The search for a cure to the white death.
Is death the eternal problem to which there is no answer? Scholars such as Mackenson’s Dr. Peake have answered that question, at least to their own satisfaction. Paul the Apostle settled it for the theologians when he stated, in so many words, that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” He spoke of an afterlife – an eternal life of joy in the realm of heaven above.
What then may we say of alternate forms of life? If one does not enter into a blessed afterlife, they evidently enter into an existence. It is an existence apart from God. It is a state of eternal death as opposed to eternal life. Eternal life and eternal damnation are, of course, two concepts that involve that which is spiritual rather than material.
I submit that, in the mundane world, there are forms of life or existence that do not correspond to that which humanity considers to be desirable. One form of such an existence is that of the undead. The undead are wights who are no longer alive, deceased yet reanimated by some force or power.
Another form of life of which I have become grimly aware is an existence which comes about as the result of a transition. Today I witnessed the transition of Ms. Mary Elisabeth Ellsworth, who leapt from my office window toward the ground below. I have reason to believe that I shall soon join her in such a transition, so I will take steps to ensure that I do not. Upon conclusion of this letter, I too shall leap from the window and cast myself onto the rocks in the garden below. Finally I will be free of constant pain and agony.
I shall begin my discourse by elaborating on the circumstances which have brought me to my predicament. My name is Robert Edward Williamson and I dwell at my family’s estate at Chapel Hill. To one and all, in this part of the county, I am known as “The Colonel.” This is actually a misnomer, for I was not a colonel, but a lieutenant colonel
My last appointment was to the country of France and it was in Europe, in 1918, that I became unable to perform my duties. I was discharged, ultimately, for several reasons. The first was a gunshot.
In the first week of the battle of Bois de Belleau, which we typically call Belleau Wood, I was attached to the 2nd Infantry Division. We had come through unexpected small arms and heavy machine gun fire, and I received a wound to my left upper thigh. Some soldier saw an officer, no doubt, and took a shot at me.
We finally made our way behind our lines. When I got out of the automobile, I collapsed. There was an uproar: were we under a gas attack? There was a general air of malaise around the area, though I had assumed it was caused by the war time environment.
After some amount of time it was determined that we were not under a mustard gas attack. My inability to stand was from the gunshot I had taken and the subsequent loss of blood. Shortly thereafter the injury was treated and I was sent north to recuperate in a field hospital near Boulogne. I was privileged to ride with three others in a Model T field ambulance which, I must say, was far more comfortable than the typical horse and wagon.
It was at the hospital in Boulogne where my condition took a drastic turn. My health declined precipitously, and it was soon determined that I was afflicted by the grippe now known as the Spanish flu. This condition necessitated an evacuation across the channel to England, to the general hospital in Newhaven. Here, victims of the flu were being housed and treated en masse.
At Newhaven I began to recover, and fortunately I did not succumb to the influenza. I began to move about, with assistance from the nurses. In a few weeks time I was able to move about under my own power, though much of my movement required (and still requires) the use of a cane.
When I thought I should be fairly well recovered, I fell ill once again. My skin developed an unhealthy pallor and I grew sicker. Hemoptysis, to use a mild term, developed and the doctors immediately confined me away from the hospital’s general population. Somehow I had been afflicted with the much dreaded condition called consumption.
The so-called “romantic disease” was my downfall, and I was sent to the U.S. on the cargo ship SS Bathe. We avoided the U-boats and I was released from my commission in August of 1918 after arriving at the U.S. Army General Hospital No. 1, located in The Bronx, New York. A few days later I was told that arrangements had been made for my return to Texas. Within that same week I boarded the SV Palmy.
The Palmy sailed for Texas with a cargo of timber and, as fate would have it, two who were afflicted with consumption. Ms. Mary Elisabeth Ellsworth had fallen ill while in New York. She was a native of Pines County, Texas, and the youngest daughter of Captain George Ellsworth. Coincidentally, the same Captain Ellsworth was not simply a ship’s master, but the owner of exactly five sailing ships. As luck would have it, the Captain had a ship available to return Ms. Ellsworth to her home. Fortunately, I was blessed to sail on that same ship.
Ms. Ellsworth was accompanied, as all ladies of fine breeding typically are, by a chaperon, one Mrs. Whitehead. This lady was limited in her duties; she served Ms. Ellsworth’s meals but could do little more than bring them to the cabin door. Ms. Ellsworth, who had the white plague, the poet’s disease, consumption, was quite contagious.
