William Nevins, part 9: Down the Mississippi, Never to Return.
Yesterday I was sitting at the 4-way stop sign in the little village of Craley, Pennsylvania. As a fire engine raced from the left and began to turn, the box truck in front of me began backing up to make way. I didn’t see the movement, but my friend, seated beside me, desperately fumbled out the words, “He’s backing up! He’s backing up!” I grabbed for the shifter, found the clutch, and was able to reverse just fast enough to avoid being hit. A piece of paper would scarcely have fit between us. Just hours before, not many miles away, there was a story with a different ending. Two people had been killed in an accident on US 30. Split seconds, mere inches—these are the margins between life and death. Life is a vapor, says James, but when we are healthy and in the prime of life, we feel immortal.
Today’s reading from William Nevins comes from another time of tragedy in his family. This is from 1830, and he has just gotten news that his wife’s sister has died. She was only 18, and had traveled from Maryland to Louisiana with friends. There, a sickness overcame her and she died. She left behind her mother and siblings—including her twin. Two short entries from Nevins’ journal show the grief of a brother and the tentative hope of a pastor. Was Louisa a child of God? He had reason to hope so, but could not be sure. To Louisa, as to many other of his family members, he had been a tireless evangelist. But after her death he mourned that he had not prayed more and pleaded more for Louisa to come to Christ. It is a lesson for us all.
March 27, 1830. A memorable day! Last evening I heard of the death of my poor dear sister, Louisa Key; with great difficulty, I hid my feelings and kept the news from my wife until this morning, when, to her first, and then to her mother and the other family members, I broke the heavy tidings. Dear, loved Louisa, my sister, for my heart in its agony tells me that you were loved, are you indeed gone? It is no delusive dream; but sad, shocking reality. Yes, you are gone! So soon and for ever gone:—how unexpectedly to us; how unexpectedly to you. Oh my sister, I could weep my eyes out for you!—I could break my heart for you! You didn't think that you were going to Louisiana to find a grave! A few days ago, you were moving, admired and admiring, among the earthly pleasures of New Orleans;—now, you are—where are you, dear spirit? Even though it was at the last minute, yet I hope that you did love and look to Jesus. He is the one who did not refuse the prayer of the thief whose last words were, ‘Lord remember me when you come into your kingdom.' And I fondly hope that he heard you, and did not forget you in that hour of your own need.
Poor young thing! you were not familiar with death. He had never before presented himself to you—you did not expect him but he came! Oh, if I could only be sure that Jesus was with you then, and that you are with him now, I would still weep, but they would be tears of gratitude! Oh, if you are with him, stay where you are! I would not call you back—you would not come! No, if you sleep in Jesus, sleep on; I would not wake you! Oh Louisa, I wish I had been more faithful to you; I wish I had prayed for you more. I might have been a better brother to you. But there is one who did, night and morning, pray for you—your mother; and her desire for you was not worldly prosperity, but that her child might be a child of God.
Oh Louisa, what could I do for you now, now that nothing can be done for you! I will be more faithful to your sisters, and will say to them, what I know you would say, if you could speak to them from your new home in eternity. Poor Emily, I pity you. God have mercy on you. She, who was more to you than your sister, your other self, is taken from you She came into being with you, but has gone out without you. The set is broken; one of the pair is gone; but you may be united again to your Louisa. Oh, may heaven reunite you!
June 1. Yesterday, our dear friends from Louisiana, after long and anxious expectation of them, arrived. Poor Emily—the shock of the meeting caused her reason to totter on its throne; but to-day it sits firm in its seat. Alas, Louisa is not; she went, but she did not come back with them. Oh death, rarely have you gained a richer victory, or carried off a more beautiful trophy! And yet, I trust it was only an apparent victory, and that the spirit of Louisa was instead laid as a trophy at the feet of Jesus. Oh, I trust that through grace she is saved. In the delirium of her disease, she called constantly on her mother,— ‘Mother, mother, come to your child.' Oh, she would have come, she would have flown on the wings of love; but she did not hear, she did not know—she could not come; but oh, I trust, Jesus came at your call, and that he was better to her than her mother. They asked her where she thought she would go when she died, and she raised her eyes and lifted her finger, and said, ‘to Heaven.' And there, I trust, she is waiting for us. Oh God, was it you who took away from her the terror of death, and give her hope? She wanted to leave a message for Emily but it was too late. She began to speak her name but could not finish it, and was soon held fast by death.
Louisa Key lies buried in one of the above-ground vaults so common in Louisiana. You can view her grave and its inscription here.
