Chapter 3
The sicknesses of Lovisa and Lovina. Miraculous healing
of Lovisa. She preaches to and exhorts the people for three
years. Lucy cares for Lovina. Deaths of Lovina and Lovisa.
January
1780 to 1794
The history of Lovisa and Lovina, my two oldest sisters, is
so connected and interwoven that I shall not attempt to separate
it. [1]
They were one in faith, in love, in action, and in hope of
eternal life. They were always together, and when they were
old enough to understand the duties of a Christian, they united
their voices in prayer and songs of praise to God. This sisterly
affection increased with their years and continued steadfast
until death. One might say as did one of old, “Let me die
the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like theirs.”
The pathway of their lives was never clouded with a gloomy
shadow until Lovisa’s marriage and removal from home, which
left Lovina very lonely. [2]
In about two years after Lovisa’s marriage, she was taken violently
sick with a disease so singular in its nature that her attendant
physicians had seen no precedent and could give it no name.
Suffice it to say she was nigh unto death and sorely afflicted
for the space of two years. She revived a little about this
time and showed some symptoms of recovery, but a malignant
reattack soon brought her back in intense agony upon a bed
of pain and languor. She grew worse and worse until she became
utterly speechless, and was so for several days. Those who
attended her were not allowed to move her. She ate not; she
drank not, with the exception of a few drops of rice water
which they were able to pour into her mouth with a teaspoon
by prying her teeth apart. Thus she lay for three days and
two nights.
On the night of the third day at about two
o’clock, she feebly pronounced the name of her sister Lovina,
who had hovered indefatigably all the while around her pillow
night and day like an attendant angel, watching every change
with thrilling anxiety. Lovina now bent with deep emotion
over the emaciated form of the invalid and said, “My sister!”
but no more; her feelings choked her utterance.
Lovisa said emphatically, “The Lord has healed me, soul and
body. Raise me up and give me my clothes. I want to get up.”
Her husband told those present to gratify her, as this was
probably a revival before death, and he would not have her
crossed in her last moments. They raised her in bed and handed
her clothing to her and assisted her to dress, but when she
was lifted to her feet both of her ankles were instantly dislocated
by her weight resting upon them. She said, “Put me in a chair
and pull my feet gently, and I shall soon be sound again.”
She then ordered her husband to bring her nourishment, and
when she had taken some stimulance, she desired them to assist
her to cross the street to her father-in-law’s, who was then
sick. They did so, and when she entered the house, he cried
out in amazement, “Lovisa is dead and her spirit has come
to admonish me of my final exit.”
“No, Father, no,” she said. “God has raised me up, and I have
come to tell you to prepare for death.” She then sat down
and conversed with him some time, and afterwards, with the
assistance of her husband and those who had attended upon
her that night, she returned home.
When news of this excitement and her miraculous recovery was
noised abroad, the inhabitants began to gather from all quarters,
both to hear and see concerning the strange and marvelous
circumstance which had taken place. She talked to them a short
time, sang a hymn with angelic harmony, and then told them
she would meet them at the village church on Thursday, where
she would tell them all about the strange manner in which
she had been healed. [3]
The interior of the Sunderland, Massachusetts,
village church where Lovisa preached may have been like this
one.[4]
The next day, according to promise, she proceeded to the meetinghouse,
and when she arrived there a large congregation had collected.
Soon after she entered, the minister arose and remarked that,
as many of the congregation had doubtless come to hear a recital
of the strange circumstance which had taken place in the neighborhood,
and as he himself felt more interested in it than in hearing
a gospel discourse, he would open the meeting and then give
place to Mrs. Tuttle.
The minister then requested her to sing a hymn; she accordingly
did so, and her voice was as high and clear as it had ever
been. Having sung, she arose and addressed the audience as
follows: “I seemed to be borne away to the world of spirits,
where I saw the Savior as through a veil, which appeared to
me about as thick as a spider’s web, and he told me that I
must return again to warn the people to prepare for death;
that I must exhort them to be watchful as well as prayerful;
that I must declare faithfully unto them their accountability
before God and the certainty of their being called to stand
before the judgment seat of Christ; and that if I would do
this my life should be prolonged.” After this she spoke much
to the people upon the uncertainty of life.
When she sat down, her husband and sister, also those who were
with her during the last night of her sickness, arose and
testified to her appearance just before her sudden recovery.
Of these things she continued to speak boldly, and her house
was always crowded for the space of three years, at the end
of which time she was seized with the consumption. [5]
A short time before Lovisa was healed in the miraculous manner
before stated, Lovina was taken with the consumption, when
I was sixteen, and languished three years with this fatal
disease.
Two years before sister Lovina’s death, I visited sister Tuttle,
who was then sick at South Hadley. Here lived one Colonel Woodbridge, who bought a large church
bell about this time which was hung while I was there and
I understand remains till this day. [6]
Lovina’s character was that of a true follower of Christ, and
she lived contemplating her final change with that peaceful
serenity which characterizes those who fear God and walk uprightly.
She spoke calmly of her approaching dissolution and conjured
her young friends to remember that life on this earth could
not be eternal, that they might see, therefore, the necessity
of looking beyond this veil of tears to a far more glorious
inheritance “where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and
where thieves do not break through nor steal.” [7]
The care of Lovina during her illness devolved chiefly upon
myself. [8] The task, though a melancholy one, I cheerfully
performed and, although she had much other attention, I never
allowed myself to go an hour at a time beyond the sound of
her voice while she was sick. Finally, she called to me one
night (who am the youngest daughter of my father’s family)
and said, “Lucy, tell Mother and Father to come to me.” When
Mother came she said, “Mother, I am going now, and I wish
you to call my young mates that I may speak to them again
before I die.” While my mother was giving the necessary directions,
my sister bade me take her up and place her in a chair. When
Mother and our associates with the family were seated, she
commenced speaking, and finding that her strength failed her,
she desired Mother to prepare her some food, saying, “’Tis
the last you will ever get for me.” She took the food, and
after eating with seeming appetite a small quantity, she then
gave back the dish to Mother and said, “There, Mother. You
will never get me anything to eat again.”
She then proceeded, “I do not know when I received my material
change of heart, unless it was when I was ten years old. [9] God, at that time, heard my prayers and forgave
my sins. Since then I have, according to my best ability,
endeavored to serve him continually. I have called you here
to give you my last warning and bid you all farewell and beseech
you to endeavor to meet me where parting shall be no more.”
Then, holding up her hands and looking upon them as one would
mark a trifling thing which she had not observed before, she
said, smiling, “See, the blood is now settling under my nails.”
As she contemplated the gradual change in her appearance,
she again remarked how slowly death crept on there. Placing
the fingers of her left hand across the right, she said, “’Tis
cold to there. Soon this mortal flesh will be food for worms.”
Then, turning to me, she said, “Now, sister Lucy. Help me
back to the bed.”
I did as she desired, but as I moved my hand from beneath her
side, she shouted, crying, “Oh sister, that hurt me.” She
moaned plaintively. As this was the last sad office I could
ever perform for my sister, it wounded me to think that in
laying her upon her deathbed I should cause her pain.
My sister now laid herself calmly back upon her pillow and
said, “My nose is now quite cold.” Then, slightly turning
and straightening herself in bed, she continued, “Father,
Mother, brother, sister, and dear companions, all farewell,
I am going to rest — prepare to follow me.” She then sang
the hymn:
