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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1799], Edgar Huntly, volume 3 (H. Maxwell, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf028v3].
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Front matter Covers, Edges and Spine

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Preliminaries

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Lillian Gary Taylor; Robert C. Taylor; Eveline V. Maydell, N. York 1923. [figure description] Bookplate: silhouette of seated man on right side and seated woman on left side. The man is seated in a adjustable, reclining armchair, smoking a pipe and reading a book held in his lap. A number of books are on the floor next to or beneath the man's chair. The woman is seated in an armchair and appears to be knitting. An occasional table (or end table) with visible drawer handles stands in the middle of the image, between the seated man and woman, with a vase of flowers and other items on it. Handwritten captions appear below these images.[end figure description]

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Title Page [figure description] Title page.[end figure description]

EDGAR HUNTLY;
OR,
MEMOIRS
OF A
SLEEP*WALKER. PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED BY H, MAXWELL, No. 3 LETITIA COURT,
AND SOLD BY THOMAS DOBSON, ASBURY DICKINS,
AND THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS....

1799.

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Main text

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EDGAR HUNTLY; OR, MEMOIRS OF A SLEEP-WALKER. CHAPTER XX.

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I likewise burned with impatience
to know the condition of my
family, to dissipate at once their tormenting
doubts and my own, with regard to
our mutual safety. The evil that I
feared had befallen them was too enormous
to allow me to repose in suspense,
and my restlessness and ominous forebodings
would be more intolerable than
any hardship or toils to which I could
possibly be subjected during this journey.

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I was much refreshed and invigorated
by the food that I had taken, and by the
rest of an hour. With this stock of
recruited force I determined to scale the
hill. After receiving minute directions,
and returning many thanks for my hospitable
entertainment, I set out.

The path was indeed intricate, and
deliberate attention was obliged to be
exerted in order to preserve it. Hence
my progress was slower than I wished.
The first impulse was to fix my eye upon
the summit, and to leap from crag to
crag till I reached it, but this my experience
had taught me was impracticable.
It was only by winding through gullies,
and coasting precipices and bestriding
chasms, that I could hope finally to gain
the top, and I was assured that by one
way only was it possible to accomplish
even this.

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An hour was spent in struggling
with impediments, and I seemed to have
gained no way. Hence a doubt was
suggested whether I had not missed the
true road. In this doubt I was confirmed
by the difficulties which now grew up
before me. The brooks, the angles and
the hollows, which my hostess had described,
were not to be seen. Instead of
these, deeper dells, more headlong torrents
and wider gaping rifts were incessantly
encountered.

To return was as hoples as to proceed.
I consoled myself with thinking that
the survey which my informant had made
of the hill-side, might prove inaccurate,
and that in spite of her predictions, the
heights might be reached by other means
than by those pointed out by her. I
will not enumerate my toilsome expedients,
my frequent disappointments and
my desperate exertions. Suffice it to say

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that I gained the upper space, not till
the sun had dipped beneath the horizon.

My satisfaction at accomplishing thus
much was not small, and I hied, with renovated
spirits, to the opposite brow. This
proved to be a steep that could not be
descended. The river flowed at its
foot. The opposite bank was five hundred
yards distant, and was equally
towering and steep as that on which I
stood. Appearances were adapted to
persuade you that these rocks had formerly
joined, but by some mighty effort
of nature, had been severed, that the
stream might find way through the
chasm. The channel, however, was encumbered
with asperities over which
the river fretted and foamed with thundering
impetuosity.

I pondered for a while on these stupendous
scenes. They ravished my attention
from considerations that related

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to myself; but this interval was short, and
I began to measure the descent, in order
to ascertain the practicability of treading
it. My survey terminated in bitter disappointment.
I turned my eye successively
eastward and westward. Solebury lay
in the former direction, and thither I
desired to go. I kept along the verge
in this direction, till I reached an impassable
rift. Beyond this I saw that the
steep grew lower, but it was impossible
to proceed farther. Higher up the descent
might be practicable, and though
more distant from Solebury, it was
better to reach the road, even at that
distance, than never to reach it.

Changing my course, therefore, I
explored the spaces above. The night
was rapidly advancing, the grey clouds
gathered in the south-east, and a chilling
blast, the usual attendent of a night in

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October, began to whistle among the
pigmy cedars that scantily grew upon
these heights. My progress would quickly
be arrested by darkness, and it behoved
me to provide some place of shelter
and repose. No recess, better than an
hollow in the rock, presented itself to my
anxious scrutiny.

Meanwhile I would not dismiss the
hope of reaching the road, which I saw
some hundred feet below, winding along
the edge of the river, before daylight
should utterly fail. Speedily these hopes
derived new vigour from meeting a ledge
that irregularly declined from the brow of
the hill. It was wide enough to allow
of cautious footing. On a similar stratum,
or ledge, projecting still further from
the body of the hill, and close to the surface
of the river, was the road. This
stratum ascended from the level of the
stream, while that on which I trod rapidly

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descended. I hoped that they would
speedly be blended, or at least approach
so near as to allow me to leap from one to
the other without enormous hazard.

This fond expectation was frustrated.
Presently I perceived that the ledge
below began to descend, while that above
began to tend upward, and was quickly
terminated by the uppermost surface of
the cliff. Here it was needful to pause.
I looked over the brink and considered
whether I might not leap from my present
station, without endangering my
limbs. The road into which I should
fall was a rocky pavement far from being
smooth. The descent could not be less
than forty or fifty feet. Such an attempt
was, to the last degree, hazardous, but
was it not better to risque my life by
leaping from this eminence, than to
remain and perish on the top of this
inhospitable mountain. The toils which

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I had endured, in reaching this height
appeared to my panic-struck fancy, less
easy to be borne again than death.

I know not but that I should have
finally resolved to leap, had not different
views been suggested by observing that
the outer edge of the road was, in like
manner, the brow of a steep which terminated
in the river. The surface of the
road, was twelve or fifteen feet above
the level of the stream, which, in this
spot was still and smooth. Hence I
inferred that the water was not of inconsiderable
depth. To fall upon rocky
points was, indeed, dangerous, but to
plunge into water of sufficient depth,
even from an height greater than that
at which I now stood, especially to one to
whom habit had rendered water almost
as congenial an element as air, was
scarcely attended with inconvenience.
This expedient was easy and safe.

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Twenty yards from this spot, the channel
was shallow, and to gain the road from
the stream, was no difficult exploit.

Some disadvantages, however, attended
this scheme. The water was
smooth, but this might arise from some
other cause than its depth. My gun,
likewise, must be left behind me, and
that was a loss to which I felt invincible
repugnance. To let it fall upon the road,
would put it in my power to retrieve
the possession, but it was likely to be
irreparably injured by the fall.

While musing upon this expedient,
and weighing injuries with benefits, the
night closed upon me. I now considered
that should I emerge in safety from the
stream, I should have many miles to
travel before I could reach an house.
My clothes meanwhile would be loaded
with wet. I should be heart-pierced by
the icy blast that now blew, and my

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wounds and bruises would be chafed
into insupportable pain.

I reasoned likewise on the folly of
impatience and the necessity of repose.
By thus long continuance in one posture,
my sinews began to stiffen, and my reluctance
to make new exertions to encrease.
My brows were heavy, and I felt an irresistible
propensity to sleep. I concluded
to seek some shelter, and resign myself,
my painful recollections, and my mournful
presages to sweet forgetfulness. For
this end, I once more ascended to the
surface of the cliff. I dragged my weary
feet forward, till I found somewhat that
promised me the shelter that I sought.

A cluster of cedars appeared, whose
branches over-arched a space that
might be called a bower. It was a slight
cavity, whose flooring was composed of
loose stones and a few faded leaves blown
from a distance, and finding a temporary

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lodgement here. On one side was a rock,
forming a wall rugged and projecting
above. At the bottom of the rock was a
rift, some-what resembling a coffin in
shape, and not much larger in dimensions.
This rift terminated on the opposite
side of the rock, in an opening that
was too small for the body of a man to
pass. The distance between each entrance
was twice the length of a man.

This bower was open to the South-east
whence the gale now blew. It therefore
imperfectly afforded the shelter of
which I stood in need; but it was the
best that the place and the time afforded.
To stop the smaller entrance of the cavity
with a stone, and to heap before the other,
branches lopped from the trees with my
hatchet, might somewhat contribute to
my comfort.

This was done, and thrusting myself
into this recess, as far as I was able, I

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prepared for repose. It might have been reasonably
suspected to be the den of
rattle-snakes or panthers; but my late contention
with superior dangers and more
formidable enemies made me reckless of
these, but another inconvenience remained.
In spite of my precautions, my
motionless posture and slender covering
exposed me so much to the cold that I
could not sleep.

The air appeared to have suddenly
assumed the temperature of mid-winter.
In a short time, my extremeties were
benumbed, and my limbs shivered and
ached as if I had been seized by an
ague. My bed likewise was dank and
uneven, and the posture I was obliged
to assume, unnatural and painful. It
was evident that my purpose could not
be answered by remaining here.

I, therefore, crept forth, and began
to reflect upon the possibility of

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continuing my journey. Motion was the
only thing that could keep me from
freezing, and my frame was in that state
which allowed me to take no repose in
the absence of warmth; since warmth
were indispensible. It now occurred to
me to ask whether it were not possible
to kindle a fire.

Sticks and leaves were at hand. My
hatchet and a pebble would enable me
to extract a spark. From this, by suitable
care and perseverance, I might finally
procure sufficient fire to give me comfort
and ease, and even enable me to sleep.
This boon was delicious and I felt as
if I were unable to support a longer
deprivation of it.

I proceeded to execute this scheme. I
took the dryest leaves, and endeavoured
to use them as tinder, but the driest
leaves were moistened by the dews. They

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were only to be found in the hollows, in
some of which were pools of water and
others were dank. I was not speedily
discouraged, but my repeated attempts
failed, and I was finally compelled to
relinquish this expedient.

All that now remained was to wander
forth and keep myself in motion till the
morning. The night was likely to prove
tempestuous and long. The gale seemed
freighted with ice, and acted upon my
body like the points of a thousand needles.
There was no remedy, and I mustered
my patience to endure it.

I returned again, to the brow of the
hill. I ranged along it till I reached a
place where the descent was perpendicular,
and, in consequence of affording no
sustenance to trees or bushes, was nearly
smooth and bare. There was no road
to be seen, and this circumstance, added
to the sounds which the ripling current

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produced, afforded me some knowledge
of my situation.

The ledge, along which the road was
conducted, disappeared near this spot.
The opposite sides of the chasm through
which flowed the river, approached nearer
to each other, in the form of jutting
promontories. I now stood upon the
verge of that on the northern side. The
water flowed at the foot, but, for the
space of ten or twelve feet from the rock,
was so shallow as to permit the traveller
and his horse to wade through it, and
thus to regain the road which the receding
precipice had allowed to be continued
on the farther side.

I knew the nature and dimensions of
this ford. I knew that, at a few yards
from the rock, the channel was of great
depth. To leap into it, in this place, was
a less dangerous exploit, than at the spot
where I had formerly been tempted to

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leap. There I was unacquainted with
the depth, but here I knew it to be considerable.
Still there was some ground
of hesitation and fear. My present station
was loftier, and how deeply I might
sink into this gulf, how far the fall and
the concussion would bereave me of my
presence of mind, I could not determine.
This hesitation vanished, and placing
my tom-hawk and fusil upon the ground,
I prepared to leap.

This purpose was suspended, in the
moment of its execution, by a faint sound,
heard from the quarter whence I had
come. It was the warning of men, but
had nothing in common with those which
I had been accustomed to hear. It was
not the howling of a wolf or the yelling
of a panther. These had often been overheard
by night during my last year's
excursion to the lakes. My fears

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whispered that this was the vociferation of a
savage.

I was unacquainted with the number
of the enemies who had adventured into
this district. Whether those whom I had
encountered at Deb's hut were of that
band whom I had met with in the cavern,
was merely a topic of conjecture. There
might be an half-score of troops, equally
numerous, spread over the wilderness,
and the signal I had just heard might
betoken the approach of one of these.
Yet by what means they should gain
this nook, and what prey they expected
to discover, were not easily conceived.

The sounds, somewhat diversified,
nearer and rising from different quarters,
were again heard. My doubts and apprehensions
were increased. What expedient
to adopt for my own safety, was a
subject of rapid meditation. Whether

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to remain stretched upon the ground or to
rise and go forward. Was it likely the
enemy would coast along the edge of
the steep? Would they ramble hither to
look upon the ample scene which spread
on all sides around the base of this rocky
pinnacle? In that case, how should I
conduct myself! My arms were ready
for use. Could I not elude the necessity
of shedding more blood? Could I not
anticipate their assault by casting myself
without delay into the stream.

The sense of danger demanded more
attention to be paid to external objects
than to the motives by which my future
conduct should be influenced. My post
was on a circular projecture, in some
degree, detached from the body of the
hill, the brow of which continued in a
streight line, uninterrupted by this projecture,
which was somewhat higher than
the continued summit of the ridge. This

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line ran at the distance of a few paces
from my post. Objects moving along
this line could merely be perceived to
move, in the present obscurity.

My scrutiny was entirely directed to
this quarter. Presently the treading of
many feet was heard, and several figures
were discovered, following each other in
that streight and regular succession which
is peculiar to the Indians. They kept
along the brow of the hill joining the promontory.
I distinctly marked seven
figures in succession.

My resolution was formed. Should
any one cast his eye hither, suspect, or
discover an enemy, and rush towards
me, I determined to start upon my feet,
fire on my foe as he advanced, throw my
piece on the ground, and then leap into
the river.

Happily, they passed unobservant
and in silence. I remained, in the same

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posture, for several minutes. At length,
just as my alarms began to subside, the
hollows, before heard, arose, and from the
same quarter as before. This convinced
me that my perils were not at an end. This
now appeared to be merely the vanguard,
and would speedily be followed by others,
against whom the same caution was
necessary to be taken.

My eye, anxiously bent the only way
by which any one could approach, now
discerned a figure, which was indubitably
that of a man armed, none other
appeared in company, but doubtless
others were near. He approached, stood
still, and appeared to gaze stedfastly at
the spot where I lay.

The optics of a Lennilennapee I knew
to be far keener than my own. A log
or a couched fawn would never be mistaken
for a man, nor a man for a couched
fawn or a log. Not only a human being

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would be instantly detected, but a decision
be unerringly made whether it were
friend or foe. That my prostrate body
was the object on which the attention of
this vigilant and stedfast gazer was fixed,
could not be doubted. Yet, since he
continued an inactive gazer, there was
ground for a possibility to stand upon,
that I was not recognized. My fate,
therefore, was still in suspense.

This interval was momentary. I
marked a movement, which my fears instantly
interpreted to be that of leveling
a gun at my head. This action was sufficiently
conformable to my prognostics.
Supposing me to be detected, there was
no need for him to change his post. Aim
might too fatally be taken, and his prey
be secured, from the distance at which
he now stood.

These images glanced upon my
thought, and put an end to my suspense.

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A single effort placed me on my feet. I
fired with precipitation that precluded
the certainty of hitting my mark, dropped
my piece upon the ground, and leaped
from this tremendous height into the
river, I reached the surface, and sunk in
a moment to the bottom.

Plunging endlong into the water, the
impetus created by my fall from such an
height, would be slowly resisted by this
denser element. Had the depth been
less, its resistance would not perhaps
have hindered me from being mortally
injured against the rocky bottom. Had
the depth been greater, time enough
would not have been allowed me to
regain the surface. Had I fallen on
my side, I should have been bereaved
of life or sensibility by the shock which
my frame would have received. As it
was, my fate was suspended on a thread.
To have lost my presence of mind, to

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have forborne to counteract my sinking,
for an instant, after I had reached the
water, would have made all exertions to
regain the air, fruitless. To so fortunate
a concurrence of events, was thy friend
indebted for his safety!

Yet I only emerged from the gulf to
encounter new perils. Scarcely had I
raised my head above the surface, and
inhaled the vital breath, when twenty
shots were aimed at me from the precipice
above. A shower of bullets fell
upon the water. Some of them did not
fall further than two inches from my
head. I had not been aware of this new
danger, and now that it assailed me continued
gasping the air, and floundering
at random. The means of eluding it
did not readily occur. My case seemed
desperate and all caution was dismissed.

