CHAPTER XVI.
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The features of one whom I had seen so transiently
as Wallace, may be imagined to be not easily recognized,
especially when those features were tremulous and deathful.
Here, however, the differences were too conspicuous to mislead
me. I beheld one to whom I could recollect none that
bore resemblance. Though ghastly and livid, the traces of
intelligence and beauty were undefaced. The life of Wallace
was of more value to a feeble individual, but surely the
being that was stretched before me and who was hastening to
his last breath was precious to thousands.
Was he not one in whose place I would willingly have
died? The offering was too late. His extremities were
already cold. A vapour, noisome and contagious, hovered
over him. The flutterings of his pulse had ceased. His existence
was about to close amidst convulsion and pangs.
I withdrew my gaze from this object, and walked to a
table. I was nearly unconscious of my movements. My
thoughts were occupied with contemplations of the train of
horrors and disasters that pursue the race of man. My musings
were quickly interrupted by the sight of a small cabinet the
hinges of which were broken and the lid half-raised. In the
present state of my thoughts, I was prone to suspect the
worst. Here were traces of pillage. Some casual or mercenary
attendant, had not only contributed to hasten the
death of the patient, but had rifled his property and fled.
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This suspicion would, perhaps, have yielded to mature
reflections, if I had been suffered to reflect. A moment
scarcely elapsed, when some appearance in the mirror, which
hung over the table, called my attention. It was a human
figure, nothing could be briefer than the glance that I fixed
upon this apparition, yet there was room enough for the
vague conception to suggest itself, that the dying man had
started from his bed and was approaching me. This belief
was, at the same instant, confuted, by the survey of his form
and garb. One eye, a scar upon his cheek a tawny skin, a
form grotesquely misproportioned, brawny as Hercules, and
habited inlivery, composed, as it were, the parts of one view.
To perceive, to fear, and to confront this apparition were
blended into one sentiment. I turned towards him with the
swiftness of lightning, but my speed was useless to my safety.
A blow upon my temple was succeeded by an utter oblivion
of thought and of feeling. I sunk upon the floor prostrate
and senseless.
My insensibility might be mistaken by observers for death,
yet some part of this interval was haunted by a fearful dream.
I conceived myself lying on the brink of a pit whose bottom
the eye could not reach. My hands and legs were fettered,
so as to disable me from resisting two grim and gigantic
figures, who stooped to lift me from the earth. Their purpose
methought was to cast me into this abyss. My terrors
were unspeakable, and I struggled with such force, that my
bonds snapt and I found myself at liberty. At this moment
my senses returned and I opened my eyes.
The memory of recent events was, for a time, effaced by
my visionary horrors. I was conscious of transition from
one state of being to another, but my imagination was still
filled with images of danger. The bottomless gulf and my
gigantic persecutors were still dreaded. I looked up with
eagerness. Beside me I discovered three figures, whose character
or office were explained by a coffin of pine-boards which
lay upon the floor. One stood with hammer and nails in his
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hand, as ready to replace and fasten the lid of the coffin, as
soon as its burthen should be received.
I attempted to rise from the floor, but my head was dizzy
and my sight confused. Perceiving me revive, one of the
men, assisted me to regain my feet. The mist and confusion
presently vanished, so as to allow me to stand unsupported
and to move. I once more gazed at my attendants,
and recognized the three men, whom I had met in High-street,
and whose conversation I have mentioned that I over-heard.
I looked again upon the coffin. A wavering recollection
of the incidents that led me hither and of the stunning
blow which I had received, occurred to me. I saw
into what error, appearances had misled these men, and shuddered
to reflect, by what hair-breadth means I had escaped
being buried alive.
Before the men had time to interrogate me, or to comment
upon my situation, one entered the apartment whose habit
and mein tended to incourage me. The stranger was characterised
by an aspect full of composure and benignity, a
face in which the serious lines of age were blended with the
ruddiness and smoothness of youth, and a garb that bespoke
that religious profession, with whose benevolent doctrines
the example of Hadwin had rendered me familiar.
On observing me on my feet, he betrayed marks of surprise
and satisfaction. He addressed me in a tone of mildness.
Young man, said he, what is thy condition? Art thou
sick? If thou art, thou must consent to receive the best
treatment which the times will afford. These men will
convey thee to the hospital at Bush-Hill.
The mention of that contagious and abhorred receptacle,
inspired me with some degree of energy. No, said I, I am
not sick, a violent blow reduced me to this situation. I shall
presently recover strength enough to leave this spot, without
assistance.
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He looked at me, with an incredulous but compassionate
air: I fear thou dost deceive thyself or me. The necessity
of going to the hospital is much to be regretted, but on the
whole it is best. Perhaps, indeed, thou hast kindred or
friends who will take care of thee.
No, said I; neither kindred nor friends. I am a stranger
in the city. I do not even know a single being.
Alas! returned the stranger with a sigh, thy state is sorrowful—
but how camest thou hither? continued he, looking
around him, and whence comest thou?
