Hearing a noise, he suddenly started up. It was dusk, and having lain
long in one position, he felt so stiff as to move with difficulty; on
turning his head, he saw two strangers looking at him with wonder and
pity. “Is the steamboat ready?” exclaimed he, still confused with his
long sleep. “Has the bell rung, gentlemen? Bless me, I have overslept
myself—what o’clock is it? Why, it is almost dark—I am ashamed of
myself.”
Finding, after one or two attempts, that he could not get up easily, the
two strangers hastened forward and assisted him to rise. They led him to
the door, but here the confusion of his mind seemed rather to increase
than diminish, for he found himself in a strange place. To be sure,
there lay the river, and the hills on the opposite shore still rose in
grandeur; but that which was a wide river, now appeared to be a narrow
stream; and where his beautiful estate lay, stretching far to the south,
was covered by a populous city, the steeples and towers of which were
still illuminated by the last rays of the sun.
“Gentlemen,” said the bewildered man, “I am in a strange perplexity. I
fell asleep at noon in this house, which belongs to me, and after
remaining in this deep repose for six hours I awoke, and find myself
utterly at a loss to comprehend where I am. Surely I am in a dream, or
my senses are leaving me.”
“You are not dreaming, neither is your mind wandering; a strange fate is
yours,” said the elder of the two young men. “When you are a little more
composed we will tell you how all this has happened; meantime, you must
come with me; I shall take you where you will find a home and a
welcome.”
“What is your name,” said the astonished Hastings, “and how have I been
transported hither.”
“My name is Edgar Hastings,” said the young man; “and I feel assured
that yours is the same. If I thought you had sufficient fortitude to
hear the strange events which have occurred, I would tell you at once;
but you had better come with me, and during the evening you shall know
all.”
Hastings suffered himself to be led by the two strangers, as he felt
cramped and chilly; but every step he took revived some singular train
of thought. As he proceeded, he saw what appeared to be his own house,
for the shape, dimensions and situation were like the one he built, and
the distance and direction from his farm house was the same. What
astonished him most was the trees; when he saw them last they were
silver pines, chestnuts, catalpas, locusts and sycamores—now the few
that remained were only oak and willow; they were of enormous size, and
appeared aged.
“I must wait, I see,” said poor Hastings, “for an explanation of all
this; my hope is, that I am dreaming. Here lie trees newly felled,
immense trees they are, and they grew on a spot where I formerly had a
range of offices. I shall awake to-morrow, no doubt,” said he, faintly
smiling, “and find myself recompensed for this miserable dream. Pray
what is your name?”—turning to the younger of the two men.
“My name is Valentine Harley, and I am related to this gentleman; our
family have, at intervals, intermarried, for upwards of three hundred
years.”
“Valentine Harley!” exclaimed Hastings, “that is the name of my wife’s
father. There never was any of the name of Valentine, to my knowledge,
but his; and I did not know that there was another Edgar Hastings in
existence, excepting myself and my young son.”
They were now in front of the house—the massive north portico had been
replaced by another of different shape; the windows were altered; the
vestibule, the main hall, the staircase, no longer the same—yet the
general plan was familiar, and when they opened the door of a small room
in the north wing, he found it exactly to correspond with what he had
intended for his laboratory.
After persuading him to take some refreshments, they conducted him to
his chamber, and the two young men related to the astonished Hastings
what follows. We shall not stop to speak of his surprise, his
sufferings, his mortal agony—nor of the interruptions which naturally
took place; but the group sat up till midnight. It is needless to say
that not one of the three closed his eyes the remainder of the night.
“Early this morning,” began the younger Edgar Hastings—“and be not
dismayed when I tell you, that instead of the 15th of February, 1835, it
is now the 15th of April, 2135—several of us stood looking at some
labourers who were at work cutting a street through the adjoining hill.