This state of discomfiting surprise
quickly disappeared. I made myself

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acquainted, at a glance, with the position of
surrounding objects. I conceived that
the opposite bank of the river would
afford me most security, and thither I
tended with all the expedition in my
power.

Meanwhile, my safety depended on
eluding the bullets that continued incessantly
to strike the water at an arm's
length from my body. For this end I
plunged beneath the surface, and only
rose to inhale fresh air. Presently the
firing ceased, the flashes that lately illuminated
the bank disappeared, and a
certain bustle and murmur of confused
voices gave place to solitude and silence.

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EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXI.

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I reached without difficulty
the opposite bank, but the steep was
inaccessible. I swam along the edge in
hopes of meeting with some projection
or recess where I might, at least, rest my
weary limbs, and if it were necessary to
recross the river, to lay in a stock of
recruited spirits and strength for that
purpose. I trusted that the water would
speedily become shoal, or that the steep
would afford rest to my feet. In both
these hopes I was disappointed.

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There is no one to whom I would
yield the superiority in swimming, but
my strength, like that of other human
beings, had its limits. My previous
fatigues had been enormous, and my
clothes, heavy with moisture, greatly
incumbered and retarded my movements.
I had proposed to free myself from this
imprisonment, but I foresaw the inconveniences
of wandering over this scene
in absolute nakedness, and was willing
therefore, at whatever hazard, to retain
them. I continued to struggle with the
current and to search for the means of
scaling the steeps. My search was fruitless,
and I began to meditate the recrossing
of the river.

Surely my fate has never been paralleled!
Where was this series of hardships
and perils to end? No sooner was one
calamity eluded, than I was beset by
another. I had emerged from abhorred

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darkness in the heart of the earth, only
to endure the extremities of famine and
encounter the fangs of a wild beast.
From these I was delivered only to be
thrown into the midst of savages, to wage
an endless and hopeless war with adepts
in killing; with appetites that longed to
feast upon my bowels and to quaff my
heart's-blood. From these likewise was I
rescued, but merely to perish in the gulfs
of the river, to welter on unvisited shores
or to be washed far away from curiosity
or pity.

Formerly water was not only my field
of sport but my sofa and my bed. I
could float for hours on the surface, enjoying
its delicious cool, almost without the
expense of the slightest motion. It was
an element as fitted for repose as for exercise,
but now the buoyant spirit seemed
to have flown. My muscles were shrunk,
the air and water were equally congealed,

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and my most vehement exertions were
requisite to sustain me on the surface.

At first I had moved along with my
wonted celerity and ease, but quickly my
forces were exhausted. My pantings
and efforts were augmented and I saw
that to cross the river again was impracticable.
I must continue, therefore, to
search out some accessible spot in the
bank along which I was swimming.

Each moment diminished my stock
of strength, and it behoved me to make
good my footing before another minute
should escape. I continued to swim, to
survey the bank, and to make ineffectual
attempts to grasp the rock. The shrubs
which grew upon it would not uphold me,
and the fragments which, for a moment,
inspired me with hope, crumbled away
as soon as they were touched.

At length, I noticed a pine, which
was rooted in a crevice near the water.

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The trunk, or any part of the root, was
beyond my reach, but I trusted that I
could catch hold of the branch which
hung lowest, and that, when caught, it
would assist me in gaining the trunk,
and thus deliver me from the death which
could not be otherwise averted.

The attempt was arduous. Had it
been made when I first reached the bank,
no difficulty had attended it, but now,
to throw myself some feet above the
surface could scarcely be expected from
one whose utmost efforts seemed to be
demanded to keep him from sinking.
Yet this exploit, arduous as it was, was
attempted and accomplished. Happily
the twigs were strong enough to sustain
my weight till I caught at other branches
and finally placed myself upon the trunk.

This danger was now past, but I
admitted the conviction that others, no

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less formidable remained to be encountered
and that my ultimate destiny was
death. I looked upward. New efforts
might enable me to gain the summit of this
steep, but, perhaps, I should thus be
placed merely in the situation from which
I had just been delivered. It was of
little moment whether the scene of my
imprisonment was a dungeon not to be
broken, or a summit from which descent
was impossible.

The river, indeed, severed me from
a road which was level and safe, but my
recent dangers were remembered only to
make me shudder at the thought of incurring
them a second time, by attempting
to cross it. I blush at the recollection
of this cowardice. It was little akin to
the spirit which I had recently displayed.
It was, indeed, an alien to my
bosom, and was quickly supplanted by
intrepidity and perseverance.

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I proceeded to mount the hill. From
root to root, and from branch to branch,
lay my journey. It was finished, and I
sat down upon the highest brow to meditate
on future trials. No road lay
along this side of the river. It was
rugged and sterile, and farms were sparingly
dispersed over it. To reach one of
these was now the object of my wishes.
I had not lost the desire of reaching
Solebury before morning, but my wet
clothes and the coldness of the night
seemed to have bereaved me of the power.

I traversed this summit, keeping the
river on my right hand. Happily, its
declinations and ascents were by no
means difficult, and I was cheered in
the midst of my vexations, by observing
that every mile brought me nearer to my
uncle's dwelling. Meanwhile I anxiously
looked for some tokens of an habitation.

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These at length presented themselves.
A wild heath, whistled over by October
blasts, meagrely adorned with the dry
stalks of scented shrubs and the bald
heads of the sapless mullen, was succeeded
by a fenced field and a corn-stack.
The dwelling to which these belonged
was eagerly sought.

I was not surprised that all voices
were still and all lights extinguished, for
this was the hour of repose. Having
reached a piazza before the house, I
paused. Whether, at this drousy time,
to knock for admission, to alarm the
peaceful tenants and take from them the
rest which their daily toils and their
rural innocence had made so sweet, or
to retire to what shelter an hay-stack or
barn could afford, was the theme of my
deliberations.

Meanwhile I looked up at the house.
It was the model of cleanliness and

-- 035 --

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

comfort. It was built of wood; but the
materials had undergone the plane, as
well as the axe and the saw. It was
painted white, and the windows not only
had sashes, but these sashes were
supplied, contrary to custom, with glass.
In most cases, the aperture where glass
should be is stuffed with an old hat or a
petticoat. The door had not only all its
parts entire, but was embellished with
mouldings and a pediment. I gathered
from these tokens that this was the abode
not only of rural competence and innocence,
but of some beings, raised by
education and fortune, above the intellectual
mediocrity of clowns.

Methought I could claim consanguinity
with such beings. Not to share
their charity and kindness would be
inflicting as well as receiving injury.
The trouble of affording shelter, and
warmth, and wholesome diet to a wretch

-- 036 --

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

destitute as I was, would be eagerly
sought by them.

Still I was unwilling to disturb them.
I bethought myself that their kitchen
might be entered, and all that my necessities
required be obtained without interrupting
their slumber. I needed nothing
but the warmth which their kitchen
hearth would afford. Stretched upon
the bricks, I might dry my clothes, and
perhaps enjoy some unmolested sleep.
In spite of presages of ill and the horrid
remembrances of what I had performed
and endured. I believed that
nature would afford a short respite to my
cares.

I went to the door of what appeared
to be a kitchen. The door was wide
open. This circumstance portended evil.
Though it be not customary to lock or
to bolt, it is still less usual to have entrances
unclosed. I entered with suspicious

-- 037 --

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

steps, and saw enough to confirm my
apprehensions. Several pieces of wood
half burned, lay in the midst of the floor.
They appeared to have been removed
hither from the chimney, doubtless with
a view to set fire to the whole building.

The fire had made some progress on
the floor, but had been seasonably extinguished
by pail's-full of water, thrown
upon it. The floor was still deluged
with wet, the pail not emptied of all its
contents stood upon the hearth. The
earthen vessels and plates whose proper
place was the dresser, were scattered in
fragments in all parts of the room. I
looked around me for some one to explain
this scene, but no one appeared.

The last spark of fire was put out,
so that had my curiosity been idle, my
purpose could not be accomplished.
To retire from this scene, neither curiosity
nor benevolence would permit. That

-- 038 --

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

some mortal injury had been intended
was apparent. What greater mischief had
befallen, or whether greater might not,
by my interposition, be averted, could
only be ascertained by penetrating further
into the house. I opened a door
on one side which led to the main body
of the building and entered to a bed-chamber.
I stood at the entrance and
knocked, but no one answered my signals

The sky was not totally clouded, so
that some light pervaded the room. I
saw that a bed stood in the corner, but
whether occupied or not, its curtains
hindered me from judging. I stood in
suspense a few minutes, when a motion
in the bed shewed me that some one was
there. I knocked again but withdrew to
the outside of the door. This roused
the sleeper, who, half-groaning and
puffing the air through his nostrils,

-- 039 --

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

grumbled out in the hoarsest voice that
I ever heard, and in a tone of surly impatience...
Who is there?

I hesitated for an answer, but the
voice instantly continued in the manner
of one half-asleep and enraged at being
disturbed... Is't you Peg? Damn ye, stay
away, now; I tell ye stay away, or, by
God I will cut your throat... I will... He
continued to mutter and swear, but without
coherence or distinctness.

These were the accents of drunkenness,
and denoted a wild and ruffian life.
They were little in unison with the
external appearances of the mansion, and
blasted all the hopes I had formed of
mecting under this roof with gentleness
and hospitality. To talk with this being,
to attempt to reason him into humanity
and soberness, was useless. I was at a
loss in what manner to address him, or

-- 040 --

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

whether it was proper to maintain any
parley. Meanwhile, my silence was
supplied by the suggestions of his own
distempered fancy. Ay, said he, ye
will, will ye? well come on, let's see who's
the better at the oak-stick. If I part
with ye, before I have bared your bones...
I'll teach ye to be always dipping in
my dish, ye devil's dam! ye!

So saying, he tumbled out of bed.
At the first step, he struck his head
against the bed-post, but setting himself
upright, he staggered towards the spot
where I stood. Some new obstacle occurred.
He stumbled and fell at his
length upon the floor.

To encounter or expostulate with a
man in this state was plainly absurd. I
turned and issued forth, with an aching
heart, into the court before the house.
The miseries which a debauched husband
or father inflicts upon all whom

-- 041 --

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

their evil destiny allies to him were
pictured by my fancy, and wrung from
me tears of anguish. These images,
however, quickly yielded to reflections on
my own state. No expedient now remained,
but to seek the barn, and find a covering
and a bed of straw.

I had scarcely set foot within the
barn-yard when I heard a sound as o
the crying of an infant. It appeared to
issue from the barn. I approached softly
and listened at the door. The cries of
the babe continued, but were accompanied
by intreaties of a nurse or a mother
to be quiet. These intreaties were
mingled with heart-breaking sobs and
exclamations of... Ah! me, my babe!
Canst thou not sleep and afford thy
unhappy mother some peace? Thou art
cold, and I have not sufficient warmth
to cherish thee! What will become of us?

-- 042 --

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

Thy deluded father cares not if we both
perish.

A glimpse of the true nature of the
scene seemed to be imparted by these
words. I now likewise recollected incidents
that afforded additional light. Somewhere
on this bank of the river, there
formerly resided one by name Selby.
He was an aged person, who united science
and taste to the simple and laborious
habits of an husbandman. He had a son
who resided several years in Europe,
but on the death of his father, returned
home, accompanied by a wife. He had
succeeded to the occupation of the farm,
but rumour had whispered many tales to
the disadvantage of his morals. His
wife was affirmed to be of delicate and
polished manners, and much unlike her
companion.

It now occured to me that this was the
dwelling of the Selby's, and I seemed to

-- 043 --

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

have gained some insight into the discord
and domestic miseries by which the unhappy
lady suffered. This was no time
to waste my sympathy on others. I could
benefit her nothing. Selby had probably
returned from a carousal, with all his
malignant passions raised into phrensy
by intoxication. He had driven his desolate
wife from her bed and house, and to
shun outrage and violence she had fled,
with her helpless infant, to the barn.
To appease his fury, to console her, to
suggest a remedy for this distress, was
not in my power. To have sought an
interview would be merely to excite her
terrors and alarm her delicacy, without
contributing to alleviate her calamity.
Here then was no asylum for me. A
place of rest must be sought at some
neighbouring habitation. It was probable
that one would be found at no great

-- 044 --

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

distance, the path that led from the spot
where I stood, through a gate into a
meadow, might conduct me to the nearest
dwelling, and this path I immediately resolved
to explore.

I was anxious to open the gate
without noise, but I could not succeed.
Some creaking of its hinges, was unavoidably
produced, which I feared would be
overheard by the lady and multiply her
apprehensions and perplexities. This
inconvenience was irremediable. I
therefore closed the gate and pursued
the foot way before me with the utmost
expedition. I had not gained the further
end of the meadow when I lighted on
something which lay across the path,
and which, on being closely, inspected,
appeared to be an human body. It was
the corse of a girl, mangled by an hatchet.
Her head gory and deprived of its looks,
easily explained the kind of enemies by

-- 045 --

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

whom she had been assailed. Here was
proof that this quiet and remote habitation
had been visited, in their destructive
progress by the Indians. The girl had
been slain by them, and her scalp, according
to their savage custom, had been
torn away to be preserved as a trophy.

The fire which had been kindled on
the kitchen floor was now remembered,
and corroborated the inferences which
were drawn from this spectacle. And
yet that the mischief had been thus
limited, that the besotted wretch who lay
helpless on his bed, and careless of
impending danger, and that the mother
and her infant should escape, excited
some degree of surprise. Could the
savages have been interrupted in their
work, and obliged to leave their vengeance
unfinished?

Their visit had been recent. Many
hours had not elapsed since they prowled

-- 046 --

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

about these grounds. Had they wholly
disappeared and meant they not to
return? To what new danger might I
be exposed in remaining thus guideless
and destitute of all defence?

In consequence of these reflections,
I proceeded with more caution. I looked
with suspicious glances, before and on
either side of me. I now approached
the fence which, on this side, bounded
the meadow. Something was discerned
or immagined, stretched close to the
fence, on the ground, and filling up the
path-way. My apprehensions of a
lurking enemy, had been previously
awakened, and my fancy instantly figured
to itself an armed man, lying on the
ground and waiting to assail the unsuspecting
passenger.

At first I was prompted to fly, but a
second thought shewed me that I had
already approached near enough to be

-- 047 --

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

endangered. Notwithstanding my pause,
the form was motionless. The possibility
of being misled in my conjectures was
easily supposed. What I saw might be a
log or it might be another victim to savage
ferocity. This tract was that which my
safety required me to pursue. To turn
aside or go back would be merely to
bewilder myself anew.

Urged by these motives, I went
nearer, and at least was close enough to
perceive that the figure was human.
He lay upon his face, near his right hand
was a musquet, unclenched. This circumstance,
his death-like attitude and
the garb and ornaments of an Indian,
made me readily suspect the nature and
cause of this catastrophe. Here the
invaders had been encountered and
repulsed, and one at least of their number
had been left upon the field.

-- 048 --

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

I was weary of contemplating these
rueful objects. Custom, likewise, even
in so short a period, had innured me to
spectacles of horror. I was grown callous
and immoveable. I staid not to ponder
on the scene, but snatching the musquet,
which was now without an owner, and
which might be indispensable to my defence,
I hastened into the wood. On
this side the meadow was skirted by a
forest, but a beaten road lead into it,
and might therefore be attempted without
danger.

-- 049 --

EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXII.

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

The road was intricate and long.
It seemed designed to pervade the forest
in every possible direction. I frequently
noticed cut wood, piled in heaps upon
either side, and rejoiced in these tokens
that the residence of men was near. At
length I reached a second fence, which
proved to be the boundary of a road still
more frequented. I pursued this, and presently
beheld, before me, the river and
its opposite barriers.

This object afforded me some knowledge
of my situation. There was a
ford over which travellers used to pass,

-- 050 --

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

and in which the road that I was now
pursuing terminated. The stream was
rapid and tumultuous, but in this place
it did not rise higher than the shoulders.
On the opposite side was an highway,
passable by horses and men, though not
carriages, and which led into the midst of
Solebury. Should I not rush into the
stream, and still aim at reaching my
uncle's house before morning? Why
should I delay?

Thirty hours of incessant watchfulness
and toil, of enormous efforts and
perils, preceded and accompanied by
abstinence and wounds, were enough to
annihilate the strength and courage of
ordinary men. In the course of them, I had
frequently believed myself to have reached
the verge beyond which my force
would not carry me, but experience as
frequently demonstrated my error.
Though many miles, were yet to be

-- 051 --

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

traversed, though my clothes were once
more to be drenched and loaded with
moisture, though every hour seemed to
add somewhat to the keenness of the
blast: yet how should I know, but by trial,
whether my stock of energy was not sufficient
for this last exploit?

My resolution to proceed was nearly
formed, when the figure of a man moving
slowly across the road, at some distance
before me, was observed. Hard by this
ford lived a man by name Bisset, of
whom I had slight knowledge. He
tended his two hundred acres with a
plodding and money-doating spirit, while
his son overlooked a Grist-mill, on the
river. He was a creature of gain, coarse
and harmless. The man whom I saw before
me might be he, or some one belonging
to his family. Being armed for defence,
I less scrupled a meeting with any thing

-- 052 --

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

in the shape of man. I therefore called.
The figure stopped and answered me,
without surliness or anger. The voice
was unlike that of Bisset, but this person's
information I believed would be of
some service.

Coming up to him, he proved to be
a clown, belonging to Bisset's habitation.
His panic and surprise on seeing me
made him aghast. In my present garb
I should not have easily been recognized
by my nearest kinsman, and much less
easily by one who had seldom met me.

It may be easily conceived that my
thoughts, when allowed to wander from
the objects before me, were tormented
with forebodings and inquietudes on account
of the ills which I had so much
reason to believe had befallen my family.
I had no doubt that some evil had happened,
but the full extent of it was still
uncertain. I desired and dreaded to

-- 053 --

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

discover the truth, and was unable to
interrogate this person in a direct manner.
I could deal only in circuities and
hints. I shuddered while I waited for
an answer to my inquiries.

Had not Indians, I asked, been lately
seen in this neighbourhood? Were they
not suspected of hostile designs? Had
they not already committed some mischief?
Some passenger, perhaps, had
been attacked; or fire had been set to
some house? On which side of the river
had their steps been observed, or any
devastation been committed? Above the
ford or below it? At what distance from
the river?

When his attention could be withdrawn
from my person and bestowed
upon my questions, he answered that
some alarm had indeed been spread
about Indians, and that parties from
Solebury and Chetasko were out in

-- 054 --

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

pursuit of them, that many persons had been
killed by them, and that one house in
Solebury had been rifled and burnt on
the night before the last.

These tidings were a dreadful confirmation
of my fears. There scarcely
remained a doubt: but still my expiring
hope prompted me to inquire to whom
did the house belong?

He answered that he had not heard
the name of the owner. He was a stranger
to the people on the other side of
the river.

Were any of the inhabitants murdered?

Yes. All that were at home except
a girl whom they carried off. Some said
that the girl had been retaken?

What was the name? Was it Huntly?

Huntly? yes. No. He did not know.
He had forgotten.

-- 055 --

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

I fixed my eyes upon the ground. An
interval of gloomy meditation succeeded.
All was lost, all for whose sake I desired
to live, had perished by the hands of
these assassins. That dear home, the
scene of my sportive childhood, of my
studies, labours and recreations, was
ravaged by fire and the sword: was
reduced to a frightful ruin.

Not only all that embellished and
endeared existence was destroyed, but
the means of subsistence itself. Thou
knowest that my sisters and I were
dependants on the bounty of our uncle.
His death would make way for the succession
of his son, a man fraught with
envy and malignity: who always testified
a mortal hatred to us, merely because we
enjoyed the protection of his father.
The ground which furnished me with
bread was now become the property of

-- 056 --

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

one, who, if he could have done it with
security, would gladly have mingled
poison with my food.

All that my imagination or my heart
regarded as of value had likewise perished.
Whatever my chamber, my closets,
my cabinets contained, my furniture, my
books, the records of my own skill, the
monuments of their existence whom I
loved, my very cloathing, were involved
in indiscriminate and irretreivable destruction.
Why should I survive this
calamity?

But did not he say that one had
escaped? The only females in the family
were my sisters. One of these had been
reserved for a fate worse than death; to
gratify the innate and insatiable cruelty
of savages by suffering all the torments
their invention can suggest, or to linger
out years of dreary bondage and unintermitted
hardship in the bosom of the

-- 057 --

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

wilderness. To restore her to liberty;
to cherish this last survivor of my unfortunate
race was a sufficient motive to
life and to activity.

But soft! Had not rumour whispered
that the captive was retaken? Oh! who
was her angel of deliverance? Where
did she now abide? Weeping over the
untimely fall of her protector and her
friend. Lamenting and upbraiding the
absence of her brother? Why should I
not haste to find her? To mingle my
tears with hers, to assure her of my
safety and expiate the involuntary
crime of my desertion, by devoting all
futurity to the task of her consolation
and improvement?

The path was open and direct. My
new motives, would have trampled upon
every impediment and made me reckless
of all dangers and all toils. I broke
from my reverie, and without taking

-- 058 --

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

leave or expressing gratitude to my informant,
I ran with frantic expedition towards
the river, and plunging into it
gained the opposite side in a moment.

I was sufficiently acquainted with
the road. Some twelve or fifteen miles
remained to be traversed. I did not fear
that my strength would fail in the performance
of my journey. It was not my
uncle's habitation to which I directed
my steps. Inglefield was my friend. If
my sister had existence, or was snatched
from captivity, it was here that an asylum
had been afforded to her, and here was
I to seek the knowledge of my destiny.
For this reason having reached a spot
where the road divided into two branches,
one of which led to Inglefield's and
the other to Huntly's, I struck into the
former.

Scarcely had I passed the angle
when I noticed a building, on the right

-- 059 --

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

hand, at some distance from the road.
In the present state of my thoughts, it
would not have attracted my attention,
had not a light gleamed from an upper
window, and told me that all within
were not at rest.

I was acquainted with the owner of
this mansion. He merited esteem and
confidence, and could not fail to be acquainted
with recent events. From him
I should obtain all the information that
I needed, and I should be delivered from
some part of the agonies of my suspense.
I should reach his door in a few minutes,
and the window-light was a proof that
my entrance at this hour would not disturb
the family, some of whom were
stirring.

Through a gate, I entered an avenue
of tall oaks, that led to the house. I
could not but reflect on the effect which
my appearance would produce upon the

-- 060 --

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

family. The sleek locks, neat apparel,
pacific guise, sobriety and gentleness of
aspect by which I was customarily distinguished,
would in vain be sought in
the apparition which would now present
itself before them. My legs, neck and
bosom were bare, and their native hue
were exchanged for the livid marks of
bruises and scarrifications. An horrid
scar upon my cheek, and my uncombed
locks; hollow eyes, made ghastly by abstinence
and cold, and the ruthless passions
of which my mind had been the
theatre, added to the musquet which I
carried in my hand, would prepossess
them with the notion of a maniac or
ruffian.

Some inconveniences might hence
arise, which however could not be avoided.
I must trust to the speed with
which my voice and my words should

-- 061 --

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

disclose my true character and rectify
their mistake.

I now reached the principal door of
the house. It was open, and I unceremoniously
entered. In the midst of the
room stood a German stove, well heated.
To thaw my half frozen limbs was my
first care. Meanwhile, I gazed around
me, and marked the appearances of
things.

Two lighted candles stood upon the
table. Beside them were cyder-bottles
and pipes of tobacco. The furniture
and room was in that state which denoted
it to have been lately filled with
drinkers and smokers, yet neither voice,
nor visage, nor motion were any where
observable. I listened but neither above
nor below, within or without, could any
tokens of an human being be perceived.

This vacancy and silence must have
been lately preceded by noise and

-- 062 --

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

concourse and bustle. The contrast was
mysterious and ambiguous. No adequate
cause of so quick and absolute a
transition occured to me. Having gained
some warmth and lingered some ten or
twenty minutes in this uncertainty, I
determined to explore the other apartments
of the building. I knew not
what might betide in my absence, or
what I might encounter in my search
to justify precaution, and, therefore, kept
the gun in my hand. I snatched a candle
from the table and proceeded into
two other apartments on the first floor
and the kitchen. Neither was inhabited,
though chairs and tables were arranged
in their usual order, and no traces of
violence or hurry were apparent.

Having gained the foot of the staircase,
I knocked, but my knocking was
wholly disregarded. A light had appeared
in an upper chamber. It was

-- 063 --

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

not, indeed, in one of those apartments
which the family permanently occupied,
but in that which, according to rural
custom, was reserved for guests; but it
indubitably betokened the presence of
some being by whom my doubts might
be solved. These doubts were too tormenting
to allow of scruples and delay.—
I mounted the stairs.

At each chamber door I knocked, but
I knocked in vain. I tried to open, but
found them to be locked. I at length
reached the entrance of that in which a
light had been discovered. Here, it was
certain, that some one would be found;
but here, as well as elsewhere, my knocking
was unnoticed.

To enter this chamber was audacious,
but no other expedient was afforded me
to determine whether the house had any
inhabitants. I, therefore, entered, though

-- 064 --

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

with caution and reluctance. No one
was within, but there were sufficient
traces of some person who had lately
been here. On the table stood a travelling
escrutoire, open, with pens and ink-stand.
A chair was placed before it,
and a candle on the right hand. This
apparatus was rarely seen in this country.
Some traveller it seemed occupied this
room, though the rest of the mansion
was deserted. The pilgrim, as these appearances
testified, was of no vulgar
order, and belonged not to the class of
periodical and every-day guests.

It now occurred to me that the occupant
of this appartment could not be far
off, and that some danger and embarrassment
could not fail to accrue from being
found, thus accoutred and garbed, in a
place sacred to the study and repose of
another. It was proper, therefore, to
withdraw, and either to resume my

-- 065 --

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

journey, or wait for the stranger's return,
whom perhaps some temporary engagement
had called away, in the lower and
public room. The former now appeared
to be the best expedient, as the return
of this unknown person was uncertain,
as well as his power to communicate the
information which I wanted.

Had paper, as well as the implements
of writing, lain upon the desk, perhaps
my lawless curiosity would not have scrupled
to have pryed into it. On the first
glance nothing of that kind appeared,
but now, as I turned towards the door,
somewhat, lying beside the desk, on the
side opposite the candle, caught my attention.
The impulse was instantaneous
and mechanical, that made me leap to
the spot, and lay my hand upon it. Till
I felt it between my fingers, till I brought
it near my eyes and read frequently the
inscriptions that appeared upon it, I was

-- 066 --

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

doubtful whether my senses had deceived
me.

Few, perhaps, among mankind have
undergone vicissitudes of peril and wonder
equal to mine. The miracles of
poetry, the transitions of enchantment,
are beggarly and mean compared with
those which I had experienced: Passage
into new forms, overleaping the bars of
time and space, reversal of the laws of
inanimate and intelligent existence had
been mine to perform and to witness.

No event had been more fertile of
sorrow and perplexity than the loss of
thy brother's letters. They went by
means invisible, and disappeared at a moment
when foresight would have least
predicted their disappearance. They
now placed themselves before me, in a
manner equally abrupt, in a place and
by means, no less contrary to expectation.
The papers which I now seized

-- 067 --

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

were those letters. The parchment cover,
the string that tied, and the wax
that sealed them, appeared not to have
been opened or violated.

The power that removed them from
my cabinet, and dropped them in this
house, a house which I rarely visited,
which I had not entered during the last
year, with whose inhabitants I maintained
no cordial intercourse, and to
whom my occupations and amusements,
my joys and my sorrows, were unknown,
was no object even of conjecture. But
they were not possessed by any of the
family. Some stranger was here, by
whom they had been stolen, or into
whose possession, they had, by some
incomprehensible chance, fallen.

That stranger was near. He had
left this apartment for a moment. He
would speedily return. To go hence,

-- 068 --

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

might possibly occasion me to miss him.
Here then I would wait, till he should
grant me an interview. The papers
were mine, and were recovered. I would
never part with them. But to know by
whose force or by whose stratagems I
had been bereaved of them thus long,
was now the supreme passion of my soul,
I seated myself near a table and anxiously
awaited for an interview, on which I
was irresistably persuaded to believe
that much of my happiness depended.

Meanwhile, I could not but connect
this incident with the destruction of my
family. The loss of these papers had
excited transports of grief, and yet, to
have lost them thus, was perhaps the
sole expedient, by which their final preservation
could be rendered possible.
Had they remained in my cabinet, they
could not have escaped the destiny which
overtook the house and its furniture.

-- 069 --

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

Savages are not accustomed to leave
their exterminating work unfinished.
The house which they have plundered,
they are careful to level with the ground.
This not only their revenge, but their
caution prescribes. Fire may originate
by accident as well as by design, and
the traces of pillage and murder are
totally obliterated by the flames.

These thoughts were interrupted by
the shutting of a door below, and by
foot-steps ascending the stairs. My heart
throbbed at the sound. My seat became
uneasy and I started on my feet. I even
advanced half way to the entrance of
the room. My eyes were intensely fixed
upon the door. My impatience would
have made me guess at the person of this
visitant by measuring his shadow, if his
shadow were first seen; but this was
precluded by the position of the light.
It was only when the figure entered, and

-- 070 --

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

the whole person was seen, that my curiosity
was gratified. He who stood before
me was the parent and fosterer of my
mind, the companion and instructor of
my youth, from whom I had been parted
for years; from whom I believed myself
to be forever separated;—Sarsefield himself!

-- 071 --

EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXIII.

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

My deportment, at an interview
so much desired and so wholly unforeseen,
was that of a maniac. The petrifying
influence of surprise, yielded to the
impetuosities of passion. I held him in
my arms: I wept upon his bosom, I sobbed
with emotion which, had it not found
passage at my eyes, would have burst
my heart-strings. Thus I who had
escaped the deaths that had previously
assailed me in so many forms, should
have been reserved to solemnize a scene
like this by...dying for joy!

-- 072 --

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

The sterner passions and habitual
austerities of my companion, exempted
him from pouring out this testimony of
his feelings. His feelings were indeed
more allied to astonishment and incredulity
than mine had been. My person
was not instantly recognized. He shrunk
from my embrace, as if I were an apparition
or impostor. He quickly disengaged
himself from my arms, and withdrawing
a few paces, gazed upon me as on
one whom he had never before seen.

These repulses were ascribed to the
loss of his affection. I was not mindful
of the hideous guise in which I stood
before him, and by which he might justly
be misled to imagine me a ruffian or a
lunatic. My tears flowed now on a new
account, and I articulated in a broken
and faint voice—My master! my friend!
Have you forgotten! have you ceased to
love me?

-- 073 --

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

The sound of my voice made him
start and exclaim—Am I alive? am I
awake? Speak again I beseech you, and
convince me that I am not dreaming or
delirious.

Can you need any proof, I answered,
that it is Edgar Huntly, your pupil, your
child that speaks to you?

He now withdrew his eyes from me
and fixed them on the floor. After a
pause he resumed, in emphatic accents.
Well, I have lived to this age in unbelief.
To credit or trust in miraculous
agency was foreign to my nature, but
now I am no longer sceptical. Call me
to any bar, and exact from me an oath
that you have twice been dead and twice
recalled to life; that you move about
invisibly, and change your place by the
force, not of muscles, but of thought,
and I will give it.

-- 074 --

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

How came you hither? Did you
penetrate the wall? Did you rise through
the floor?

Yet surely 'tis an error. You could
not be he whom twenty witnesses affirmed
to have beheld a lifeless and mangled
corpse upon the ground, whom my own
eyes saw in that condition.

In seeking the spot once more to provide
you a grave, you had vanished.
Again I met you. You plunged into a
rapid stream, from an height from which
it was impossible to fall and to live: yet,
as if to set the limits of nature at defiance;
to sport with human penetration, you rose
upon the surface: You floated; you
swam: Thirty bullets were aimed at
your head, by marks-men celebrated for
the exactness of their sight. I myself
was of the number, and I never missed
what I desired to hit.