Because we had no desire to be the source of contagion, Ms. Ellsworth and I remained isolated. We were quite unwilling to put the crew in danger, and so we only ventured forth from our cabins during the night. We were unaware of one another for a short time, but eventually this changed. A special steward who was assigned to look after me mentioned that there was another passenger who was ill in the same manner that I was. We finally met one night on the weather deck. We got along well and we became friends. Later we began to meet aft, where there was a ship’s lamp. Mrs. Whitehead did not disapprove, nor did the master of the vessel, and so we spent hours there, often conversing into the small hours.
Mary Elisabeth Ellsworth was a dainty lady with raven black hair. Her complexion would have been fair even if she had not been stricken with the white death. I found her to be more knowledgeable than many of the officers and gentlemen that I had met during my time in the army. Suffice it to say that she had the soul of a poet (she actually composed poetry) and the hands of a painter. Later I would see some of her paintings, and I was impressed with her work. I determined that I would, as soon as possible, call upon her at her father’s home. When I requested her permission she was agreeable to my suggestion.
The SV Palmy sailed along the coast before calling at the port of Tenby, Texas, in November. The air was brisk and I noticed that I felt considerably better, even better than I was when aboard the Palmy. It was at Tenby that Ms. Ellsworth, Mrs. Whitehead, and I parted company. They had staff waiting with a horse drawn carriage. I spoke to Ms. Ellsworth one last time and again promised to call on her. I also revealed to her, for the first time, that I was very well connected to certain individuals at Mackenson Institute, the area’s premier establishment for higher learning in the arts, theology, and divers sciences. I planned to call upon them also: If any earthly establishment could discover a treatment for my condition, it would be the doctors and scholars of the Institute. It was my intention to find a cure for the dreaded plague, and I would travel (or my staff would) to the ends of the earth to find it.
I determined that Ms. Ellsworth, if I found even the possibility of a successful treatment, would be the first person to know about it. In the meantime, I had my own men who had arrived, ready to escort me to my residence. One man was on horseback leading a second horse, and the second man had arrived with a horse drawn wagon. The driver was Mr. Edgar Turner who, along with Mrs. Martha Turner, oversees the daily affairs of my estate. The man on the horse was my friend and steward of the house, Vincent King. His wife, Mrs. Iris King, serves as my cook and assistant housekeeper alongside Mrs. Turner.
Exhausted, I fairly collapsed into the bed of the wagon. As we began the trip overland to Mackenson County, I began to write my letter to my associate the Reverend Dr. Thomas Peake, making him aware of my predicament and querying him as to what course of action might be taken. By the time we had approached the town of Clarkston, I had finished writing and Vincent took my correspondence to the good doctor at Mackenson Institute. I desired intensely to speak to the Reverend in person, but dared not since it was a certainty, I supposed, that I could infect others. (A word about my personal staff: I took care, to the best of my ability, not to interact with them unless there was simply no other choice. Fortunately, I and those I employed had a genuine affection for everyone else in the household. They were unafraid to attend me and practically scoffed at the notion of catching the white plague – and none have, to this very day.)
In a day’s time my long journey to Chapel Hill was completed. The cooler weather definitely gave me some relief from my condition, and I retired to my rooms on the top floor of Chapel Hill manor. Now there was nothing to do other than to wait on Vincent to return from Clarkston.
When I was not resting, I spent my time in the garden, reading. If not in the garden, I repaired to my office which overlooked the grounds. After having been deployed for several years, I enjoyed the beauty of the estate.
The Chapel Hill mansion (which is often referred to simply as “Chapel Hill”) was built by my great-grandfather in the Georgian style. It is a majestic home of three levels with dormer windows surrounding the top floor and a tower with a single window in the front and center portion of the house. I also own two guesthouses located behind the main house. The Chapel Hill community proper hosts six additional houses and a commissary that is open three days a week. It has always been a very small community.
The Chapel Hill designation was later adopted by local settlers as the name of their community; my great-grandfather first used the term because of the appearance of the house and the grounds. The house is built on a low hill and my ancestor thought it resembled a church. Thus, the name “Chapel Hill” came into existence.
One of the most pleasing features of my home is the garden. It is large enough to grant me a great deal of privacy. It consists of majestic willows, crepe myrtles, tulips, and an abundance of roses. The garden is replete with marble benches and free-standing sculptures inspired by the mythology of the Hellenistic period.
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