Our engines had succeeded in removing the trees, rocks and stones, which
lay embedded in the large mounds of earth, and about ten o’clock the
street, with the exception of the great mass which covered your farm
house, was entirely cut through to the river. This portion of it would
have been also removed, but both from papers in my possession and
tradition, a stone building, containing many valuable articles, was
supposed to be buried there, by the fall of the hill near which it
stood.
“To extend the city, which is called Hamilton, my property, or rather, I
should say, your property, was from time to time sold, till at length
nothing remains in our possession but this house and a few acres of
ground; the last we sold was that strip on which your farm house stands.
It was with great reluctance that I parted with this portion, as I could
not but consider it as your sepulchre, which in fact it has proved to
be.
“When they commenced cutting through the hill the top was covered with
large oaks, some of which, when sawed through, showed that they were
upwards of a century old; and one in particular, which stood on the
boundary line, had been designated as a landmark in all the old title
deeds of two hundred years’ standing.
“About three hours before you were liberated the workmen came to a solid
stratum of ice, a phenomenon so extraordinary, that all the people in
the vicinity gathered to the spot to talk and ponder over it. An aged
man, upwards of ninety, but with his faculties unimpaired, was among the
number present. He said, that in his youth his great grandfather had
often spoken of a tradition respecting this hill. It was reported to
have been much higher, and that a ravine, or rather a precipitous slope,
a little below the road, was quite filled up by the overthrow of the
hill. That the fall had been occasioned by an earthquake, and the peak
of the hill, after dislodging a huge rock, had entirely covered up a
stone building which contained a large treasure. He very well remembered
hearing his aged relative say, that the hill was covered with immense
pines and chestnuts.
“The truth of part of this story was corroborated by ancient documents
in my possession, and I hastened to my library to search for some old
family papers, which had been transmitted to me with great care. I soon
found what I wanted, and with a map of the estate, in which, from father
to son, all the alterations of time had been carefully marked down, I
was able to point out the exact spot on which the old stone farm house
stood. In a letter from a gentleman named Valentine Harley, which, with
several from the same hand, accompanied the different maps, an account
was given of the avalanche which buried the house and filled up the
ravine and gap below. As the originals were likely to be destroyed by
time, they had been copied in a large book, containing all the records
of the family, which, from period to period, receive the attestation of
the proper recording officer, so that you may look upon these documents
as a faithful transcript of every thing of moment that has occurred
within the last three hundred years. It was only last November that I
entered an account of the sale of this very strip of land in which the
stone house lay.
“Here is the first thing on record—a letter, as I observed, from the
father-in-law of Edgar Hastings, my great ancestor—but I forget that it
is of you he speaks. Believe me, dear sir, that most deeply do we
sympathize with you; but your case is so singular, and the period in
which all this suffering occurred is so very remote, that your strong
sense will teach you to bear your extraordinary fate like a man. Allow
me to read the letter; it is directed to James Harley, son to the above
mentioned Valentine Harley.
“‘Second month, 17th, 1834. My dear son—Stay where thou art, for
thy presence will but aggravate our grief. I will give thee all
the particulars of the dreadful calamity which has befallen us. I
have not yet recovered from the shock, and thy sister is in the
deepest wo; but it is proper that thou shouldst know the truth,
and there is no one to tell thee but myself. On Monday the 15th,
my dear son Edgar Hastings took a tender farewell of thy sister
and his babe, shaking hands with me in so earnest and solemn a
manner, that one prone to superstition would have said it was
prophetic of evil. We saw him walk briskly along the road until
the angle, which thou knowest is made by the great hill, shut him
from our sight; but just before he turned the angle he cast a look
towards the house wherein all his treasure lay, and seeing that we
were watching his steps, he waved his handkerchief and
disappeared. His intention, thou knowest, was to proceed to New
York; Samuel, his faithful servant, was to accompany him, and had
gone forward in the carriage with the baggage, as Edgar preferred
to walk to the boat. Thy poor sister and myself stood on the old
piazza waiting until the little steamboat—it was the Black
Hawk—should turn the great bend and appear in sight, for it was
natural, thou knowest, to linger and look at the vessel which held
one so dear to us both. It was the first time that thy sister had
been separated from Edgar, and she stood weeping silently, leaning
on my arm, as the little steamboat shot briskly round the bend and
appeared full in sight. Thou must recollect that the channel
brings the boat nearly opposite the stone farm house, and even at
that distance, although we could not distinguish features or
person, yet we fancied we saw the waving of a handkerchief. At
that instant the Black Hawk blew up, every thing went asunder, and
to my affrighted soul the boat appeared to rise many feet out of
the water. I cannot paint to thee our agony, or speak of the
profound grief, the unextinguishable grief, of thy dear sister;
she lies still in silent wo, and who is there, save her Maker, who
dares to comfort her.