-- 075 --

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

My predictions were confirmed by
the event. You ceased to struggle; you
sunk to rise no more, and yet after these
accumulated deaths, you light upon this
floor: so far distant from the scene of
your catastrophe; over spaces only to be
passed, in so short a time as has since
elapsed, by those who have wings.

My eyes, my ears bear testimony to
your existence now, as they formerly
convinced me of your death—What am
I to think; What proofs am I to credit?—
There he stopped.

Every accent of this speech added
to the confusion of my thoughts. The
allusions that my friend had made were
not unintelligible. I gained a glimpse
of the complicated errors by which we
had been mutually deceived. I had fainted
on the area before Deb's hut. I was found

-- 076 --

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

by Sarsefield in this condition, and imagined
to be dead.

The man whom I had seen upon the
promontory was not an Indian. He belonged
to a numerous band of pursuers,
whom my hostile and precipitate deportment
caused to suspect me for an enemy.
They that fired from the steep were
friends. The interposition that screened
me from so many bullets, was indeed
miraculous. No wonder that my voluntary
sinking, in order to elude their shots,
was mistaken for death, and that, having
accomplished the destruction of this foe,
they resumed their pursuit of others.
But how was Sarsefield apprized that it
was I who plunged into the river? No
subsequent event was possible to impart
to him the incredible truth.

A pause of mutual silence ensued.
At length, Sarsefield renewed his expressions
of amazement at this interview, and

-- 077 --

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

besought me to explain why I had disappeared
by night from my Uncle's house,
and by what series of unheard of events
this interview was brought about. Was
it indeed Huntly whom he examined and
mourned over at the threshold of Deb's
hut? Whom he had sought in every
thicket and cave in the ample circuit of
Norwalk and Chetasco? Whom he had
seen perish in the current of the Delaware?

Instead of noticing his questions, my
soul was harrowed with anxiety respecting
the fate of my uncle and sisters.
Sarsefield could communicate the tidings
which would decide on my future lot, and
set my portion in happiness or misery.
Yet I had not breath to speak my inquiries.
Hope tottered, and I felt as if a
single word would be sufficient for its
utter subversion. At length, I articulated
the name of my Uncle.

-- 078 --

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

The single word sufficiently imparted
my fears, and these fears needed no verbal
confirmation. At that dear name,
my companion's features were overspread
by sorrow—Your Uncle, said he, is dead.

Dead? Merciful Heaven! And my
sisters too! Both?

Your Sisters are alive and well.

Nay, resumed I, in faultering accents,
jest not with my feelings. Be not cruel
in your pity. Tell me the truth.

I have said the truth. They are well,
at Mr. Inglefield's.

My wishes were eager to assent to
the truth of these tidings. The better
part of me was then safe: but how did
they escape the fate that overtook my
uncle? How did they evade the destroying
hatchet and the midnight conflagration?
These doubts were imparted in a
tumultuous and obscure manner to my
friend. He no sooner fully

-- 079 --

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

comprehended them, than he looked at me, with
some inquietude and surprise.

Huntly, said he, are you mad—What
has filled you with these hideous prepossessions?
Much havoc has indeed
been committed in Chetasco and the wilderness;
and a log hut has been burnt
by design or by accident in Solebury,
but that is all. Your house has not been
assailed by either fire-brand or tom-hawk.
Every thing is safe and in its ancient
order. The master indeed is gone, but
the old man fell a victim to his own temerity
and hardihood. It is thirty years
since he retired with three wounds, from
the field of Braddock; but time, in no
degree, abated his adventurous and military
spirit. On the first alarm, he summoned
his neighbours, and led them in
pursuit of the invaders. Alas! he was
the first to attack them, and the only one
who fell in the contest.

-- 080 --

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

These words were uttered in a manner
that left me no room to doubt of their
truth. My uncle had already been lamented,
and the discovery of the nature
of his death, so contrary to my forebodings,
and of the safety of my girls,
made the state of my mind partake more
of exultation and joy, than of grief or
regret.

But how was I deceived? Had not
my fusil been found in the hands of an
enemy? Whence could he have plundered
it but from my own chamber? It hung
against the wall of a closet; from which
no stranger could have taken it except by
violence. My perplexities and doubts
were not at an end, but those which constituted
my chief torment were removed.
I listened to my friend's intreaties to tell
him the cause of my elopement, and the

-- 081 --

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

incidents that terminated in the present
interview.

I began with relating my return to
consciousness in the bottom of the pit; my
efforts to free myself from this abhorred
prison; the acts of horror to which I was
impelled by famine, and their excruciating
consequences; my gaining the outlet
of the cavern, the desperate expedient by
which I removed the impediment to my
escape, and the deliverance of the captive
girl; the contest I maintained before
Deb's hut; my subsequent wanderings;
the banquet which hospitality afforded
me; my journey to the river-bank; my
meditations on the means of reaching the
road; my motives for hazarding my life,
by plunging into the stream; and my subsequent
perils and fears till I reached
the threshold of this habitation.

Thus, continued I, I have complied
with your request. I have told all that

-- 082 --

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

I, myself, know. What were the incidents
between my sinking to rest at
Inglefield's, and my awaking in the chambers
of the hill; by which means and by
whose contrivance, preternatural or human,
this transition was effected, I am
unable to explain; I cannot even guess.

What has eluded my sagacity may not
be beyond the reach of another. Your
own reflections on my tale, or some facts
that have fallen under your notice, may
enable you to furnish a solution. But,
meanwhile, how am I to account for your
appearance on this spot? This meeting
was unexpected and abrupt to you, but it
has not been less so to me. Of all mankind,
Sarsefield was the farthest from my
thoughts, when I saw these tokens of a
traveller and a stranger.

You were imperfectly acquainted with
my wanderings. You saw me on the
ground before Deb's hut. You saw me

-- 083 --

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

plunge into the river. You endeavoured
to destroy me while swimming; and you
knew, before my narrative was heard,
that Huntly was the object of your enmity.
What was the motive of your
search in the desert, and how were you
apprized of my condition? These things
are not less wonderful than any of those
which I have already related.

During my tale the features of Sarsefield
betokened the deepest attention.
His eye strayed not a moment from my
face. All my perils and forebodings,
were fresh in my remembrance, they
had scarcely gone by; their skirts, so to
speak, were still visible. No wonder
that my eloquence was vivid and pathetic,
that I pourtrayed the past as if it were
the present scene; and that not my tongue
only, but every muscle and limb, spoke.

When I had finished my relation.
Sarsefield sunk into thoughtfulness.

-- 084 --

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

From this, after a time, he recovered
and said: Your tale, Huntly; is true, yet,
did I not see you before me, were I not
acquainted with the artlessness and rectitude
of your character, and, above all,
had not my own experience, during the
last three days, confirmed every incident,
I should question its truth. You
have amply gratified my curiosity, and
deserve that your own, should be gratified
as fully. Listen to me.

Much has happened since we parted,
which shall not be now mentioned. I
promised to inform you of my welfare by
letter, and did not fail to write, but
whether my letters were received, or
any were written by you in return, or if
written were ever transmitted, I cannot
tell; none were ever received.

Some days since, I arrived, in company
with a lady who is my wife, in

-- 085 --

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

America. You have never been forgotten
by me. I knew your situation to be
little in agreement with your wishes,
and one of the benefits which fortune
has lately conferred upon me, is the
power of snatching you from a life of
labour and obscurity; whose goods,
scanty as they are, were transient and
precarious; and affording you the suitable
leisure and means of intellectual
gratification and improvement.

Your silence made me entertain some
doubts concerning your welfare, and
even your existence. To solve these
doubts, I hastened to Solebury, some
delays upon the road, hindered me from
accomplishing my journey by day-light.
It was night before I entered the Norwalk
path, but my ancient rambles with
you made me familiar with it, and I was
not affraid of being obstructed or bewildered.

-- 086 --

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

Just as I gained the southern outlet,
I spied a passenger on foot, coming
towards me with a quick pace. The
incident was of no moment, and yet the
time of night, the seeming expedition of
the walker, recollection of the mazes and
obstacles which he was going to encounter,
and a vague conjecture that, perhaps,
he was unacquainted with the difficulties
that awaited him, made me eye him with
attention as he passed.

He came near, and I thought I recognized
a friend in this traveller. The form,
the gesture, the stature bore a powerful
resemblance to those of Edgar Huntly.
This resemblance was so strong, that I
stopped, and after he had gone by, called
him by your name. That no notice was
taken of my call proved that the person
was mistaken, but even though it were
another, that he should not even hesitate
or turn at a summons which he could not

-- 087 --

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

but perceive to be addressed, though
erroneously, to him, was the source of
some surprize. I did not repeat my call,
but proceeded on my way.

All had retired to repose in your
uncle's dwelling. I did not scruple to
rouse them, and was received with affectionate
and joyous greetings. That you
allowed your uncle to rise before you,
was a new topic of reflection. To my
inquiries concerning you, answers were
made that accorded with my wishes. I
was told that you were in good health
and were then abed. That you had not
heard and risen at my knocking, was
mentioned with surprise, but your uncle
accounted for your indolence by saying
that during the last week you had fatigued
yourself by rambling night and day,
in search of some maniac, or visionary

-- 088 --

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

who was supposed to have retreated into
Norwalk.

I insisted upon awakening you myself.
I anticipated the effect of this sudden and
unlooked for meeting, with some emotions
of pride as well as of pleasure. To
find, in opening your eyes, your old preceptor
standing by your bed-side and
gazing in your face, would place you, I
conceived, in an affecting situation.

Your chamber door was open, but
your bed was empty. Your uncle and
sisters were made acquainted with this
circumstance. Their surprise gave way
to conjectures that your restless and
romantic spirit, had tempted you from
your repose, that you had rambled abroad
on some phantastic errand, and would
probably return before the dawn. I willingly
acquiesced in this opinion, and
my feelings being too thoroughly aroused
to allow me to sleep, I took possession

-- 089 --

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

of your chamber, and patiently awaited
your return.

The morning returned but Huntly
made not his appearance. Your uncle
became somewhat uneasy at this unseasonable
absence. Much speculation and
inquiry, as to the possible reasons of
your flight was made. In my survey of
your chamber, I noted that only part of
your cloathing remained beside your
bed. Coat, hat, stockings and shoes lay
upon the spot where they had probably
been thrown when you had disrobed
yourself, but the pantaloons, which according
to Mr. Huntly's report, completed
your dress, were no where to be
found. That you should go forth on so
cold a night so slenderly appareled,
was almost incredible. Your reason or
your senses had deserted you, before so
rash an action could be meditated.

-- 090 --

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

I now remembered the person I had
met in Norwalk. His resemblance to
your figure, his garb, which wanted hat,
coat, stockings and shoes, and your absence
from your bed at that hour, were
remarkable coincidences: but why did
you disregard my call? Your name,
uttered by a voice that could not be
unknown, was surely sufficient to arrest
your steps.

Each hour added to the impatience
of your friends; to their recollections
and conjectures, I listened with a view
to extract from them some solution of
this mystery. At length, a story was
alluded to, of some one who, on the preceding
night, had been heard walking
in the long room; to this was added, the
tale of your anxieties and wonders occasioned
by the loss of certain manuscripts.

While ruminating upon these incidents,
and endeavouring to extract from

-- 091 --

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

this intelligence a clue, explanatory of
your present situation, a single word,
casually dropped by your uncle, instantly
illuminated my darkness and dispelled
my doubts.—After all, said the old man,
ten to one, but Edgar himself was the
man whom we heard walking, but the
lad was asleep, and knew not what he
was about.

Surely said I, this inference is just.
His manuscripts could not be removed
by any hands but his own, since the rest
of mankind were unacquainted not only
with the place of their concealment, but
with their existence. None but a man,
insane or asleep, would wander forth so
slightly dressed, and none but a sleeper
would have disregarded my calls. This
conclusion was generally adopted, but
it gave birth in my mind, to infinite inquietudes.
You had roved into Norwalk,
a scene of inequalities, of

-- 092 --

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

prominences and pits, among which, thus destitute
of the guidance of your senses,
you could scarcely fail to be destroyed,
or at least, irretreivably bewildered. I
painted to myself the dangers to which
you were subjected. Your careless feet
would bear you into some whirlpool or
to the edge of some precipice, some internal
revolution or outward shock would
recall you to consciousness at some perilous
moment. Surprise and fear would
disable you from taking seasonable or
suitable precautions, and your destruction
be made sure.

The lapse of every new hour, without
bringing tidings of your state, enhanced
these fears. At length, the propriety
of searching for you occurred,
Mr. Huntly and I determined to set out
upon this pursuit, as well as to commission
others. A plan was laid by which
every accessible part of Norwalk, the

-- 093 --

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

wilderness beyond the flats of Solebury,
and the valey of Chetasco, should be traversed
and explored.

Scarcely had we equipped ourselves
for this expedition, when a messenger
arrived, who brought the disastrous
news of Indians being seen within these
precincts, and on the last night a farmer
was shot in his fields, a dwelling in Chetasco
was burnt to the ground, and its
inhabitants murdered or made captives.
Rumour and inquiry had been busy, and
a plausible conjecture had been formed,
as to the course and number of the enemies.
They were said to be divided
into bands, and to amount in the whole
to thirty or forty wariors. This messenger
had come to warn us of danger
which might impend, and to summon us
to join in the pursuit and extirpation of
these detestable foes.

-- 094 --

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

Your uncle, whose alacrity and vigour
age had not abated, eagerly engaged in
this scheme. I was not averse to contribute
my efforts to an end like this.
The road which we had previously designed
to take, in search of my fugitive
pupil, was the same by which we must
trace or intercept the retreat of the savages.
Thus two purposes, equally momentous,
would be answered by the same
means.

Mr. Huntly armed himself with your
fusil; Inglefield supplied me with a gun;
during our absence the dwelling was
closed and locked, and your sisters
placed under the protection of Inglefield,
whose age and pacific sentiments unfitted
him for arduous and sanguinary
enterprises. A troop of rustics was
collected, half of whom remained to
traverse Solebury and the other, whom
Mr. Huntly and I accompanied, hastened
to Chetasco.

-- 095 --

EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXIV.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

It was noon day before we reached
the theatre of action. Fear and revenge
combined to make the people of
Chetasco diligent and zealous in their
own defence. The havock already committed
had been mournful. To prevent
a repetition of the same calamities, they
resolved to hunt out the hostile foot-steps
and exact a merciless retribution.

It was likely that the enemy, on the
approach of day, had withdrawn from
the valley and concealed themselves in
the thickets, between the parrallel ridges

-- 096 --

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

of the mountain. This space, which,
according to the object with which it is
compared is either a vale or the top of
an hill, was obscure and desolate. It
was undoubtedly the avenue by which
the robbers had issued forth, and by
which they would escape to the Ohio.
Here they might still remain, intending
to immerge from their concealment on
the next night, and perpetrate new horrors.

A certain distribution was made of
our number, so as to move in all directions
at the same time. I will not dwell
upon particulars. It will suffice to say
that keen eyes and indefatigable feet,
brought us at last to the presence of the
largest number of these marauders.
Seven of them were slain by the edge
of a brook, where they sat wholly unconscious
of the danger which hung over
them. Five escaped, and one of these

-- 097 --

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

secured his retreat by wresting your
fusil from your uncle, and shooting him
dead. Before our companion could be
rescued or revenged, the assassin, with
the remnant of the troop, disappeared,
and bore away with him the fusil as a
trophy of his victory.

This disaster was deplored not only
on account of that life which had thus
been sacrificed, but because a sagacious
guide and intrepid leader was lost. His
acquaintance with the habits of the Indians,
and his experience in their wars
made him trace their foot-steps with more
certainty than any of his associates.

The pursuit was still continued, and
parties were so stationed that the escape
of the enemy was difficult, if not impossible.
Our search was unremitted, but
during twelve or fourteen hours, unsuccessful.
Queen Mab did not elude all
suspicion. Her hut was visited by

-- 098 --

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

different parties, but the old woman and
her dogs had disappeared.

Meanwhile your situation was not
forgotten. Every one was charged to
explore your foot-steps as well as those
of the savages, but this search was no
less unsuccessful than the former. None
had heard of you or seen you.

