Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1881 — AN EX-CONSUL’S STORY. [ARTICLE]

AN EX-CONSUL’S STORY.

To the Editor of the Brooklyn Eagle: A late United States Consul at one of the English inland ports, who is now a private resident of New York, relates the following interesting story. He objects, for private reasons, to having his name published, but authorizes the writer to substantiate his statement, and, if necessary, to refer to him, in Mb private capacity, any person seeking such reference. Deferring to his wishes, I hereby present his statement in almost the exact language in which he gave it to me. C. M. Fahmeb. 1690 Third avenue, New York. “ On my last voyage home from England, some three years ago, in one of the Cunard steamers, I noticed one morning, after a few days out of port, a young man hobbling about on the upper deck, supported by cratches and seeming to move with extreme difficulty and no little pain. He was well dressed and of exceedingly handsome countenance, but his limbs were somewhat emaciated and his face very sallow and bore the traces of long suffering. As he seemed to have no attendant or companion; he at once attracted my sympathies, and I went up to him as he leaned against the taffrail looking out on the foaming track which the earner was making. “ ‘ Excuse me, my young friend,’ I said, touching him gently on the shoulder, ‘you appear to be an invalid and hardly able or strong enough to trust yourself unattended on an ocean voyage ; but if you require any assistance lam a robust and healthy man and shall be glad to help you.’ “ ‘ You are very kind,’ he replied, in a weak voice, ‘ but I require no present aid beyond my cratches, which enable me to pass from my stateroom up here to get the benefit of the sunshine and the sea breeze.’ “ ‘ Yon have been a great sufferer, no doubt,’ I said, ‘ and I judge that you have been afflicted with that most troublesome disease—rheumatism; whose prevalence and intensity seem to be on an alarming increase both in England and America.’ “ ‘ You are right,’ he answered; * I have been its victim for more than a year, and after failing to find relief from medical skill have lately tried the Springs of Carlsbad and Yichy. But they have done me no good, and I am now on my return home to Missouri to die, I suppose. I shall be content if life is spared me to reach my mother’s presence. She is a widow and I am her only child.’ “ There was a pathos in this speech which affected me profoundly, and awakened in me a deeper sympathy than I had felt before. I had no words to answer him, and stood silently beside him, watching the snowy wake of the ship. While thus standing my thoughts reverted to a child—a 10-year-old boy—of a neighbor of mine, residing near my consulate residence, who had been cured of a stubborn case of rheumatism by the use of St. Jacobs Oil, and I remembered that the steward of the ship had told me the day before that he had cured himself of a veiy severe attack of the gout ya New York just before his last voyage by the use of the same remedy. lat once left my young friend and went below to find the steward. I not only found him off duty, but discovered that he had a bottle of the Oil in his locker, which' he had earned across the ocean in case of another attack. He readily parted with it on my representation, and, hunying up again, I soon persuaded tlie young man to allow me to take him to his berth and apply the remedy. After doing so' I covered him up snugly in bed and requested him not to get up until I should see him again. That evening I returned to his stateroom and found him sleeping peacefully and breathing gently. I roused him and inquired how he felt. ‘Like a new man,’ he answered, with a grateful smile. ‘ I feel no pain and am able to stretch my limbs without difficulty. I think I'll get up.’ ‘ No, don’t get up tonight,’ I said, ‘but let me rub you again with the Oil, and in the morning you will be much better able to go above.’ ‘ All right,’ he said, laughing. I then applied the Oil again, rubbing his knees, ankles and arms thoroughly, until he said he felt as if he had a mustard poultice all over his body. I then left him. The next morning when I went up on deck for a breezy promenade, according to my custom, I found my patient waiting for me with a smiling face, and without his crutches, although he limped in his movements, but without pain. I don’t think I ever felt so happy in my life. To make a long story short, I attended him closely during the rest of our voy%e : —some four days—applying the Oil every night, and guarding him against too much exposure to the fresh and damp spring breezes, and, on landing at New York, he was able, without assistance, to mount the hotel omnibus and go to the Astor House. I called on him two days later, and found liim actually engaged in packing his trunk, preparatory to starting West for his home, that evening. With a bright and grateful smile he welcomed me, and pointing to a little box, carefully done up in thick brown paper, which stood upon the table, he said : ‘My good friend, can you guess what that is ?’ ‘A present for your sweetheart,’ I answered. ‘ No,’ lie laughed—‘ that is a dozen bottles of St. Jacobs Oil, which I have just purchased from Hudnut, the druggist across the way, and I am taking them home to show my good mother what has saved her son’s life and restored him to her in health. And with it, I would like to cany you along also, to show her the face of him without whom I should probably never have tried it. If you should ever visit the little village of Sedalia, Mo., Charlie Townsend and his mother will welcome you to their little home, with hearts full of gratitude, and they will show you a bottle of St. Jacobs Oil enshrined in a silver and gold casket, which we shall keep as a parlor ornament as well as memento of our meeting on the Cunard steamer.’ “ We parted, after an hour’s pleasant chat, with mutual good-will and esteem, aud a few weeks afterward I received a letter from him telling me he was in perfect health, and containing many graceful expressions of his affectionate regards. ” — Brooklyn Eagle.