Adjacent to the house occupied by Baxter was an antique brick tenement.
It was one of the first erections made by the followers of William Penn.
It had the honour to be used as the temporary residence of that
venerable person. Its moss-grown penthouse, crumbling walls, and ruinous
porch, made it an interesting and picturesque object. Notwithstanding
its age, it was still tenable.
This house was occupied, during the preceding months, by a Frenchman:
his dress and demeanour were respectable: his mode of life was frugal
almost to penuriousness, and his only companion was a daughter. The lady
seemed not much less than thirty years of age, but was of a small and
delicate frame. It was she that performed every household office. She
brought water from the pump, and provisions from the market. Their house
had no visitants, and was almost always closed. Duly as the morning
returned a venerable figure was seen issuing from his door, dressed in
the same style of tarnished splendour and old-fashioned preciseness. At
the dinner-hour he as regularly returned. For the rest of the day he was
invisible.
The habitations in this quarter are few and scattered. The pestilence
soon showed itself here, and the flight of most of the inhabitants
augmented its desolateness and dreariness. For some time, Monrose (that
was his name) made his usual appearance in the morning. At length the
neighbours remarked that he no longer came forth as usual. Baxter had a
notion that Frenchmen were exempt from this disease. He was, besides,
deeply and rancorously prejudiced against that nation. There will be no
difficulty in accounting for this, when it is known that he had been an
English grenadier at Dettingen and Minden. It must likewise be added,
that he was considerably timid, and had sickness in his own family.
Hence it was that the disappearance of Monrose excited in him no
inquisitiveness as to the cause. He did not even mention this
circumstance to others.
The lady was occasionally seen as usual in the street. There were always
remarkable peculiarities in her behaviour. In the midst of grave and
disconsolate looks, she never laid aside an air of solemn dignity. She
seemed to shrink from the observation of others, and her eyes were
always fixed upon the ground. One evening Baxter was passing the pump
while she was drawing water. The sadness which her looks betokened, and
a suspicion that her father might be sick, had a momentary effect upon
his feelings. He stopped and asked how her father was. She paid a polite
attention to his question and said something in French. This, and the
embarrassment of her air, convinced him that his words were not
understood. He said no more (what indeed could he say?) but passed on.
Two or three days after this, on returning in the evening to his family,
his wife expressed her surprise in not having seen Miss Monrose in the
street that day. She had not been at the pump, nor had she gone, as
usual, to market. This information gave him some disquiet; yet he could
form no resolution. As to entering the house and offering his aid, if
aid were needed, he had too much regard for his own safety, and too
little for that of a frog-eating Frenchman, to think seriously of that
expedient. His attention was speedily diverted by other objects, and
Monrose was, for the present, forgotten.
Baxter's profession was that of a porter. He was thrown out of
employment by the present state of things. The solicitude of the
guardians of the city was exerted on this occasion, not only in
opposing the progress of disease, and furnishing provisions to the
destitute, but in the preservation of property. For this end the number
of nightly watchmen was increased. Baxter entered himself in this
service. From nine till twelve o'clock at night it was his province to
occupy a certain post.
On this night he attended his post as usual: twelve o'clock arrived, and
he bent his steps homeward. It was necessary to pass by Monrose's door.
On approaching this house, the circumstance mentioned by his wife
recurred to him. Something like compassion was conjured up in his heart
by the figure of the lady, as he recollected to have lately seen it. It
was obvious to conclude that sickness was the cause of her seclusion.
The same, it might be, had confined her father. If this were true, how
deplorable might be their present condition! Without food, without
physician or friends, ignorant of the language of the country, and
thence unable to communicate their wants or solicit succour; fugitives
from their native land, neglected, solitary, and poor.
His heart was softened by these images. He stopped involuntarily when
opposite their door. He looked up at the house. The shutters were
closed, so that light, if it were within, was invisible. He stepped into
the porch, and put his eye to the key-hole. All was darksome and waste.
He listened, add imagined that he heard the aspirations of grief. The
sound was scarcely articulate, but had an electrical effect upon his
feelings. He retired to his home full of mournful reflections.
He was billing to do something for the relief of the sufferers, but
nothing could be done that night. Yet succour, if delayed till the
morning, might be ineffectual. But how, when the morning came, should he
proceed to effectuate his kind intentions? The guardians of the public
welfare at this crisis were distributed into those who counselled and
those who executed. A set of men, self-appointed to the generous office,
employed themselves in seeking out the destitute or sick, and imparting
relief. With this arrangement Baxter was acquainted. He was resolved to
carry tidings of what he had heard and seen to one of those persons
early the next day.