This continued till midnight. Three
of us, made a pause at a brook, and
intended to repair our fatigues by a respite
of a few hours, but scarcely had we
stretched ourselves on the ground when
we were alarmed by a shot which seemed
to have been fired at a short distance.
We started on our feet and consulted
with each other on the measures to be
taken. A second, a third and a fourth
shot, from the same quarter, excited our
attention anew. Mab's hut was known
to stand at the distance and in the

-- 099 --

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

direction of this sound, and hither we resolved
to repair.

This was done with speed but with
the utmost circumspection. We shortly
gained the road that leads near this hut
and at length gained a view of the building.
Many persons were discovered, in
a sort of bustling inactivity, before the
hut. They were easily distinguised to
be friends, and were therefore approached
without scruple.

The objects that presented themselves
to a nearer view were five bodies
stretched upon the ground. Three of
them were savages. The fourth was a
girl, who though alive seemed to have
received a mortal wound. The fifth,
breathless and mangled and his features
almost concealed by the blood that overspread
his face, was Edgar; the fugitive

-- 100 --

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

for whom I had made such anxious
search.

About the same hour on the last
night I had met you hastening into Norwalk.
Now were you, lying in the midst
of savages, at the distance of thirty miles
from your home, and in a spot, which
it was impossible for you to have reached
unless by an immense circuit over
rocks and thickets. That you had found
a rift at the basis of the hill, and thus
permeated its solidities, and thus precluded
so tedious and circuitous a journey
as must otherwise have been made,
was not to be imagined.

But whence arose this scene? It was
obvious to conclude that my associates
had surprised their enemies in this house,
and exacted from them the forfeit of their
crimes, but how you should have been
confounded with their foes, or whence

-- 101 --

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

came the wounded girl was a subject of
astonishment.

You will judge how much this surprise
was augmented when I was informed
that the party whom we found had
been attracted hither by the same signals,
by which we had been alarmed. That
on reaching this spot you had been discovered,
alive, seated on the ground and
still sustaining the gun with which you
had apparently completed the destruction
of so many adversaries. In a moment
after their arrival you sunk down
and expired.

This scene was attended with inexplicable
circumstances. The musquet
which lay beside you appeared to have
belonged to one of the savages. The
wound by which each had died was single.
Of the four shots we had distinguished
at a distance, three of them were
therefore fatal to the Indians and the

-- 102 --

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

fourth was doubtless that by which you
had fallen, yet three musquets only were
discoverable.

The arms were collected, and the
girl carried to the nearest house in the
arms of her father. Her situation was
deemed capable of remedy, and the sorrow
and wonder which I felt at your
untimely and extraordinary fate, did not
hinder me from endeavouring to restore
the health of this unfortunate victim. I
reflected likewise that some light might
be thrown upon transactions so mysterious,
by the information which might be
collected from her story. Numberless
questions and hints were necessary to
extract from her a consistent or intelli
gible tale. She had been dragged, it
seems, for miles, at the heels of her conquerors,
who at length, stopped in a
cavern for the sake of some repose; all
slept but one, who sat and watched.

-- 103 --

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Something called him away, and, at the
same moment, you appeared at the bottom
of the cave half naked and without
arms. You instantly supplied the last
deficiency, by seizing the gun and tomhawk
of him who had gone forth, and
who had negligently left his weapons
behind. Then stepping over the bodies
of the sleepers, you rushed out of the
cavern.

She then mentioned your unexpected
return, her deliverance and flight, and
arrival at Deb's hut. You watched
upon the hearth and she fell asleep upon
the blanket. From this sleep she was
aroused by violent and cruel blows.
She looked up:—you were gone and the
bed on which she lay was surrounded
by the men from whom she had so lately
escaped. One dragged her out of the
hut and levelled his gun at her breast.

-- 104 --

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At the moment when he touched the
trigger, a shot came from an unknown
quarter, and he fell at her feet. Of subsequent
events she had an incoherent
recollection. The Indians were successively
slain, and you came to her, and
interrogated and consoled her.

In your journey to the hut you were
armed. This in some degree accounted
for appearances, but where were your
arms? Three musquets only were discovered
and these undoubtedly belonged
to your enemies.

I now had leisure to reflect upon your
destiny. I had arrived soon enough on
this shore merely to witness the catastrophe
of two beings whom I most loved.
Both were overtaken by the same fate,
nearly at the same hour. The same
hand had possibly accomplished the destruction
of uncle and nephew.

-- 105 --

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

Now, however, I began to entertain
an hope that your state might not be
irretreivable. You had walked and spoken
after the firing had ceased, and
your enemies had ceased to contend
with you. A wound had, no doubt,
been previously received. I had hastily
inferred that the wound was mortal, and
that life could not be recalled. Occupied
with attention to the wailings of the
girl, and full of sorrow and perplexity
I had admitted an opinion which would
have never been adopted in different
circumstances. My acquaintance with
wounds would have taught me to regard
sunken muscles, lividness and cessation
of the pulse as mere indications of a
swoon, and not as tokens of death.

Perhaps my error was not irreparable.
By hastening to the hut, I might
ascertain your condition and at least
transport your remains to some dwelling

-- 106 --

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

and finally secure to you the decencies
of burial.

Of twelve savages, discovered on the
preceding day, ten were now killed.
Two, at least remained, after whom the
pursuit was still zealously maintained.
Attention to the wounded girl, had withdrawn
me from the party, and I had now
leisure to return to the scene of these
disasters. The sun had risen, and, accompanied
by two others, I repaired
thither.

A sharp turn in the road, at the entrance
of the field, set before us a starting
spectacle. An Indian, mangled by repeated
wounds of bayonet and bullet,
was discovered. His musquet was stuck
in the ground, by way of beacon attracting
our attention to the spot. Over this
space I had gone a few hours before,
and nothing like this was then seen.
The parties abroad, had hied away to a

-- 107 --

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distant quarter. Some invisible power
seemed to be enlisted in our defence and
to preclude the necessity of our arms.

We proceeded to the hut. The savages
were there, but Edgar had risen and
flown! Nothing now seemed to be incredible.
You had slain three foes, and the
weapon with which the victory had been
achieved, had vanished. You had risen
from the dead, had assailed one of the
surviving enemies, had employed bullet
and dagger in his destruction, with both
of which you could only be supplied by
supernatural means, and had disappeared.
If any inhabitant of Chetasco had
done this, we should have heard of it.

But what remained? You were still
alive. Your strength was sufficient to
bear you from this spot. Why were you
still invisible and to what dangers might
you not be exposed, before you could

-- 108 --

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disinvolve yourself from the mazes of
this wilderness?

Once more I procured indefatigable
search to be made after you. It was continued
till the approach of evening and
was fruitless. Inquiries were twice made
at the house where you were supplied
with food and intelligence. On the
second call I was astonished and delighted
by the tidings received from the good
woman. Your person and demeanour
and arms were described, and mention
made of your resolution to cross the
southern ridge, and traverse the Solebury
road with the utmost expedition.

The greater part of my inquietudes
were now removed. You were able to
eat and to travel, and there was little
doubt that a meeting would take place
between us on the next morning. Meanwhile,
I determined to concur with those
who pursued the remainder of the enemy.

-- 109 --

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I followed you, in the path that you were
said to have taken, and quickly joined a
numerous party who were searching for
those who, on the last night, had attacked
a plantation that lies near this, and destroyed
the inhabitants.

I need not dwell upon our doublings
and circuities. The enemy was traced
to the house of Selby. They had entered,
they had put fire on the floor, but
were compelled to relinquish their prey.
Of what number they consisted could
not be ascertained, but one, lingering
behind his fellows, was shot, at the
entrance of the wood, and on the spot
where you chanced to light upon him.

Selby's house was empty, and before
the fire had made any progress we extinguished
it. The drunken wretch whom
you encountered, had probably returned
from his nocturnal debauch, after we had
left the spot.

-- 110 --

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The flying enemy was pursued with
fresh diligence. They were found, by
various tokens, to have crossed the river,
and to have ascended the mountain. We
trod closely on their heels. When we
arrived at the promontory, described by
you, the fatigues of the night and day
rendered me unqualified to proceed, I
determined that this should be the bound
of my excursions. I was anxious to
obtain an interview with you, and unless
I paused here, should not be able to gain
Inglefield's as early in the morning as I
wished. Two others concurred with me
in this resolution and prepared to return
to this house which had been deserted
by its tenants till the danger was past
and which had been selected as the place
of rendezvous.

At this moment, dejected and weary,
I approached the ledge which severed
the head-land from the mountain. I

-- 111 --

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marked the appearance of some one
stretched upon the ground where you
lay. No domestic animal would wander
hither and place himself upon this spot.
There was something likewise in the
appearance of the object that bespoke it
to be man, but if it were man, it was,
incontrovertibly, a savage and a foe. I
determined therefore to rouse you by a
bullet.

My decision was perhaps absurd. I
ought to have gained more certainty
before I hazarded your destruction. Be
that as it will, a moments lingering on
your part would have probably been
fatal. You started on your feet, and
fired. See the hole which your random
shot made through my sleeve! This
surely was a day destined to be signalized
by hair-breadth escapes.

Your action seemed incontestably to
confirm my prognostics. Every one

-- 112 --

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hurried to the spot and was eager to destroy
an enemy. No one hesitated to believe
that some of the shots aimed at you, had
reached their mark, and that you had
sunk to rise no more.

The gun which was fired and thrown
down was taken and examined. It had
been my companion in many a toilsome
expedition. It had rescued me and my
friends from a thousand deaths. In order
to recognize it, I needed only to touch
and handle it. I instantly discovered that
I held in my hand the fusil which I had
left with you on parting, with which your
uncle had equipped himself, and which
had been ravished from him by a savage.
What was I hence to infer respecting
the person of the last possessor?

My inquiries respecting you of the
woman whose milk and bread you had
eaten, were minute. You entered, she
said, with an hatchet and gun in your

-- 113 --

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

hand. While you ate, the gun was laid
upon the table. She sat near, and the
piece became the object of inquisitive
attention. The stock and barrels were
described by her in such terms as left
no doubt that this was the Fusil.

A comparison of incidents enabled
me to trace the manner in which you
came into possession of this instrument.
One of those whom you found in the
cavern was the assassin of your uncle.
According to the girl's report, on issuing
from your hiding place, you seized a gun
that was unoccupied, and this gun chanced
to be your own.

Its two barrels was probably the
cause of your success in that unequal
contest at Mab's hut. On recovering
from deliquium, you found it where it
had been dropped by you, out of sight
and unsuspected by the party that had
afterwards arrived. In your passage to

-- 114 --

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the river had it once more fallen into hostile
hands, or, had you missed the way,
wandered to this promontory, and mistaken
a troop of friends for a band of
Indian marauders?

Either supposition was dreadful. The
latter was the most plausible. No motives
were conceivable by which one of
the fugitives could be induced to post
himself here, in this conspicuous station:
whereas, the road which lead you to the
summit of the hill, to that spot where
descent to the river road was practicable,
could not be found but by those who
were accustomed to traverse it. The
directions which you had exacted from
your hostess, proved your previous unacquaintance
with these tracts.

I acquiesced in this opinion with an
heavy and desponding heart. Fate had
led us into a maze, which could only
terminate in the destruction of one or of

-- 115 --

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the other. By the breadth of an hair,
had I escaped death from your hand.
The same fortune had not befriended
you. After my tedious search, I had
lighted on you, forlorn, bewildered, perishing
with cold and hunger. Instead
of recognizing and affording you relief,
I compelled you to leap into the river,
from a perilous height, and had desisted
from my persecution only when I had
bereaved you of life, and plunged you
to the bottom of the gulf.

My motives in coming to America
were numerous and mixed. Among
these was the parental affection with
which you had inspired me. I came
with fortune and a better gift than fortune
in my hand. I intended to bestow
both upon you, not only to give you competence,
but one who would endear to
you that competence, who would

-- 116 --

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

enhance, by participating, every gratification.

My schemes were now at an end.
You were gone, beyond the reach of my
benevolence and justice. I had robbed
your two sisters of a friend and guardian.
It was some consolation to think that it
was in my power to stand, with regard
to them, in your place, that I could
snatch them from the poverty, dependence
and humiliation, to which your
death and that of your uncle had reduced
them.

I was now doubly weary of the enterprise
in which I was engaged, and returned,
with speed, to this rendezvouz.
My companions have gone to know the
state of the family who resided under
this roof and left me to beguile the
tedious moments in whatever manner I
pleased.

I have omitted mentioning one incident
that happened between the detection

-- 117 --

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of your flight and our expedition to Chetasco.
Having formed a plausible conjecture
as to him who walked in the
Long-room, it was obvious to conclude
that he who purloined your manuscripts
and the walker were the same personage.
It was likewise easily inferred that the
letters were secreted in the Cedar Chest
or in some other part of the room. Instances
similar to this have heretofore
occurred. Men have employed anxious
months in search of that which, in a freak
of Noctambulation, was hidden by their
own hands.

A search was immediately commenced,
and your letters were found, carefully
concealed between the rafters and
shingles of the roof, in a spot, where, if
suspicion had not been previously excited,
they would have remained till the
vernal rains and the summer heats, had
insensibly destroyed them. This pacquet
I carried with me, knowing the

-- 118 --

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value which you set upon them, and
there being no receptacle equally safe,
but your own cabinet, which was locked.

Having, as I said, reached this house,
and being left alone, I bethought me of
the treasure I possessed. I was unacquainted
with the reasons for which these
papers were so precious. They probably
had some momentous and intimate
connection with your own history. As
such they could not be of little value to
me, and this moment of inoccupation and
regrets, was as suitable as any other to
the task of perusing them. I drew them
forth, therefore, and laid them on the
table in this chamber.

The rest is known to you. During a
momentary absence you entered. Surely
no interview of ancient friends ever
took place in so unexpected and abrupt
a manner. You were dead. I mourned
for you, as one whom I loved, and whom

-- 119 --

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

fate had snatched forever from my sight.
Now, in a blissful hour, you had risen,
and my happiness in thus embracing you,
is tenfold greater than would have been
experienced, if no uncertainties and perils
had protracted our meeting.

-- 120 --

EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXV.

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

Here ended the tale of Sarsefield.
Humiliation and joy were mingled
in my heart. The events that preceded
my awakening in the cave were now
luminous and plain. What explication
was more obvious? What but this solution
ought to have been suggested by
the conduct I had witnessed in Clithero?

Clithero! Was not this the man whom
Clithero had robbed of his friend? Was
not this the lover of Mrs. Lorimer, the
object of the persecutions of Wiatte?
Was it not now given me to investigate

-- 121 --

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

the truth of that stupendous tale? To
dissipate the doubts which obstinately
clung to my imagination respecting it?

But soft! Had not Sarsefield said that
he was married? Was Mrs. Lorimer so
speedily forgotten by him, or was the
narrative of Clithero the web of imposture
or the raving of insantiy?

These new ideas banished all personal
considerations from my mind. I
looked eagerly into the face of my friend,
and exclaimed in a dubious accent—How
say you? Married? When? To whom?

Yes, Huntly, I am wedded to the
most excellent of women. To her am
I indebted for happiness and wealth and
dignity and honour. To her do I owe
the power of being the benefactor and
protector of you and your sisters. She
longs to embrace you as a son. To
become truly her son, will depend upon
your own choice and that of one, who
was the companion of our voyage.

-- 122 --

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

Heavens! cried I, in a transport of
exultation and astonishment. Of whom
do you speak. Of the mother of Clarice?
The sister of Wiatte? The sister of the
ruffian who laid snares for her life? Who
pursued you and the unhappy Clithero,
with the bitterest animosity?

My friend started at these sounds as
if the earth had yawned at his feet. His
countenance was equally significant of
terror and rage. As soon as he regained
the power of utterance, he spoke—Clithero!
Curses light upon thy lips for
having uttered that detested name!
Thousands of miles have I flown to
shun the hearing of it. Is the madman
here? Have you set eyes upon him?
Does he yet crawl upon the face of the
earth? Unhappy? Unparalleled, unheard
of, thankless miscreant! Has he told his
execrable falsehoods here? Has he dared
to utter names so sacred as those of Euphemia
Lorimer and Clarice?

-- 123 --

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

He has: He has told a tale, that had
all the appearances of truth—

Out upon the villain! The truth!
Truth would prove him to be unnatural;
develish; a thing for which no language
has yet provided a name! He has called
himself unhappy? No doubt, a victim to
injustice! Overtaken by unmerited calamity.
Say! Has he fooled thee with
such tales?