I came from the country. I reached the city, a few hours
ago. I was in search of a friend who lived in this house.
Thy undertaking was strangely hazardous and rash: but
who is the friend thou seekest? Was it he who died in
that bed, and whose corpse has just been removed?
The men now betrayed some impatience; and inquired of
the last comer, whom they called Mr. Estwick, what they
were to do. He turned to me, and asked if I were willing
to be conducted to the hospital?
I assured him that I was free from disease, and stood
in no need of assistance; adding, that my feeblenefs was
owing to a stunning blow received from a ruffian on my
temple. The marks of this blow were conspicuous, and
after some hesitation he dismissed the men; who, lifting
the empty coffin on their &longs;houlders, disappeared.
He now invited me to descend into the parlour: for, said
he, the air of this room is deadly. I feel already as if I
should have reason to repent of having entered it.
He now inquired into the cause of those appearances which
he had witnessed. I explained my situation as clearly and
succinctly as I was able.
After pondering, in silence, on my &longs;tory:—I see how it
is, said he: the person whom thou sawest in the agonies of
death was a stranger. He was attended by his servant and
an hired nurse. His master's death being certain, the nurse
was dispatched by the servant to procure a coffin. He
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probably chose that opportunity to rifle his master's trunk, that
stood upon the table. Thy unseasonable entrance interrupted
him; and he designed, by the blow which he gave thee, to
secure his retreat before the arrival of an hearse. I know
the man, and the apparition thou hast so well described, was
his. Thou sayest that a friend of thine lived in this house—
Thou hast come too late to be of service. The whole family
have perished—Not one was suffered to escape.
This intelligence was fatal to my hopes. It required some
efforts to subdue my rising emotions. Compassion not only
for Wallace, but for Thetford, his father, his wife and his
child; caused a passionate effusion of tears. I was ashamed
of this useless and child-like sensibility; and attempted to
apologize to my companion. The sympathy, however, had
proved contagious, and the stranger turned away his face to
hide his own tears.
Nay, said he, in answer to my excuses, there is no need
to be ashamed of thy emotion. Merely to have known this
family, and to have witnessed their deplorable fate, is sufficient
to melt the mo&longs;t obdurate heart. I suspect that thou
wast united to some one of this family, by ties of tenderness
like those which led the unfortunate Maravegli hither.
This suggestion was attended, in relation to myself, with
some degree of obscurity; but my curiosity was somewhat
excited by the name that he had mentioned. I inquired into
the character and situation of this person, and particularly
respecting his connection with this family.
Maravegli, answered he, was the lover of the eldest
daughter and already betrothed to her. The whole family,
consisting of helpless females, had placed themselves under
his peculiar guardianship. Mary Walpole and her children
enjoyed in him an husband and a father.
The name of Walpole, to which I was a stranger, suggested
doubts which I hastened to communicate. I am
in search, said I, not of a female friend, though not devoid
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of interest in the welfare of Thetford and his family. My
principal concern is for a youth, by name, Wallace.
He looked at me with surprise. Thetford! this is not his
abode. He changed his habitation some weeks previous to
the fever. Those who last dwelt under this roof were an
English woman, and seven daughters.
This detection of my error somewhat consoled me. It
was still possible that Wallace was alive and in safety. I
eagerly inquired whither Thetford had removed, and whether
he had any knowledge of his present condition.
They had removed to number......, in Market-street.
Concerning their state he knew nothing. His acquaintance
with Thetford was imperfect. Whether he had left the city
or had remained, he was wholly uninformed.
It became me to ascertain the truth in these respects. I
was preparing to offer my parting thanks to the person by
whom I had been so highly benefitted; since, as he now
informed, it was by his interposition that I was hindered from
being inclosed alive in a coffin. He was dubious of my true
condition, and peremptorily commanded the followers of the
hearse to desist. A delay of twenty minutes, and some
medical application, would, he believed, determine whether
my life was extinguished or suspended. At the end of this
time, happily, my senses were recovered.
Seeing my intention to depart he inquired why, and whither
I was going? Having heard my answer. Thy design resumed
he, is highly indiscrete and rash. Nothing will sooner
generate this fever than fatigue and anxiety. Thou hast
scarcely recovered from the blow so lately received. Instead
of being useful to others this precipitation will only disable
thyself. Instead of roaming the streets and inhaling this
unwholesome air, thou hadst better betake thyself to bed
and try to obtain some sleep. In the morning, thou wilt be
better qualified to ascertain the fate of thy friend, and afford
him the relief which he shall want.
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I could not but admit the reasonableness of these remenstrances,
but where should a chamber and bed be sought?
It was not likely that a new attempt to procure accommodation
at the Inns would succeed better than the former.
