THE DOUBTER'S DYSPEPTIC STORY.
[Illustration: THE DOUBTER.]
Once, when the dyspepsia was bad on me, I went to bed rayther
low-spirited, and began to think I was going to die. I thought I
couldn't live till morning. My stomach was as hard as a brick-bat, and I
was cold all over. The more cover I piled on, the colder I got. The
minute I shut my eyes, I was scared to death at the darkness. I felt as
if something dreadful was going to happen, and didn't know exactly what
it was. Sometimes I thought robbers were under the bed, and sometimes I
heard strange noises about the house. My heart stopped beating
altogether; I felt for my pulse, but couldn't find it in my wrists or
any where else. Every bit of blood seemed to have oozed out of me in
some mysterious way, and to all intents and purposes my body was dead.
There was no dream about it. I could move my limbs the same as ever, and
was as wide awake as I am this minute; but there was no sign of life
about me except that my mind had power to move the dead flesh; for it
was cold and clammy as that of a corpse. Any body else would have given
up, and concluded he was a genuine corpse; but you see I was not the
sort of man to believe such a thing as that without farther proof. I
therefore lay still a while, in hopes I'd get warm by-and-by, and feel
better; but I kept growing colder and colder, and at last was so cold
that I felt like ice all over. I had the most dreadful and gloomy
reflections. Every thing I thought about seemed blue, and dreary, and
hopeless; every body unhappy; and the whole future a desert waste,
without one ray of light. Despair was upon me; I cared for nothing; it
was all the same to me whether I lived or died. I wanted neither help,
nor pity, nor love, nor life--all, all was wrapped in despair. The gloom
of this state brought on a kind of lethargy; a total unconsciousness of
every thing external. My mind only existed and operated, as it were, in
perfect darkness. The body was nothing but a type of intense darkness
and coldness wrapped around the spirit. In this state I at length heard
whisperings in the air, outside of me as I thought. They drew nearer;
the voices were strange and unnatural; I was conscious of a singular
sensation, for a time, as if whirled rapidly through space; then I heard
the voices say, in low tones, "How cold he is! how miserably cold he is!
but we'll soon warm him!" I now became sensible of strong gases in the
air, but they produced no farther impression than the mere consciousness
of their existence. Wild shrieks and moans, and dreadful hissing sounds
arose around me. "Here we are," said the voices; "glad of it, for he's
terribly cold." "Put him there in that big furnace; it'll soon warm
him," said another voice, in a tone of authority. I was then tossed, as
I thought, some distance, and became suddenly still; but the same cold
and impenetrable darkness was around my spirit. "There, that fire's
out!" said the voice, angrily; "put him in another, and keep him well
stirred up." Again there was a movement, and again I was still, but not
so still as before, for I was conscious of a jarring sensation. "Out
again!" roared the same voice, fiercely. "Out again! you don't keep him
well stirred up!" "He's as cold as ice," said the other voices; "we
can't do any thing with him." "Try him in the middle furnace!" said the
chief voice, sternly; "that'll melt the ice out of him!" Again I was
whirled through the gases and deposited in some imperceptible place; but
all this time I was growing colder and colder. There was a pause, and
then the voices said, "He won't burn, sir; don't you see he's putting
the fire out." "Out again, by all the demons!" roared the chief voice,
furiously. "Take him away! Carry him back to where you got him. The
man's dyspeptic. We can't have such a miserable wretch here! By Pluto!
he'd put out every fire we've got in a week. Bear a hand, you rascals!
for may I be blessed _if I ain't freezing myself_!" Here the Doubter
paused.
"Well, sir, well," said Abraham, ironically, "have you any thing further
to say on the same subject? any thing equally reliable? Perhaps you can
inform us how you got warm again?"
"Well, that doesn't properly belong to the story," said the Doubter,
looking around meaningly upon the company. "I meant that it should end
there; but, if you insist upon it, I'll answer your question."
"Of course, sir; the matter requires explanation. It comes to rather an
abrupt conclusion."
"The way I got warm, then, was this: I picked up a skull when I was
leaving the premises. It was full of hot glue. The fellows that were
carrying me got their hands frostbitten and had to let go at last. I
fell on an island. The first thing I struck was the top of a mountain. I
slid down for three miles without stopping. On the way I broke the
skull, and spilled the glue all over me, which made me slip so fast that
I was quite warm by the time I got to the bottom."
To this Abraham made no reply. Turning away from the Doubter with
ferocity and indignation depicted in every feature, he looked silently
around upon the company; his breast heaved convulsively; his hands
grasped nervously at the hair upon his goatskin; he deliberately tore it
out by the roots; he suppressed a rising smile upon the face of every
individual in the party by one more look at the Doubter--one terrible,
scathing, foreboding look of vengeance on the morrow; and then said, in
a suppressed voice, "Gentlemen, suppose we turn in; it must be twelve
o'clock."