No. His tale was a catalogue of
crimes and miseries of which he was the
author and sufferer. You know not his
motives, his horrors:—

His deeds were monstrous and infernal.
His motives were sordid and flagitious.
To display all their ugliness and
infamy was not his province. No: He
did not tell you that he stole at midnight
to the chamber of his mistress: a woman
who astonised the world by her loftiness
and magnanimity; by indefatigable

-- 124 --

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

beneficence and unswerving equity; who had
lavished on this wretch, whom she
snatched from the dirt, all the goods of
fortune; all the benefits of education; all
the treasures of love; every provocation
to gratitude; every stimulant to justice.

He did not tell you that in recompense
for every benefit, he stole upon her
sleep and aimed a dagger at her breast.
There was no room for flight or ambiguity
or prevarication. She whom he meant
to murder stood near, saw the lifted weapon,
and heard him confess and glory in
his purposes.

No wonder that the shock bereft her,
for a time, of life. The interval was
seized by the ruffian to effect his escape.
The rebukes of justice, were shunned by
a wretch conscious of his inexpiable guilt.
These things he has hidden from you,
and has supplied their place by a tale
specious as false.

-- 125 --

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

No. Among the number of his crimes,
hypocrisy is not to be numbered. These
things are already known to me: he spared
himself too little in the narrative. The
excellencies of his lady; her claims to
gratitude and veneration, were urged
beyond their true bounds. His attempts
upon her life, were related. It is true
that he desired and endeavoured to
destroy her.

How? Has he told you this?

He has told me all. Alas! the criminal
intention has been amply expiated—

What mean you? Whence and how
came he hither. Where is he now? I
will not occupy the same land, the same
world with him. Have this woman and
her daughter lighted on the shore
haunted by this infernal and implacable
enemy?

Alas! It is doubtful whether he
exists. If he lives, he is no longer to be

-- 126 --

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feared; but he lives not. Famine and
remorse have utterly consumed him.

Famine? Remorse? You talk in riddles.

He has immured himself in the
desert. He has abjured the intercourse
of mankind. He has shut himself in
caverns where famine must inevitably
expedite that death for which he longs
as the only solace of his woes. To no
imagination are his offences blacker and
more odious than to his own. I had hopes
of rescuing him from this fate, but my
own infirmities and errors have afforded
me sufficient occupation.

Sarsefield renewed his imprecations
on the memory of that unfortunate man:
and his inquiries as to the circumstances
that led him into this remote district. His
inquiries were not to be answered by
one in my present condition—My languors
and fatigues had now gained a
pitch that was insupportable. The wound

-- 127 --

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

in my face had been chafed, and inflamed
by the cold water and the bleak air; and
the pain attending it, would no longer
suffer my attention to stray. I sunk
upon the floor, and intreated him to
afford me the respite of a few hours
repose.

He was sensible of the deplorableness
of my condition, and child himself
for the negligence of which he had already
been guilty. He lifted me to the
bed, and deliberated on the mode he
should pursue for my relief. Some molifying
application to my wound, was immediately
necessary; but in our present
lonely condition, it was not at hand. It
could only be procured from a distance.
It was proper therefore to hasten to the
nearest inhabited dwelling, which belonged
to one, by name Walton, and
supply himself with such medicines as
could be found.

-- 128 --

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Meanwhile there was no danger of
molestation and intrusion. There was
reason to expect the speedy return of
those who had gone in pursuit of the
savages. This was their place of rendezvous,
and hither they appointed to
re-assemble before the morrow's dawn.
The distance of the neighbouring farm
was small, and Sarsefield promised to be
expeditious. He left me to myself and
my own ruminations.

Harrassed by fatigue and pain, I had
yet power to ruminate on that series of
unparalleled events, that had lately happened.
I wept, but my tears flowed
from a double source; from sorrow, on
account of the untimely fate of my uncle,
and from joy, that my sisters were preserved,
that Sarsefield had returned and
was not unhappy.

I reflected on the untoward destiny
of Clithero. Part of his calamity consisted
in the consciousness of having killed

-- 129 --

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

his patronness; but it now appeared,
though by some infatuation, I had not
previously suspected, that the first impulse
of sorrow in the lady, had been
weakened by reflection and by time.
That the prejudice persuading her that
her life and that of her brother were to
endure and to terminate together, was
conquered by experience or by argument.
She had come, in company with
Sarsefield and Clarice to America. What
influence might these events have upon
the gloomy meditations of Clithero.
Was it possible to bring them together;
to win the maniac from his solitude,
wrest from him his fatal purposes, and
restore him to communion with the
beings whose imagined indignation is
the torment of his life.

These musings were interrupted by
a sound from below which were easily
interpreted into tokens of the return of
those with whom Sarsefield had parted

-- 130 --

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

at the promontory, voices were confused
and busy but not turbulent. They
entered the lower room and the motion
of chairs and tables shewed that they
were preparing to rest themselves after
their toils.

Few of them were unacquainted with
me, since they probably were residents
in this district. No inconvenience, therefore,
would follow from an interview,
though, on their part, wholly unexpected.
Besides, Sarsefield would speedily
return and none of the present
visitants would be likely to withdraw to
this apartment.

Meanwhile I lay upon the bed, with
my face turned towards the door, and
languidly gazing at the ceiling and walls.
Just then a musquet was discharged in
the room below. The shock affected me
mechanically and the first impulse of
surprise, made me almost start upon my
feet.

-- 131 --

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

The sound was followed by confusion
and bustle. Some rushed forth and
called on each other to run different
ways, and the words “That is he”—
“Stop him” were spoken in a tone of
eagerness, and rage. My weakness and
pain were for a moment forgotten, and
my whole attention was bent to discover
the meaning of this hubbub. The musquet
which I had brought with me to
this chamber, lay across the bed. Unknowing
of the consequences of this
affray, with regard to myself, I was
prompted by a kind of self-preserving
instinct, to lay hold of the gun, and prepare
to repell any attack that might be
made upon me.

A few moments elapsed when I
thought I heard light footsteps in the
entry leading to this room. I had no
time to construe these signals, but watching
fearfully the entrance, I grasped my
weapon with new force, and raised it so

-- 132 --

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

as to be ready at the moment of my
danger. I did not watch long. A figure
cautiously thrust itself forward. The
first glance was sufficient to inform me
that this intruder was an Indian, and, of
consequence, an enemy. He was unarmed.
Looking eagerly on all sides, he
at last spied me as I lay. My appearance
threw him into consternation, and
after the fluctuation of an instant, he
darted to the window, threw up the sash,
and leaped out upon the ground.

His flight might have been easily
arrested by my shot, but surprize, added
to my habitual antipathy to bloodshed,
unless in cases of absolute necessity,
made me hesitate. He was gone, and I
was left to mark the progress of the drama.
The silence was presently broken
by firing at a distance. Three shots, in
quick succession, were followed by the
deepest pause.

-- 133 --

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

That the party, recently arrived, had
brought with them one or more captives,
and that by some sudden effort, the prisoners
had attempted to escape, was the
only supposition that I could form. By
what motives either of them could be
induced to seek concealment in my chamber,
could not be imagined.

I now heard a single step on the
threshold below. Some one entered the
common room. He traversed the floor
during a few minutes, and then, ascending
the stair-case, he entered my chamber.
It was Sarsefield. Trouble and
dismay were strongly written on his
countenance. He seemed totally unconscious
of my presence, his eyes were
fixed upon the floor, and as he continued
to move across the room, he heaved
forth deep sighs.

This deportment was mournful and
mysterious. It was little in unison with
those appearances which he wore at our

-- 134 --

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

parting, and must have been suggested
by some event that had since happened.
My curiosity impelled me to recall him
from his reverie. I rose and seizing
him by the arm, looked at him with an
air of inquisitive anxiety. It was needless
to speak.

He noticed my movement, and turning
towards me, spoke in a tone of some
resentment—Why did you deceive me?
Did you not say Clithero was dead?

I said so because it was my belief.
Know you any thing to the contrary?
Heaven grant that he is still alive, and
that our mutual efforts may restore him
to peace.

Heaven grant, replied my friend,
with a vehemence that bordered upon
fury. Heaven grant that he may live
thousands of years, and know not, in
their long course, a moments respite
from remorse and from anguish; but this
prayer is fruitless. He is not dead, but

-- 135 --

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

death hovers over him. Should he live,
he will live only to defy justice and perpetrate
new horrors. My skill might
perhaps save him, but a finger shall not
be moved to avert his fate.

Little did I think, that the wretch
whom my friends rescued from the power
of the savages, and brought wounded
and expiring hither was Clithero. They
sent for me in haste to afford him surgical
assistance. I found him stretched upon
the floor below, deserted, helpless and
bleeding. The moment I beheld him,
he was recognized. The last of evils
was to look upon the face of this assassin,
but that evil is past, and shall never be
endured again.

Rise and come with me. Accommodation
is prepared for you at Walcots.
Let us leave this house, and the moment
you are able to perform a journey, abandon
forever this district.

-- 136 --

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

I could not readily consent to this
proposal. Clithero had been delivered
from captivity but was dying for want of
that aid which Sarsefield was able to
afford. Was it not inhuman to desert
him in this extremity? What offence had
he committed that deserved such implacable
vengeance? Nothing I had
heard from Sarsefield was in contradiction
to his own story. His deed, imperfectly
observed, would appear to be atrocious
and detestable, but the view of all its
antecedent and accompanying events and
motives, would surely place it in the
list not of crimes, but of misfortunes.

But what is that guilt which no penitence
can expiate? Had not Clithero's
remorse been more than adequate to
crimes far more deadly and enormous
than this? This, however, was no time
to argue with the passions of Sarsefield.
Nothing but a repetition of Clithero's
tale, could vanquish his prepossessions

-- 137 --

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

and mollify his rage, but this repetition
was impossible to be given by me, till a
moment of safety and composure.

These thoughts made me linger, but
hindered me from attempting to change
the determination of my friend. He
renewed his importunities for me to fly
with him. He dragged me by the arm,
and wavering and reluctant I followed
where he chose to lead. He crossed
the common-room, with hurried steps
and eyes averted from a figure, which
instantly fastened my attention.

It was, indeed, Clithero, whom I now
beheld, supine, polluted with blood, his
eyes closed and apparently insensible.
This object was gazed at with emotions
that rooted me to the spot. Sarsefield,
perceiving me determined to remain
where I was, rushed out of the house,
and disappeared.

-- 138 --

EDGAR HUNTLY. CHAPTER XXVI.

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

I hung over the unhappy wretch
whose emaciated form and rueful features,
sufficiently bespoke that savage
hands had only completed that destruction
which his miseries had begun. He
was mangled by the tom-hawk in a shocking
manner, and there was little hope
that human skill could save his life.

I was sensible of nothing but compassion.
I acted without design, when
seating myself on the floor I raised his
head and placed it on my knees. This
movement awakened his attention, and
opening his eyes he fixed them on my

-- 139 --

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

countenance. They testified neither insensibility,
nor horror nor distraction. A
faint emotion of surprise gave way to an
appearance of tranquillity—Having perceived
these tokens of a state less hopeless
than I at first imagined, I spoke to
him:—My friend! How do you feel?
Can any thing be done for you?

He answered me, in a tone more firm
and with more coherence of ideas than
previous appearances had taught me to
expect. No, said he, thy kindness good
youth, can avail me nothing. The end
of my existence here is at hand. May
my guilt be expiated by the miseries that
I have suffered, and my good deeds only
attend me to the presence of my divine
judge.

I am waiting, not with trembling or
dismay, for this close of my sorrows. I
breathed but one prayer, and that prayer
has been answered. I asked for an

-- 140 --

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

interview with thee, young man, but feeling
as I now feel, this interview, so much
desired, was beyond my hope. Now
thou art come, in due season, to hear
the last words that I shall need to utter.

I wanted to assure thee that thy
efforts for my benefit were not useless.
They have saved me from murdering
myself, a guilt more inexpiable than any
which it was in my power to commit.

I retired to the innermost recess of
Norwalk, and gained the summit of an
hill, by subterranean paths. This hill
I knew to be on all sides inaccessible to
human footsteps, and the subterranean
passages was closed up by stones. Here
I believed my solitude exempt from interruption
and my death, in consequence
of famine, sure.

This persuasion was not taken away
by your appearance on the opposite
steep. The chasm which severed us I

-- 141 --

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

knew to be impassable. I withdrew
from your sight.

Some time after, awakening from a
long sleep, I found victuals beside me.
He that brought it was invisible. For a
time, I doubted whether some messenger
of heaven had not interposed for my salvation.
How other than by supernatural
means, my retreat should be explored,
I was unable to conceive. The summit
was encompassed by dizzy and profound
gulfs, and the subterranean passages was
still closed.

This opinion, though corrected by
subsequent reflection, tended to change
the course of my desperate thoughts.
My hunger, thus importunately urged,
would not abstain, and I ate of the food
that was provided. Henceforth I determined
to live, to resume the path of
obscurity and labour, which I had relinquished,
and wait till my God should
summon me to retribution. To

-- 142 --

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

anticipate his call, is only to redouble our
guilt.

I designed not to return to Inglefield's
service, but to chuse some other
and remoter district. Meanwhile, I had
left in his possession, a treasure, which
my determination to die, had rendered of
no value, but which, my change of resolution,
restored. Inclosed in a box at
Inglefield's, were the memoirs of Euphemia
Lorimer, by which in all my vicissitudes,
I had been hitherto accompanied,
and from which I consented to part only
because I had refused to live. My existence
was now to be prolonged and this
manuscript was once more to constitute
the torment and the solace of my being.

I hastened to Inglefield's by night.
There was no need to warn him of my
purpose. I desired that my fate should
be an eternal secret to my ancient master
and his neighbours. The apartment,

-- 143 --

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

containing my box was well known, and
easily accessible.

The box was found but broken and
rifled of its treasure. My transports of
astonishment, and indignation and grief
yielded to the resumption of my fatal
purpose. I hastened back to the hill,
and determined anew to perish.

This mood continued to the evening
of the ensuing day. Wandering over
rocks and pits, I discovered the manuscript,
lying under a jutting precipice.
The chance that brought it hither was
not less propitious and miraculous than
that by which I had been supplied with
food. It produced a similar effect upon
my feelings, and, while in possession of
this manuscript I was reconciled to the
means of life. I left the mountain, and
traversing the wilderness, stopped in
Chetasco. That kind of employment
which I sought was instantly procured;
but my new vocation was scarcely

-- 144 --

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

assumed when a band of savages invaded
our security.

Rambling in the desert, by moonlight,
I encountered these foes. They rushed
upon me, and after numerous wounds
which, for the present, neither killed nor
disabled me, they compelled me to keep
pace with them in their retreat. Some
hours have passed since the troop was
overtaken, and my liberty redeemed.
Hardships, and repeated wounds, inflicted
at the moment when the invaders
were surprised and slain, have brought
me to my present condition. I rejoice
that my course is about to terminate.

Here the speaker was interrupted by
the tumultuous entrance of the party,
by whom he had been brought hither.
Their astonishment at seeing me, sustaining
the head of the dying man, may
be easily conceived. Their surprise was
more strongly excited by the disappearance
of the captive whom they had left

-- 145 --

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

in this apartment, bound hand and foot.
It now appeared that of the savage troop
who had adventured thus far in search
of pillage and blood, all had been destroyed
but two, who, had been led hither
as prisoners. On their entrance into this
house, one of the party had been sent
to Walcot's to summon Sarsefield to the
aid of the wounded man, while others
had gone in search of chords to secure
the arms and legs of the captives, who
had hitherto been manacled imperfectly.

The chords were brought and one
of them was bound, but the other, before
the same operation was begun upon him,
broke, by a sudden effort, the feeble ligatures
by which he was at present constrained,
and seizing a musquet that lay
near him, fired on his enemies, and then
rushed out of doors. All eagerly engaged
in the pursuit. The savage was
fleet as a deer and finally eluded his
pursuers.

