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CITY CRIMES;
OR
LIFE IN NEW YORK AND BOSTON.
A VOLUME FOR EVERYBODY:
BEING A MIRROR OF FASHION,
A PICTURE OF POVERTY,
AND A STARTLING REVELATION
OF THE SECRET CRIMES
OF GREAT CITIES
{First published 1849}
[Illustration: Title page of _City Crimes_, 1849 edition. Reproduced
with the permission of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.]
CHAPTER I
_A Young Gentleman of Wealth and Fashion--a noble resolve--the
flatterers--the Midnight Encounter--an Adventure--the
Courtezan--Temptation triumphant--how the Night was passed._
'What a happy dog I ought to be!' exclaimed Frank Sydney, as he reposed
his slippered feet upon the fender, and sipped his third glass of old
Madeira, one winter's evening in the year 18--, in the great city of New
York.
Frank might well say so; for in addition to being as handsome a fellow
as one would be likely to meet in a day's walk, he possessed an ample
fortune, left him by a deceased uncle. He was an orphan; and at the age
of twenty-one, found himself surrounded by all the advantages of wealth,
and at the same time, was perfect master of his own actions. Occupying
elegant apartments at a fashionable hotel, he was free from any of those
petty cares and vexations which might have annoyed him, and he kept an
establishment of his own; while at the same time he was enabled to
maintain, in his rooms, a private table for the entertainment of himself
and friends, who frequently repaired thither, to partake of his
hospitality and champagne suppers. With such advantages of fortune and
position, no wonder he exclaimed, as at the beginning of our tale--'What
a happy dog I ought to be!'
Pursuing the current of his thought Frank half audibly continued--
'Yes, I have everything to make me truly happy--health, youth, good
looks and wealth; and yet it seems to me that I should derive a more
substantial satisfaction from my riches were I to apply them to the good
of mankind. To benefit one's fellow creatures is the noblest and most
exalted of enjoyments--far superior to the gratification of sense. The
grateful blessings of the poor widow or orphan, relieved by my bounty,
are greater music to my soul, than the insincere plaudits of my
professed friends, who gather around my hearth to feast upon my
hospitality, and yet who, were I to lose my wealth, and become poor,
would soon cut my acquaintance, and sting me by their ingratitude.
To-night I shall have a numerous party of these _friends_ to sup with
me, and this supper shall be the last one to which I shall ever invite
them. Yes! My wealth shall be employed for a nobler object than to
pamper these false and hollow-hearted parasites. From this night, I
devote my time, my energies and my affluence to the relief of deserving
poverty and the welfare of all who need my aid with whom I may come in
contact. I will go in person to the squalid abodes of the poor--I will
seek them out in the dark alleys and obscure lanes of this mighty
metropolis--I will, in the holy mission of charity, venture into the
vilest dens of sin and iniquity, fearing no danger, and shrinking not
from the duty which I have assumed.--Thus shall my wealth be a blessing
to my fellow creatures, and not merely a means of ministering to my own
selfishness.'
Noble resolve! All honor to thy good and generous heart, Frank Sydney!
Thou hast the true patent of nature's nobility, which elevates and
ennobles thee, more than a thousand vain titles or empty honors! Thou
wilt keep thy word, and become the poor man's friend--the liberal and
enlightened philanthropist--the advocate of deserving poverty, and foe
to the oppressor, who sets his heel upon the neck of his brother man.
The friends who were to sup with him, arrived, and they all sat down to
a sumptuous entertainment. Frank did the honors with his accustomed
affability and care; and flowing bumpers were drunk to his health, while
the most flattering eulogiums upon his merits and excellent qualities
passed from lip to lip. Frank had sufficient discernment to perceive
that all this praise was nothing but the ebullitions of the veriest
sycophants; and he resolved at some time to test the sincerity of their
protestations of eternal friendship.
'Allow me, gentlemen,' said Mr. Archibald Slinkey, a red-faced, elderly
man, with a nose like the beak of a poll-parrot--'to propose the health
of my excellent and highly esteemed friend, Frank Sydney. Gentlemen, I
am a plain man, unused to flattery, and may be pardoned for speaking
openly before the face of our friend--for I will say it, he is the most
noble hearted, enlightened, conscientious, consistent, and superlatively
good fellow I ever met in the course of my existence.'
'So he is,' echoed Mr. Narcissus Nobbs, a middle-aged gentleman, with no
nose to speak of, but possessing a redundancy of chin and a wonderful
capacity of mouth--'so he is, