rather upright signature and his scar on his right thumb. 
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David John's Flood Run Part VII

6/11/2016

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Edward Atkinson Hornel Portrait of an old man in a scarlet tunic, 1881Picture
Portrait of an Old Man in a Scarlet Tunic Edward Atkinson Hornel - 1881
Evening, February 22, 1878

Things were improving; Father was out of the rain and down from the rooftop.  There were, however, a few loose ends for perusal.  Still to address was the gaping cut in Thomas Albert's right thumb.  And still to ponder was the comical condition of his Brother David’s (1846– to about 1900) clothes.  Thomas, who had sliced open his thumb while attempting to rescue the carpentry tools from the flooded basement of his house thirty yards up hill, was not quite clear on how his brother had managed to ruin his (very expensive) suit.  David also had some cuts on his scalp and around his eyes.  He had wrapped a scarf, mumps style, around his head.   What remained of his clothing was bloodied, muddied, and ripped.  One of his boots was missing. 
 
In spite of the brothers' condition, all attention was pivoted towards their father, Daniel Hersey (1797-1879).  Thomas's second youngest son, Ernest (1870–1939) had managed to coax the old man off the roof, through the attic cubby hole, and down the stairs to the main part of the cabin.  Daniel was seated in one of the wood chairs, head in his hands, trying to muddle through the events of the last hour.  Daniel was suffering from Alzheimer's disease and, of course unknown at the time, had only one more year on this earth.  His face was clouded with bewilderment and confusion, trying to remember how he had become soaked with rain and why his voice was hoarse.  Very gradually, it was coming back to him.  Ernest, age six, was helping him remember.
 
"You were high on the roof, Grandpa!!!  You were magnif’cent!!!  You were singing and yellin’ and callin’ to God to stop the flood.  And it worked!!!  The flood is almost gone!!!  There is almost no more water on the cabin floor.  You were just like Noah!!!"
 
Clarity began to surface on the old man's face.  Ernest could see his grandfather's look of embarrassment and humiliation.
 
"Oh Grandpa, you were won’erful!  I wish I could be on the roof in the rain!  It looked so fun!  Can we do it together tomorrow?"
 
The others in the cabin managed a smile at Ernest.  The boy was so simple and full of life. 
 
There were two Thomas Alberts in the cabin that evening; Thomas Albert Senior (1839–1910) and his namesake son, Junior (1864-1956).  Thomas Senior was adept at getting things done. But it was inter-personal actions that stymied him.  Both Thomases had receded into the kitchen area of the cabin and were being served pastry made fresh by the mother, Daniel's wife, Mary (1808–1888).  It was David who excelled with people.  David was the caretaker of the family.  And Thomas was very happy to leave his father in Ernest's and David's hands at this awkward juncture. 
 
David hovered over his father.
"Everything is fine now.  You are safe"
"Was I really on the roof yelling?"
 
David paused.
"Well, yes," he said softly.  "But no one noticed," he lied.
"Are you certain no one noticed?"
 
Ernest had a puzzled look on his face.  Uncle David was incorrect here.  The whole street had noticed.  Ernest opened his mouth to deliver the correction, but his uncle gave him a warning tap on his back-side.
 
"No one noticed, Father. How long has it been since you shaved or cleaned up?"
 
Daniel’s perplexed look answered the question.
 
"Let's get cleaned up."  David helped his father to the basin and took all the shaving items from the small cabinet.  He made several mental notes concerning the need for organization of his father's belongings.  Mother kept the kitchen fair but father clearly needed more care. 
 
David helped his father out of the wet clothes and, after examining the old man for cuts and sores, helped him into warm, dry woolen shirt and pants.  He found clean socks and noted that he should later return to organize his father's clothing and other belongings (David needed things to be well-ordered.)  Looking at his father's feet he realized the nails needed trimming.  David washed and toweled his father’s hair then took the time to trim all finger and toe nails.  He then carefully soaped and shaved his father's face.  Mary cleaned the trimmings and took away the soiled clothing.  Thomas Senior sat at the table, eating donuts and watching his brother's patient, loving movements in amazement.  David was astounding.  The family would not be able to function without him. 
 
Daniel, wrapped in his sleeping jacket and wearing a warm night cap, was being helped into his favorite chair.  He sagged, finally relaxing into the present.  All watched Daniel's facial metamorphosis from confusion to absolute clarity.  A fatherly look of condemnation took in David's appearance.  Daniel snapped at David. 

"What in the name of all that is Holy did you do to your clothing??  How could you let yourself get into such a ramshackle state?"
 
David's countenance froze into redness with this criticism.   The others in the cabin hushed into silence, shocked at the harshness of Daniel's statements.  They held their breath to watch David process the parental judgment.   After a few breaths both Thomases quietly turned themselves slightly away from the others, returning their concentration to the donuts.   Senior shook his head and rolled his eyes.  
 
Ernest, always the one to sugar coat, jumped in for the save and dragged a stool over to his grandfather.
 
"Can I read to you, Grandpa?   I have your Bible here."
"Yes, yes, I would like that."
 
The other characters in the scene, fathers, uncles, brothers, and grandmother watched and listened, enchanted by the moment; an old man under the care of a small boy. 
 
Ernest began.
"I think the story of Noah would be perfect! Genesis 6:9.  'These are the gen…gen…' what's this word Grandpa?"
 
"Generations"
 
Ernest started again. “‘These are the gen…generations of Noah: Noah was a just man and perfect in his generations, and Noah walked with God.'  That's you, Grandpa!  You walk with God always!"
 
 The child and the old man sat, suspended in timeless constancy. 
 
"Yes," David realized the perfection of the words.  "Father walks with God."  Words David would remember. 


Grandfather’s Prayer, Anker
Grandfather’s Prayer Albert Anker, 1893

Note-Worthies

Daniel Hersey did indeed live only one year and two months after the February 1878 flood.  He died in Kingston on April, 1879 at the age of 82.  The cause of death as stated in the cemetery records is "debility."  The hospital certificate simply states Daniel's cause of death as "Old Age" with the intensity leading to death lasting a duration of ten days.  This does not mean that Daniel suffered from Alzheimer's  or showered the neighbors with public displays of senility.  It could simply indicate old age or weakness.
 
Certainly not a case of Alzheimer's.  Or perhaps yes, a case of Alzheimer's . 
 
However it was David John that signed Daniel's death certificate, which is unusual in that David was Daniel's youngest child.  This and other indicators have led me to the persuasion that David John, irregardless of his birth order in the family, was the individual that tended to take charge in family matters.
 
Another poignant fact is the wording on Daniel's grave marker.  His stone is engraved with the words "He Walked With God."   The stone marking Daniel's wife, Mary, who died in 1888 simply states "Blessed are the Meek."  Eight small words that speak loudly to their natures.


Further Reading:

"Old Names for Illnesses and Causes of Death"
Defines Debility :  State or quality of being weak; weakness; feebleness; languor.

"Causes of Death in the Late 19th Century mentioned in the Register of Deaths, 1893-1907 by Karin L. Flippin, HIS 480, April 23, 1997"
 States: "Debility - Lack of movement or staying in bed"

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