-- 146 --

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

While their attention was thus engaged
abroad, he that remained found
means to extricate his wrists and ancles
from his bonds and betaking himself to
the stairs, escaped, as I before described,
through the window of the room which
I had occupied. They pestered me with
their curiosity and wonder, for I was
known to all of them; but waving the
discussion of my own concerns I intreated
their assistance to carry Clithero
to the chamber and the bed which I had
just deserted.

I now in spite of pain, fatigue and
watchfulness, set out to go to Walton's.
Sarsefield was ready to receive me at
the door, and the kindness and compassion
of the family were active in my
behalf. I was conducted to a chamber
and provided with suitable attendance
and remedies.

I was not unmindful of the more
deplorable condition of Clithero. I

-- 147 --

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

incessantly meditated on the means for
his relief. His case stood in need of
all the vigilance and skill of a physician,
and Sarsefield was the only one of that
profession whose aid could be seasonably
administered. Sarsefield therefore must
be persuaded to bestow this aid.

There was but one mode of conquering
his abhorrence of this man.
To prepossess my friend with the belief
of the innocence of Clithero, or to soothe
him into pity by a picture of remorse
and suffering. This could best be done,
and in the manner most conformable to
truth, by a simple recital of the incidents
that had befallen, and by repeating the
confession which had been extorted from
Clithero.

I requested all but my friend to
leave my chamber, and then, soliciting a
patient hearing, began the narrative
of Waldegrave's death! of the detection

-- 148 --

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

of Clithero beneath the shade of the elm!
of the suspicions which were thence
produced; and of the forest interview to
which these suspicions gave birth; I
then repeated, without variation or addition,
the tale which was then told. I likewise
mentioned my subsequent transactions
in Norwalk so far as they illustrated
the destiny of Clithero.

During this recital, I fixed my eyes
upon the countenance of Sarsefield,
and watched every emotion as it rose or
declined. With the progress of my tale,
his indignation and his fury grew less,
and at length gave place to horror and
compassion.

His seat became uneasy, his pulse
throbbed with new vehemence. When I
came to the motives which prompted
the unhappy man to visit the chamber of
his mistress, he started from his seat,
and sometimes strode across the floor
in a troubled mood, and sometimes stood

-- 149 --

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

before me, with his breath almost suspended
in the eagerness of his attention.
When I mentioned the lifted dagger,
the shriek from behind, and the apparition
that interposed, he shuddered and
drew back as if a dagger had been aimed
at his breast.

When the tale was done, some time
elapsed in mutual and profound silence.
My friend's thoughts were involved in
a mournful and indefinable reverie.
From this he at length recovered and
spoke.

It is true. A tale like this could
never be the fruit of invention or be invented
to deceive. He has done himself
injustice. His character was spotless
and fair: All his moral properties seemed
to have resolved themselves into gratitude
fidelity and honour.

We parted at the door, late in the
evening, as he mentioned, and he guessed
truly that subsequent reflection had

-- 150 --

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

induced me to return and to disclose the
truth to Mrs. Lorimer. Clarice relieved
by the sudden death of her friend, and
unexpectedly by all, arrived at the same
hour.

These tidings, astonished, afflicted,
and delighted the lady. Her brother's
death had been long believed by all but
herself. To find her doubts verified,
and his existence ascertained was the
dearest consolation that he ever could
bestow. She was afflicted at the proofs
that had been noted of the continuance
of his depravity, but she dreaded no
danger to herself from his malignity or
vengeance.

The ignorance and prepossessions of
this woman were remarkable. On this
subject only she was perverse, headlong,
obstinate. Her anxiety to benefit this
arch-ruffian occupied her whole thoughts
and allowed her no time to reflect upon
the reasonings or remonstrances of

-- 151 --

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

others. She could not be prevailed on
to deny herself to his visits, and I parted
from her in the utmost perplexity.

A messenger came to me at mid-night
intreating my immediate presence. Some
disaster had happened, but of what
kind the messenger was unable to tell.
My fears easily conjured up the image
of Wiatte. Terror scarcely allowed me
to breathe. When I entered the house of
Mrs. Lorimer, I was conducted to her
chamber. She lay upon the bed in a
state of stupefaction, that rose from
some mental cause. Clarice sat by her,
wringing her hands and pouring forth
her tears without intermission. Neither
could explain to me the nature of the scene.
I made inquiries of the servants and attendants.
They merely said that the family
as usual had retired to rest, but their
lady's bell rung with great violence, and
called them in haste, to her chamber,

-- 152 --

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

where they found her in a swoon upon
the floor and the young lady in the utmost
affright and perturbation.

Suitable means being used Mrs.
Lorimer had, at length, recovered, but
was still nearly insensible. I went to
Clithero's apartments but he was not to
be found, and the domestics informed me
that since he had gone with me, he had
not returned. The doors between this
chamber and the court were open; hence
that some dreadful interview had taken
place, perhaps with Wiatte, was an
unavoidable conjecture. He had withdrawn,
however, without committing any
personal injury.

I need not mention my reflections
upon this scene. All was tormenting
doubt and suspence till the morning
arrived, and tidings were received that
Wiatte had been killed in the streets:
This event was antecedent to that which
had occasioned Mrs. Lorimer's distress

-- 153 --

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

and alarm. I now remembered that
fatal prepossession by which the lady was
governed, and her frantic belief that
her death and that of her brother were
to fall out at the same time. Could
some witness of his death, have brought
her tidings of it: Had he penetrated,
unexpected and unlicensed to her chamber,
and were these the effects produced
by the intelligence?

Presently I knew that not only Wiatte
was dead, but that Clithero had killed him.
Clithero had not been known to return
and was no where to be found. He
then was the bearer of these tidings, for
none but he could have found access or
egress without disturbing the servants.

These doubts were at length at an
end. In a broken and confused manner,
and after the lapse of some days the
monstrous and portentous truth was
disclosed. After our interview, the lady
and her daughter had retired to the same

-- 154 --

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

chamber; the former had withdrawn to
her closet and the latter to bed. Some
one's entrance alarmed the lady, and
coming forth after a moment's pause,
the spectacle which Clithero has too
faithfully described, presented itself.

What could I think? A life of uniform
hypocrisy or a sudden loss of reason
were the only suppositions to be formed.
Clithero was the parent of fury and abhorrence
in my heart. In either case I
started at the name. I shuddered at the
image of the apostate or the maniac.

What? Kill the brother whose existence
was interwoven with that of his
benefactress and his friend? Then
hasten to her chamber, and attempt
her life? Lift a dagger to destroy her
who had been the author of his being
and his happiness?

He that could meditate a deed like
this was no longer man. An agent from
Hell had mastered his faculties. He was

-- 155 --

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

become the engine of infernal malice
against whom it was the duty of all mankind
to rise up in arms and never to
desist till, by shattering it to atoms, its
power to injure was taken away.

All inquiries to discover the place of
his retreat were vain. No wonder methought
that he wrapt himself in the
folds of impenetrable secrecy. Curbed,
checked, baffled in the midst of his
career, no wonder that he shrunk into
obscurity, that he fled from justice and
revenge, that he dared not meet the rebukes
of that eye which, dissolving in
tenderness or flashing with disdain, had
ever been irresistable.

But how shall I describe the lady's
condition? Clithero she had cherished
from his infancy. He was the stay, the
consolation, the pride of her life. His
projected alliance with her daughter,
made him still more dear. Her eloquence
was never tired of expatiating

-- 156 --

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

on his purity and rectitude. No wonder
that she delighted in this theme, for he
was her own work. His virtues were
the creatures of her bounty.

How hard to be endured was this sad
reverse? She can be tranquil, but
never more will she be happy. To promote
her forgetfulness of him, I persuaded
her to leave her country, which
contained a thousand memorials of past
calamity, and which was lapsing fast
into civil broils. Clarice has accompanied
us, and time may effect the happiness
of others, by her means, though
she can never remove the melancholy of
her mother.

I have listened to your tale, not
without compassion. What would you
have me to do? To prolong his life,
would be merely to protract his misery.

He can never be regarded with complacency
by my wife. He can never be
thought of without shuddering by

-- 157 --

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]

Clarice. Common ills are not without a cure
less than death, but here, all remedies
are vain. Consciousness itself is the
malady; the pest; of which he only is
cured who ceases to think.

I could not but assent to this mournful
conclusion; yet, though death was better
to Clithero than life, could not some
of his mistakes be rectified? Euphemia
Lorimer, contrary to his belief, was still
alive. He dreamed that she was dead,
and a thousand evils were imagined to
flow from that death. This death and
its progeny of ills, haunted his fancy,
and added keenness to his remorse. Was
it not our duty to rectify this error?

Sarsefield reluctantly assented to the
truth of my arguments on this head.
He consented to return, and afford the
dying man, the consolation of knowing
that the being whom he adored as a benefactor
and parent, had not been deprived

-- 158 --

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

of existence, though bereft of peace by
his act.

During Sarsefield's absence my mind
was busy in revolving the incidents that
had just occured. I ruminated the last
words of Clithero. There was somewhat
in his narrative that was obscure and
contradictory. He had left the manuscript
which he so much and so justly
prized, in his cabinet. He entered the
chamber in my absence, and found the
cabinet unfastened and the manuscript
gone. It was I by whom the cabinet
was opened, but the manuscript supposed
to be contained in it, was buried
in the earth beneath the elm. How
should Clithero be unacquainted with its
situation, since none but Clithero could
have dug for it this grave?

This mystery vanished when I reflected
on the history of my own manuscript.
Clithero had buried his treasure
with his own hands as mine had been

-- 159 --

[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]

secreted by myself, but both acts had
been performed during sleep. The deed
was neither prompted by the will, nor
noticed by the senses of him, by whom it
was done. Disastrous and humiliating
is the state of man! By his own hands,
is constructed the mass of misery and
error in which his steps are forever invol
ved.

Thus it was with thy friend. Hurried
on by phantoms too indistinct to be
now recalled, I wandered from my
chamber to the desart. I plunged into
some unvisited cavern, and easily proceeded
till I reached the edge of a pit.
There my step was deceived, and I tumbled
headlong from the precipice. The
fall bereaved me of sense, and I continued
breathless and motionless during the
remainder of the night and the ensuing
day.

-- 160 --

[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]

How little cognizance have men over
the actions and motives of each other?
How total is our blindness with regard
to our own performances! Who would
have sought me in the bowels of this
mountain? Ages might have passed
away, before my bones would be discovered
in this tomb, by some traveller
whom curiosity had prompted to explore
it.

I was roused from these reflections
by Sarsefield's return. Inquiring into
Clithero's condition; he answered that
the unhappy man was insensible, but
that notwithstanding numerous and
dreadful gashes, in different parts of
his body, it was possible that by submitting
to the necessary treatment, he might
recover.

Encouraged by this informntion, I
endeavoured to awaken the zeal and
compassion of my friend in Clithero's
behalf. He recoiled with involuntary

-- 161 --

[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]

shuddering from any task which would
confine him to the presence of this man.
Time and reflection he said, might introduce
different sentiments and feelings,
but at present he could not but regard
this person as a maniac, whose disease
was irremediable, and whose existence
could not be protracted, but to his own
misery and the misery of others.

Finding him irreconcilably averse to
any scheme, connected with the welfare
of Clithero, I began to think that his
assistance as a surgeon was by no means
necessary. He had declared that the
sufferer needed nothing more than common
treatment, and to this the skill of a
score of aged women in this district,
furnished with simples culled from the
forest, and pointed out, of old time, by
Indian Leeches was no less adequate
than that of Sarsefield. These women
were ready and officious in their charity,
and none of them were prepossessed

-- 162 --

[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

against the sufferer by a knowledge of his
genuine story.

Sarsefield, meanwhile, was impatient
for my removal to Inglefield's habitation,
and that venerable friend was no less
impatient to receive me. My hurts were
superficial, and my strength sufficiently
repaired by a night's repose. Next day,
I went thither, leaving Clithero to the
care of his immediate neighbours.

Sarsefield's engagements compelled
him to prosecute his journey into Virginia,
from which he had somewhat
deviated, in order to visit Solebury. He
proposed to return in less than a month
and then to take me in his company to
New-York. He has treated me with
paternal tenderness, and insists upon the
previlege of consulting for my interest,
as if he were my real father. Meanwhile,
these views have been disclosed
to Inglefield, and it is with him that I

-- 163 --

[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]

am to remain, with my sisters, until his
return.

My reflections have been various and
tumultuous. They have been busy in
relation to you, to Weymouth, and especially
to Clithero. The latter polluted
with gore and weakened by abstinence,
fatigue and the loss of blood, appeared in
my eyes, to be in a much more dangerous
condition than the event proved him
to be. I was punctually informed of
the progress of his cure, and proposed in
a few days to visit him. The duty of
explaining the truth, respecting the present
condition of Mrs. Lorimer, had
devolved upon me. By imparting this
intelligence, I hoped to work the most
auspicious revolutions in his feelings,
and prepared therefore, with alacrity, for
an interview.

In this hope I was destined to be
disappointed. On the morning on which

-- 164 --

[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]

I intended to visit him, a messenger
arrived from the house in which he was
entertained, and informed us that the
family on entering the sick man's apartment,
had found it deserted. It appeared
that Clithero, had, during the night, risen
from his bed, and gone secretly forth.
No traces of his flight have since been
discovered.

But, O! my friend? The death of
Waldegrave, thy brother, is at length
divested of uncertainty and mystery.
Hitherto, I had been able to form no
conjecture respecting it, but the solution
was found shortly after this time.

Queen Mab, three days after my
adventure, was seized in her hut on suspicion
of having aided and counselled
her countrymen, in their late depredations.
She was not to be awed or
intimidated by the treatment she received,
but readily confessed and gloried
in the mischief she had done; and

-- 165 --

[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]

accounted for it by enumerating the injuries
which she had received from her neighbours.

These injuries consisted in contemptuous
or neglectful treatment, and in
the rejection of groundless and absurd
claims. The people of Chetasco were
less obsequious to her humours than
those of Solebury, her ancient neighbourhood,
and her imagination brooded for
a long time, over nothing but schemes
of revenge. She became sullen, irascible
and spent more of her time in solitude
than ever.

A troop of her countrymen at length
visited her hut. Their intentions being
hostile, they concealed from the inhabitants
their presence in this quarter of the
country. Some motives induced them
to withdraw and postpone, for the
present, the violence which they meditated.
One of them, however, more sanguinary
and audacious than the rest would

-- 166 --

[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]

not depart, without some gratification
of his vengeance. He left his associates
and penetrated by night into Solebury,
resolving to attack the first human being
whom he should meet. It was the fate of thy
unhappy brother to encounter this ruffian,
whose sagacity made him forbear to
tear away the usual trophy from the dead,
least he should afford grounds for suspicion
as to the authors of the evil.

Satisfied with this exploit he rejoined
his companions, and after an interval of
three weeks returned with a more numerous
party, to execute a more extensive
project of destruction. They were councelled
and guided, in all their movements,
by Queen Mab, who now explained these
particulars, and boldly defied her oppressors.
Her usual obstinacy and
infatuation induced her to remain in her
ancient dwelling and prepare to meet the
consequences.

-- 167 --

[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]

This disclosure awakened anew all
the regrets and anguish which flowed
from that disaster. It has been productive,
however, of some benefit. Suspicions
and doubts, by which my soul was
harrassed, and which were injurious to
the innocent are now at an end. It is
likewise some imperfect consolation to
reflect that the assassin has himself been
killed and probably by my own hand.
The shedder of blood no longer lives to
pursue his vocation, and justice is satisfied.

Thus have I fulfilled my promise to
compose a minute relation of my sufferings.
I remembered my duty to thee,
and as soon as I was able to hold a pen,
employed it to inform thee of my welfare.
I could not at that time enter into particulars,
but reserved a more copious
narrative till a period of more health and
leisure.

-- 168 --

[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]

On looking back I am surprised at
the length to which my story has run. I
thought that a few days would suffice to
complete it, but one page has insensibly
been added to another till I have consumed,
weeks and filled volumes. Here
I will draw to a close; I will send you
what I have written, and discuss with
you in conversation, my other immediate
concerns, and my schemes for the future.
As soon as I have seen Sarsefield, I will
visit you.

FAREWELL.

E. H.
Solebury, November, 10.

-- 169 --

[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]

TO Mr. SARSEFIELD.
Philadelphia.

