Abigail
You
notice the old grey-haired man in the corner? Do you notice how he works
his hands? And, listen, in an undertone he is softly saying "Abigail...
Abigail." It is the name of his wife he is calling. That old man has a
history, but I will only tell of the loss of his wife.
He was an American who settled
here after the Loyalists came to Saint John [1783]. Martin Austin
by name. He married a very beautiful girl, Abigail Gale and they had a
family of several children who are married and live in this country. It
was a happy marriage.
There were no roads then and,
as all travel was by water, both men and women became expert at boating.
Mrs Austin often canoed to Saint John market or would go on the row boat,
using an oar as handy as any man.
It was one fine September day,
quiet and as fair as a Fall day ever in New Brunswick, when Mrs Austin
and a neighbour woman started for Saint John to market eggs, a little butter
and some early vegetables. They went away paddling and singing while Mr
Austin and his older children were gathering the wheat by sickle as was
the custom of the day. At noon the wind sprang up and before five o'clock
was blowing a gale. [On their return --?] Mrs Austin and the other
woman were keeping to the lee shore, close in to escape the wind, but they
had to come out in the full face of the wind to make the home shore. They
bravely tried it but the gale caught the canoe and upset it, throwing both
women in the water.
Mr Austin had seen them as they
put out in the gale and, as the canoe went over, he heard his wife call
"Martin" but she never came back in sight after going under. The other
woman clung to the overturned canoe and Mr Austin, in an agony of fear,
had launched his big boat and rowed in frantic haste. Several neighbours
who had witnessed the accident ran to their boats and soon several were
doing what they could to get near. The woman clinging to the boat was saved
but there was no trace of Mrs Austin.
Martin was frantic. He kept
saying "She called me, she called me" and he rowed around and around the
cove and river calling "Abigail! Abigail, Martin is coming!" Night came
on but Mr Austin would not give up. All through the night he kept rowing
and calling. The people begged him to come in for there was no hope of
finding her.
A Nine-Day
Search
People looked and the river
was searched all the next day. Still the bereft husband rowed and his call
-- now so plaintive and sad -- sounded all over the water. The sorrowing
friends brought food and gave him mats. If he slept, he slept in his boat
as it drifted, only to wake and call mournfully for his lost wife.
On the ninth day, early in the
morning as he drifted slowly down the river, she rose suddenly to the top
of the water by the side of his boat. Lovingly he drew her in, patted her
hair, kissed and kissed her wet face. Softly he crooned love words to her:
"Yes, your Martin came, didn't he dear? Yes, darling, I knew you would
come to your Martin."
Kind neighbours towed his boat
with its sacred load to the landing and gently carried her into the house,
the husband walking along, holding her hand and lowly talking to her. Until
she was buried, he sat by her in a daze, talking and softly saying her
name.
It's several years ago, but
now old and feeble -- and with a dazed brain and clouded mind -- you see
he is happy while his thoughts are of her. He never recovered from the
shock and people are sure in their minds that God in his Mercy brought
her body up by his boat for him to get himself -- and allows the cloud
to obscure his mind as a blessing to him who was so constant in his love.
This
is a true story. Abigail was my G.G.G.G. Grandmother. FN(B)L
|