Thy state, replied he, is sorrowful. I have no house to
which I can lead thee. I divide my chamber and even my
bed with another, and my landlady could not be prevailed upon
to admit a stranger. What thou wilt do, I know not. This
house has no one to defend it. It was purchased and furnished
by the last possessor, but the whole family, including mistress
children and servants, were cut off in a single week. Perhaps,
no one in America can claim the property. Meanwhile
plunderers are numerous and active. An house thus totally
deserted, and replenished with valuable furniture will, I fear,
become their prey. To night, nothing can be done towards
rendering it secure, but staying in it. Art thou willing to
remain here till the morrow?
Every bed in the house has probably sustained a dead person.
It would not be proper, therefore, to lie in any one of
them. Perhaps, thou mayest find some repose upon this carpet.
It is, at least, better than the harder pavement, and
the open air.
This proposal, after some hesitation, I embraced. He was
preparing to leave me, promising, if life were spared to him,
to return early in the morning. My curiosity respecting the
person whose dying agonies I had witnessed, prompted me to
detain him a few minutes.
Ah! said he, this perhaps, is the only one of many victims to
this pestilence whose loss the remotest generations may have
reason to deplore. He was the only descendent of an illustrious
houfe of Venice. He has been deveted from his childhood
to the acquisition of knowledge and the practice of virtue.
He came hither, as an enlightened observer, and after
traversing the country, conversing with all the men in it
eminent for their talents or their office; and collecting a
fund of observations, whose solidity and justice have
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seldom been paralleled, he embarked, three months ago, for
Europe.
Previously to his departure, he formed a tender connection
with the eldest daughter of this family. The mother and
her children had recently arrived from England. So many
faultless women, both mentally and personally considered, it
was not my fortune to meet with before. This youth well
deserved to be adopted into this family. He proposed to
return with the utmost expedition to his native country, and
after the settlement of his affairs, to hasten back to America,
and ratify his contract with Fanny Walpole.
The ship in which he embarked, had scarcely gone twenty
leagues to sea, before she was disabled by a storm, and obliged
to return to port. He posted to New-York, to gain a passage
in a packet shortly to sail. Meanwhile this malady
prevailed among us. Mary Walpole was hindered by her
ignorance of the nature of that evil which assailed us, and
the counsel of injudicious friends, from taking the due precautions
for her safety. She hesitated to fly till flight was
rendered impracticable. Here death added to the helplssness
and distraction of the family. They were successively
seized and destroyed by the same pest.
Maravegli was apprised of their danger. He allowed the
packet to depart without him, and hastened to the rescue of
the Walpoles from the perils which encompassed them. He
arrived in this city time enough to witness the interment of
the last survivor. In the same hour he was seized himself
by this disease: the catastrophe is known to thee.
I will now leave thee to thy repose. Sleep is no less needful
to myself than to thee: for this is the second night which
has past without it—Saying this, my companion took his
leave.
I now enjoyed leisure to review my situation, I experienced
no inclination to sleep. I lay down for a moment,
but my comfortless sensations and restless contemplations
would not permit me to rest. Before I entered this roof, I
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I was tormented with hunger, but my craving had given
place to inquietude and loathing. I paced, in thoughtful and
anxious mood, across the floor of the apartment.
I mused upon the incidents related by Estwick, upon the
exterminating nature of this pestilence, and on the horrors
of which it was productive. I compared the experience of
the last hours, with those pictures which my imagination
had drawn in the retirements of Malverton. I wondered at
the contrariety that exists between the scenes of the city and
the country; and fostered with more zeal than ever, the
resolution to avoid those seats of depravity and danger.
Concerning my own destiny, however, I entertained no
doubt. My new sensations assured me that my stomach had
received this corosive poison. Whether I should die or live
was easily decided. The sickness which assiduous attendence
and powerful prescriptions might remove, would, by
negligence and solitude, be rendered fatal: but from whom
could I expect medical or friendly treatment?
I had indeed a roof over my head. I should not perish
in the public way: but what was my ground for hoping to
continue under this roof? My sickness being suspected, I
should be dragged in a cart to the hospital; where should,
indeed die; but not with the consolation of loneliness and
silence. Dying groans were the only music, and livid corpses
were the only spectacle to which I should there be intreduced.
Immured in these dreary meditations, the night passed
away. The light glancing through the window awakened
in my bosom a gleam of cheerfulness. Contrary to my
expectations, my feelings were not more distempered, notwithstanding
my want of sleep, than on the last evening.
This was a token that my state was far from being so desperate
as I suspected. It was possible, I thought, that this
was the worst indisposition to which I was liable.
Meanwhile the coming of Estwick was impatiently expected.
The sun arose, and the morning advanced, but he
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came not. I remembered that he talked of having reason to
repent his visit to this house. Perhaps, he likewise, was
sick, and that this was the cause of his delay. This man's
kindness had even my love. If I had known the way to his
dwelling, I should have hastened thither, to inquire into his
condition, and to perform for him every office that humanlty
might enjoin, but he had not afforded me any information
on that head.
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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1799], Arthur Mervyn, or, Memoirs of the year 1793... Volume 1 [2 pts.] (George F. Hopkins, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf030v1].