I CAME hither but ten minutes
ago, and write this letter in the bar of
the Stagehouse. I wish not to lose a
moment in informing you of what has
happened. I cannot do justice to my own
feelings when I reflect upon the rashness
of which I have been guilty.

I will give you the particulars to-morrow.
At present, I shall only say
that Clithero is alive, is apprised of your
wife's arrival and abode in New-York,
and has set out, with mysterious intentions
to visit her.

May heaven avert the consequences
of such a design. May you be enabled

-- 170 --

[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]

by some means to prevent their meeting.
If you cannot prevent it—but I
must not reason on such an event, nor
lengthen out this letter.

E. H.

-- 171 --

[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]

TO THE SAME.

I WILL now relate the particulars
which I yesterday promised to
send you. You heard through your niece
of my arrival at Inglefield's in Solebury:
My inquiries, you may readily suppose,
would turn upon the fate of my friend's
servant, Clithero, whose last disappearance
was so strange and abrupt, and of
whom since that time, I had heard
nothing. You are indifferent to his fate
and are anxious only that his existence
and misfortunes may be speedily forgotten.
I confess that it is somewhat otherwise
with me. I pity him: I wish to
relieve him, and cannot admit the belief

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that his misery is without a cure. I
want to find him out? I want to know
his condition, and if possible to afford him
comfort, and inspire him with courage
and hope.

Inglefield replied to my questions.
O yes! He has appeared. The strange
being is again upon the stage. Shortly
after he left his sick bed, I heard from
Philip Beddington, of Chetasco, that
Deb's hut had found a new tenant. At
first, I imagined that the Scotsman who
built it had returned, but making closer
inquiries, I found that the new tenant
was my servant. I had no inclination to
visit him myself, but frequently inquired
respecting him of those, who lived
or past that way, and find that he still lives
there.

But how, said I. What is his mode of
subsistance. The winter has been no
time for cultivation, and he found, I presume,
nothing in the ground.

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Deb's hut, replied my friend, is his
lodging and his place of retirement, but
food and cloathing he procures by
labouring on a neighbouring farm. This
farm is next to that of Beddington, who
consequently knows something of his
present situation. I find little or no
difference in his present deportment; and
those appearances which he assumed,
while living with me, except that he
retires every night to his hut, and holds
as little intercourse as possible with the
rest of mankind. He dines at his employers
table, but his supper, which is nothing
but rye-bread, he carries home with him,
and at all those times when disengaged
from employment, he secludes himself in
his hut, or wanders nobody knows whither.

This was the substance of Inglefield's
intelligence. I gleaned from it some
satisfaction. It proved the condition of

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Clithero to be less deplorable and desperate
than I had previously imagined. His
fatal and gloomy thoughts seemed to
have somewhat yielded to tranquillity.

In the course of my reflections, however,
I could not but perceive, that his
condition, though eligible when compared
with what it once was, was likewise
disastrous and humiliating, compared
with his youthful hopes and his actual
merits. For such an one to mope away
his life in this unsocial and savage state,
was deeply to be deplored. It was my
duty, if possible, to prevail on him to
relinquish his scheme. And what would
be requisite, for that end, but to inform
him of the truth?

The source of his dejection was the
groundless belief that he had occasioned
the death of his benefactress. It was this
alone that could justly produce remorse
or grief. It was a distempered imagination
both in him and in me, that had

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given birth to this opinion, since the
terms of his narrative, impartially considered,
were far from implying that
catastrophe. To him, however, the evidence
which he possessed was incontestable.
No deductions from probability
could overthrow his belief. This could
only be affected by similar and counter
evidence. To apprize him that she was
now alive, in possession of some degree
of happiness, the wife of Sarsefield, and
an actual resident on this shore, would
dissipate the sanguinary apparition that
haunted him; cure his diseased intellects,
and restore him to those vocations for
which his talents, and that rank in society
for which his education had qualified
him. Influenced by these thoughts, I
determined to visit his retreat. Being
obliged to leave Solebury the next day,
I resolved to set out the same afternoon,
and stopping in Chetasco, for the night,

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seek his habitation at the hour when he
had probably retired to it.

This was done. I arrived at Beddington's,
at night-fall. My inquiries respecting
Clithero obtained for me the same
intelligence from him, which I had received
from Inglefield. Deb's hut was
three miles from this habitation, and
thither, when the evening had somewhat
advanced, I repaired. This was the spot
which had witnessed so many perils
during the last year, and my emotions,
on approaching it, were awful. With
palpitating heart and quick steps I traversed
the road, skirted on each side by
thickets, and the area before the house.
The dwelling was by no means in so
ruinous a state as when I last visited it.
The crannies between the logs had been
filled up, and the light within was perceivable
only at a crevice in the door.

Looking through this crevice I perceived
a fire in the chimney, but the

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object of my visit was no where to be
seen. I knocked and requested admission,
but no answer was made. At
length I lifted the latch and entered.
Nobody was there.

It was obvious to suppose that Clithero
had gone abroad for a short time, and
would speedily return, or perhaps some
engagement had detained him at his
labour, later than usual. I therefore
seated myself on some straw near the
fire, which, with a woollen rug, appeared
to constitute his only bed. The rude
bedstead which I formerly met with, was
gone. The slender furniture, likewise,
which had then engaged my attention,
had disappeared. There was nothing
capable of human use, but a heap of
faggots in the corner, which seemed intended
for fuel. How slender is the
accommodation which nature has provided
for man, and how scanty is the

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portion which our physical necessities
require.

While ruminating upon this scene,
and comparing past events with the objects
before me, the dull whistling of the
gale without gave place to the sound of
foot-steps. Presently the door opened,
and Clithero entered the apartment. His
aspect and guise were not essentially
different from those which he wore when
an inhabitant of Solebury.

To find his hearth occupied by another,
appeared to create the deepest surprise.
He looked at me without any
tokens of remembrance! His features
assumed a more austere expression, and
after scowling on my person for a moment,
he withdrew his eyes, and placing in a
corner, a bundle which he bore in his
hand, he turned and seemed preparing
to withdraw.

I was anxiously attentive to his demeanor,
and as soon as I perceived his

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[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

purpose to depart, leaped on my feet to
prevent it. I took his hand, and affectionately
pressing it, said, do you not
know me? Have you so soon forgotten
me who is truly your friend?

He looked at me with some attention,
but again withdrew his eyes, and placed
himself in silence on the seat which I
had left. I seated myself near him, and
a pause of mutual silence ensued.

My mind was full of the purpose that
brought me hither, but I knew not in
what manner to communicate my purpose.
Several times I opened my lips to
speak, but my perplexity continued, and
suitable words refused to suggest themselves.
At length, I said, in a confused
tone;

I came hither with a view to benefit
a man, with whose misfortunes his own
lips have made me acquainted, and who
has awakened in my breast the deepest
sympathy. I know the cause and

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[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]

extent of his dejection. I know the event
which has given birth to horror and remorse
in his heart. He believes that,
by his means, his patroness and benefactress
has found an untimely death.

These words produced a visible
shock in my companion, which evinced
that I had at least engaged his attention.
I proceeded:

This unhappy lady was cursed with
a wicked and unnatural brother. She
conceived a disproportionate affection for
this brother, and erroneously imagined
that her fate was blended with his; that
their lives would necessarily terminate at
the same period, and that therefore, whoever
was the contriver of his death, was
likewise, by a fatal and invincible necessity,
the author of her own.

Clithero was her servant, but was
raised by her bounty, to the station of
her son and the rank of her friend.
Clithero, in self-defence took away the

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life of that unnatual brother, and, in that
deed, falsely but cogently believed, that
he had perpetrated the destruction of his
benefactress.

To ascertain the truth, he sought
her presence. She was found, the tidings
of her brother's death were communicated,
and she sunk breathless at his
feet.

At these words Clithero started from
the ground, and cast upon me looks of
furious indignation—And come you
hither, he muttered, for this end; to recount
my offences, and drive me again
to despair?

No, answered I, with quickness, I
come to out-root a fatal, but powerful
illusion. I come to assure you that the
woman, with whose destruction you
charge yourself, is not dead.

These words, uttered with the most
emphatical solemnity, merely produced

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[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

looks in which contempt was mingled
with anger. He continued silent.

I perceive, resumed I, that my words
are disregarded. Would to Heaven I
were able to conquer your incredulity,
could shew you not only the truth, but
the probability of my tale. Can you not
confide in me? that Euphemia Lorimer
is now alive, is happy, is the wife of
Sarsefield; that her brother is forgotten
and his murderer regarded without enmity
or vengeance?

He looked at me with a strange expression
of contempt—Come, said he, at
length, make out thy assertion to be true.
Fall on thy knees and invoke the thunder
of heaven to light on thy head if
thy words be false. Swear that Euphemia
Lorimer is alive; happy; forgetful of
Wiatte and compassionate of me Swear
that thou hast seen her; talked with her;
received from her own lips the confession
of her pity for him who aimed a dagger

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[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]

at her bosom. Swear that she is Sarsefield's
wife.

I put my hands together, and lifting
my eyes to heaven, exclaimed: I comply
with your conditions; I call the
omniscient God to witness that Euphemia
Lorimer is alive; that I have seen her
with these eyes; have talked with her;
have inhabited the same house for
months.

These asseverations were listened to
with shuddering. He laid not aside,
however, an air of incredulity and contempt.
Perhaps, said he, thou canst
point out the place of her abode. Canst
guide me to the city, the street, the very
door of her habitation?

I can. She rises at this moment in
the city of New-York; in Broadway; in
an house contiguous to the...

'Tis well, exclaimed my companion,
in a tone, loud, abrupt, and in the utmost

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degree, vehement. 'Tis well. Rash
and infatuated youth. Thou hast ratified,
beyond appeal or forgiveness, thy
own doom. Thou hast once more let
loose my steps, and sent me on a fearful
journey. Thou hast furnished the means
of detecting thy imposture. I will fly to
the spot which thou describest. I will
ascertain thy falsehood with my own
eyes. If she be alive then am I reserved
for the performance of a new crime.
My evil destiny will have it so. If she
be dead, I shall make thee expiate.

So saying, he darted through the
door, and was gone in a moment, beyond
my sight and my reach. I ran to the
road, looked on every side, and called;
but my calls were repeated in vain.
He had fled with the swiftness of a deer.

My own embarrassment, confusion
and terror were enexpressible. His last
words were incoherent. They denoted
the tumult and vehemence of phrenzy.

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They intimated his resolution to seek the
presence of your wife. I had furnished a
clue, which could not fail to conduct him
to her presence. What might not be
dreaded from the interview? Clithero is
a maniac. This truth cannot be concealed.
Your wife can with difficulty
preserve her tranquillity, when his image
occurs to her remembrance. What
must it be when he starts up before her
in his neglected and ferocious guise, and
armed with purposes, perhaps as terrible
as those, which had formerly led him to
her secret chamber, and her bed side?

His meaning was obscurely conveyed.
He talked of a deed, for the
performance of which, his malignant
fate had reserved him; which was to
ensue their meeting, and which was to
afford disastrous testimony of the infatuation
which had led me hither.

Heaven grant that some means may
suggest themselves to you of intercepting

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his approach. Yet I know not what
means can be conceived. Some miraculous
chance may befriend you; yet this
is scarcely to be hoped. It is a visionary
and fantastic base on which to rest
our security.

I cannot forget that my unfortunate
temerity has created this evil. Yet who
could foresee this consequence of my
intelligence. I imagined, that Clithero
was merely a victim of erroneous gratitude,
a slave of the errors of his education,
and the prejudices of his rank, that
his understanding was deluded by phantoms
in the mask of virtue and duty, and
not as you have strenuously maintained,
utterly subverted.

I shall not escape your censure, but
I shall, likewise, gain your compassion.
I have erred, not through sinister or
malignant intentions, but from the impulse
of misguided, indeed, but powerful
benevolence.

E. H.

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TO EDGAR HUNTLY.

New-York.

Edgar,

After the fatigues of the day,
I returned home. As I entered, my
wife was breaking the seal of a letter,
but, on seeing me, she forbore and presented
the letter to me.

I saw, said she, by the superscription
of this letter, who the writer was. So
agreeably to your wishes, I proceeded to
open it, but you have come just time
enough to save me the trouble.

This letter was from you. It contained
information relative to Clithero.
See how imminent a chance it was that
saved my wife from a knowledge of its

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contents. It required all my efforts to
hide my perturbation from her, and
excuse myself from shewing her the
letter.

I know better than you the character
of Clithero, and the consequences of a
meeting between him and my wife. You
may be sure that I would exert myself
to prevent a meeting.

The method for me to pursue was
extremely obvious. Clithero is a madman
whose liberty is dangerous, and who
requires to be fettered and imprisoned as
the most atrocious criminal.

I hastened to the chief Magistrate,
who is my friend, and by proper representations,
obtained from him authority
to seize Clithero wherever I should meet
with him, and effectually debar him from
the perpetration of new mischiefs.

New-York does not afford a place of
confinement for lunatics, as suitable to
his case, as Pennsylvania. I was

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desirous of placing him as far as possible
from the place of my wife's residence.
Fortunately there was a packet for
Philadelphia, on the point of setting out
on her voyage. This vessel I engaged
to wait a day or two, for the purpose of
conveying him to the Pennsylvania hospital.
Meanwhile, proper persons were
stationed at Powels-hook, and at the
quays where the various stageboats from
Jersey arrive.

These precautions were effectual.
Not many hours after the receipt of your
intelligence, this unfortunate man applied
for a passage at Elizabeth-town, was
seized the moment he set his foot on
shore, and was forthwith conveyed to
the packet, which immediately set sail.

I designed that all these proceedings
should be concealed from the women, but
unfortunately neglected to take suitable
measures for hindering the letter which
you gave me reason to expect on the

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ensuing day, from coming into their
hands. It was delivered to my wife in
my absence and opened immediately by
her.

You know what is, at present, her
personal condition. You know what
strong reasons I had to prevent any danger
or alarm from approaching her. Terror
could not assume a shape, more
ghastly than this. The effects have been
what might have been easily predicted.
Her own life has been imminently endangered
and an untimely birth, has blasted
my fondest hope. Her infant, with whose
future existence so many pleasures were
entwined, is dead.

I assure you Edgar, my philosophy
has not found itself lightsome and active
under this burden. I find it hard to
forbear commenting on your rashness in
no very mild terms. You acted in direct
opposition to my council, and to the
plainest dictates of propriety. Be more

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circumspect and more obsequious for the
future.

You knew the liberty that would be
taken of opening my letters; you knew
of my absence from home, during the
greatest part of the day, and the likelihood
therefore that your letters would
fall into my wife's hands before they
came into mine. These considerations
should have prompted you to send them
under cover to Whitworth or Harvey,
with directions to give them immediately
to me.

Some of these events happened in my
absence, for I determined to accompany
the packet myself and see the madman
safely delivered to the care of the hospital.

I will not torture your sensibility by
recounting the incidents of his arrest and
detention. You will imagine that his
strong, but perverted reason exclaimed
loudly against the injustice of his

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treatment. It was easy for him to outreason
his antagonist, and nothing but force
could subdue his opposition. On me
devolved the province of his jailor and
his tyrant; a province which required
an heart more steeled by spectacles
of suffering and the exercise of cruelty,
than mine had been.

Scarcely had we passed The Narrows,
when the lunatic, being suffered
to walk the deck, as no apprehensions
were entertained of his escape in such
circumstances, threw himself overboard,
with a seeming intention to gain the
shore. The boat was immediately manned,
the fugitive was pursued, but at the
moment, when his flight was overtaken,
he forced himself beneath the surface,
and was seen no more.

With the life of this wretch, let our
regrets and our forebodings terminate.
He has saved himself from evils, for
which no time would have provided a

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remedy, from lingering for years in the
noisome dungeon of an hospital. Having
no reason to continue my voyage, I
put myself on board a coasting sloop,
and regained this city in a few hours.
I persuade myself that my wife's indisposition
will be temporary. It was impossible
to hide from her the death of
Clithero, and its circumstances. May
this be the last arrow in the quiver of
adversity! Farewell.

END.
Previous section


Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1799], Edgar Huntly, volume 3 (H. Maxwell, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf028v3].
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