Baxter, after taking some refreshment, retired to rest. In no long time,
however, he was awakened by his wife, who desired him to notice a
certain glimmering on the ceiling. It seemed the feeble and flitting ray
of a distant and moving light, coming through the window. It did not
proceed from the street, for the chamber was lighted from the side, and
not from the front of the house. A lamp borne by a passenger, or the
attendants of a hearse, could not be discovered in this situation.
Besides, in the latter case, it would be accompanied by the sound of the
vehicle, and, probably by weeping and exclamations of despair. His
employment as the guardian of property, naturally suggested to him the
idea of robbery. He started from his bed, and went to the window.
His house stood at the distance of about fifty paces from that of
Monrose. There was annexed to the latter a small garden or yard, bounded
by a high wooden fence. Baxter's window overlooked this space. Before he
reached the window, the relative situation of the two habitations,
occurred to him. A conjecture was instantly formed that the glimmering
proceeded from this quarter. His eye, therefore, was immediately fixed
upon Monrose's back door. It caught a glimpse of a human figure passing
into the house through this door. The person had a candle in his hand.
This appeared by the light which streamed after him, and which was
perceived, though faintly, through a small window of the dwelling, after
the back-door was closed.
The person disappeared too quickly to allow him to say whether it was
male or female. This scrutiny confirmed rather than weakened the
apprehensions that first occurred. He reflected on the desolate and
helpless condition of this family. The father might be sick, and what
opposition could be made by the daughter to the stratagems of violence
of midnight plunderers? This was an evil which it was his duty, in an
extraordinary sense, to obviate. It is true, the hour of watching was
passed, and this was not the district assigned to him; but Baxter was,
on the whole, of a generous and intrepid spirit. In the present case,
therefore, he did not hesitate long in forming his resolution. He seized
a hanger that hung at his bedside, and which had hewn many an Hungarian
and French hussar to pieces. With this he descended to the street. He
cautiously approached Monrose's house. He listened at the door, but
heard nothing. The lower apartment, as he discovered through the
key-hole, was deserted and dark. These appearances could not be
accounted for. He was, as yet, unwilling to call or to knock. He was
solicitous to obtain some information by silent means, and without
alarming the persons within, who, if they were robbers, might thus be
put upon their guard, and enabled to escape. If none but the family were
there, they would not understand his signals, and might impute the
disturbance to the cause which he was desirous to obviate. What could he
do? Must he patiently wait till some incident should happen to regulate
his motions?
In this uncertainty, he bethought himself of going round to the back
part of the dwelling, and watching the door which had been closed. An
open space, filled with rubbish and weeds, adjoined the house and garden
on one side. Hither he repaired, and, raising his head above the fence,
at a point directly opposite the door, waited with considerable
impatience for some token or signal, by which he might be directed in
his choice of measures.
Human life abounds with mysterious appearances. A man perched on a fence
at midnight, mute and motionless, and gazing at a dark and dreary
dwelling, was an object calculated to rouse curiosity. When the muscular
form and rugged visage, scared and furrowed into something like
ferocity, were added,--when the nature of the calamity by which the city
was dispeopled was considered,--the motives to plunder, and the
insecurity of property arising from the pressure of new wants on the
poor, and the flight or disease of the rich, were attended to, an
observer would be apt to admit fearful conjectures.
We know not how long Baxter continued at this post. He remained here
because he could not, as he conceived, change it for a better. Before
his patience were exhausted, his attention was called by a noise within
the house. It proceeded from the lower room. The sound was that of
steps, but this was accompanied with other inexplicable tokens. The
kitchen door at length opened. The figure of Miss Monrose, pale,
emaciated, and haggard, presented itself. Within the door stood a
candle. It was placed on a chair within sight, and its rays streamed
directly against the face of Baxter, as it was reared above the top of
the fence. This illumination, faint as it was, bestowed a certain air of
wildness on the features which nature, and the sanguinary habits of a
soldier, had previously rendered, in an eminent degree, harsh and stern.
He was not aware of the danger of discovery in consequence of this
position of the candle. His attention was, for a few seconds, engrossed
by the object before him. At length he chanced to notice another object.
At a few yards' distance from the fence, and within it, some one
appeared to have been digging. An opening was made in the ground, but it
was shallow and irregular. The implement which seemed to have been used
was nothing more than a fire-shovel, for one of these he observed lying
near the spot. The lady had withdrawn from the door, though without
closing it. He had leisure, therefore, to attend to this new
circumstance, and to reflect upon the purpose for which this opening
might have been designed.
