"Only a few drops of oil were left in the lantern," Mrs. Shedd tells
us, "but I lighted it and looked at Mr. Shedd. I could see that he was
very sick indeed and asked two of the men to go back for the doctor.
It was midnight before the doctor reached us.
"The men," Mrs. Shedd continues, "set fire to a deserted cart left
by the refugees and this furnished fire and light all night. They
arranged for guards in turn and lay down to rest on the roadside.
Hour after hour I crouched in the cart beside my husband massaging his
limbs when cramps attacked him, giving him water frequently, for while
he was very cold to the touch, he seemed feverish. We heated the hot
water bottle for his feet, and made coffee for him at the blaze; we
had no other nourishment. He got weaker and weaker, and a terrible
fear tugged at my heart.
"Fifty thousand hunted, terror-stricken refugees had passed on; the
desolate, rocky mountains loomed above us, darkness was all about us
and heaven seemed too far away for prayer to reach. A deserted baby
wailed all night not far away. When the doctor came he gave two
hypodermic injections and returned to the camp saying we should wait
there for him to catch up to us in the morning. After the injections
Mr. Shedd rested better but he did not again regain consciousness.
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