“‘I told thee in a previous letter, written I believe on the 12th,
that I apprehended a sudden thaw. I mentioned my fears to our dear
Edgar, and with his usual prudence he gave orders to strengthen
some of the embankments below the ravine. Among other things I
thought of his valuable books and instruments, which still
remained in the stone farm house, and that very afternoon I
intended to have them removed to Elmwood. At the instant the
dreadful explosion took place, the great snow bank, which thou
recollectest lay above the house in the hollow of the hill, slid
down and entirely covered the building; and, in another second,
the high peak of the hill, heavily covered with large pines, fell
down and buried itself in the ravine and gap below. The building
and all its valuable contents lie buried deep below the immense
mass of earth, but we stop not in our grief to care for it, as he
who delighted in them is gone from us for ever.
“‘Thy sister, thy poor sister, when the first horrible shock was
over, would cling to the hope that Edgar might be spared, and it
was with the greatest difficulty that I could prevent her from
flying to the spot where the crowd had collected. Alas! no one
lived to tell how death had overtaken them. Of the five persons
engaged on board, three of their bodies have since been found;
this was in dragging the water. It seems there were but few
passengers, perhaps only our beloved Edgar, his poor servant
Samuel, and one or two others. An old man was seen to enter the
boat just as she was moving off; _his_ body was found on the bank,
and on searching his pockets a small piece of silver, a quarter of
a dollar, was taken out, which I knew in a moment; it was mine
only an hour before, and had three little crosses deeply indented
on the rim, with a hole in the centre of the coin; I made these
marks on it the day before, for a particular purpose; I could
therefore identify the money at once. About an hour before Edgar
left us, thinking he might want small silver, I gave him a
handful, and this piece was among the number. He must have given
it to the man as soon as he got on board, perhaps for charity, as
the man was poor, and probably had begged of him. This at once
convinced me that our dear Edgar was in the fatal boat. We have
made every exertion to recover the body, but are still
unsuccessful; nor can we find that of our poor faithful Samuel.
The body of the horse was seen floating down the river yesterday;
and the large trunk, valueless thing now, was found but this
morning near the stone fence on the opposite shore.
“‘There were some valuable parchments, title deeds, in a small
leather valise, which our dear Edgar carried himself—but what do
we care for such things now, or for the gold pieces which he also
had in the same case. Alas! we think of nothing but of the loss of
him, thy much valued brother. Edgar Hastings has been taken from
us, and although thy poor sister is the greatest sufferer, yet
_all_ mourn.
“‘Offer up thy prayers, my son, that God will please to spare thy
sister’s reason; if that can be preserved, time will soften this
bitter grief, and some little comfort will remain, for she has
Edgar’s boy to nourish and protect. As to me, tranquil as I am
compelled to be before her, I find that my chief pleasure, my
happiness, is for ever gone. Edgar was superior to most men, ay,
to any man living, and so excellent was he in heart, and so
virtuous and upright in all his ways, that I trust his pure spirit
has ascended to the Great Being who gave it.
“‘Do not come to us just now, unless it be necessary to thy peace
of mind; but if thou shouldst come, ask not to see thy sister, for
the sight of any one, save me and her child, is most painful to
her.
“‘Kiss thy babe, and bid him not forget his afflicted grandfather.
God bless thee and thy kind wife.—Adieu, my son.