Death is familiar to the apprehensions of a soldier. Baxter had assisted
at the hasty interment of thousands, the victims of the sword or of
pestilence. Whether it was because this theatre of human calamity was
new to him, and death, in order to be viewed with his ancient unconcern,
must be accompanied in the ancient manner, with halberts and tents,
certain it is, that Baxter was irresolute and timid in every thing that
respected the yellow fever. The circumstances of the time suggested,
that this was a grave, to which some victim of this disease was to be
consigned. His teeth chattered when he reflected how near he might now
be to the source of infection: yet his curiosity retained him at his
post.
He fixed his eyes once more upon the door. In a short time the lady
again appeared at it. She was in a stooping posture, and appeared to be
dragging something along the floor. His blood ran cold at this
spectacle. His fear instantly figured to itself a corpse, livid and
contagious. Still he had no power to move. The lady's strength,
enfeebled as it was by grief, and perhaps by the absence of nourishment,
seemed scarcely adequate to the task which she had assigned herself.
Her burden, whatever it was, was closely wrapped in a sheet. She drew it
forward a few paces, then desisted, and seated herself on the ground
apparently to recruit her strength, and give vent to the agony of her
thoughts in sighs. Her tears were either exhausted or refused to flow,
for none were shed by her. Presently she resumed her undertaking.
Baxter's horror increased in proportion as she drew nearer to the spot
where he stood; and yet it seemed as if some fascination had forbidden
him to recede.
At length the burden was drawn to the side of the opening in the earth.
Here it seemed as if the mournful task was finished. She threw herself
once more upon the earth. Her senses seemed for a time to have forsaken
her. She sat buried in reverie, her eyes scarcely open, and fixed upon
the ground, and every feature set to the genuine expression of sorrow.
Some disorder, occasioned by the circumstance of dragging, now took
place in the vestment of what he had rightly predicted to be a dead
body. The veil by accident was drawn aside, and exhibited, to the
startled eye of Baxter, the pale and ghastly visage of the unhappy
Monrose.
This incident determined him. Every joint in his frame trembled, and he
hastily withdrew from the fence. His first motion in doing this produced
a noise by which the lady was alarmed; she suddenly threw her eyes
upward, and gained a full view of Baxter's extraordinary countenance,
just before it disappeared. She manifested her terror by a piercing
shriek. Baxter did not stay to mark her subsequent conduct, to confirm
or to dissipate her fears, but retired in confusion to his own house.
Hitherto his caution had availed him. He had carefully avoided all
employments and places from which he imagined imminent danger was to be
dreaded. Now, through his own inadvertency, he had rushed, as he
believed, into the jaws of the pest. His senses had not been assailed by
any noisome effluvia. This was no implausible ground for imagining that
his death had some other cause than the yellow fever. This circumstance
did not occur to Baxter. He had been told that Frenchmen were not
susceptible of this contagion. He had hitherto believed this assertion,
but now regarded it as having been fully confuted. He forgot that
Frenchmen were undoubtedly mortal, and that there was no impossibility
in Monrose's dying, even at this time, of a malady different from that
which prevailed.
Before morning he began to feel very unpleasant symptoms. He related his
late adventure to his wife. She endeavoured, by what argument her
slender ingenuity suggested, to quiet his apprehensions, but in vain. He
hourly grew worse, and as soon as it was light, dispatched his wife for
a physician. On interrogating this messenger, the physician obtained
information of last night's occurrences, and this being communicated to
one of the dispensers of the public charity, they proceeded, early in
the morning, to Monrose's house. It was closed as usual. They knocked
and called, but no one answered. They examined every avenue to the
dwelling, but none of them were accessible. They passed into the garden,
and observed, on the spot marked out by Baxter, a heap of earth. A very
slight exertion was sufficient to remove it, and discover the body of
the unfortunate exile beneath.
After unsuccessfully trying various expedients for entering the house,
they deemed themselves authorised to break the door. They entered,
ascended the staircase, and searched every apartment in the house, but
no human being was discoverable. The furniture was wretched and scanty,
but there was no proof that Monrose had fallen a victim to the reigning
disease. It was certain that the lady had disappeared. It was
inconceivable whither she had gone.
Baxter suffered a long period of sickness. The prevailing malady
appeared upon him in its severest form. His strength of constitution,
and the careful attendance of his wife, were insufficient to rescue him
from the grave. His case may be quoted as an example of the force of
imagination. He had probably already received, through the medium of the
air, or by contact of which he was not conscious, the seeds of this
disease. They might have perhaps have lain dormant, had not this panic
occurred to endow them with activity.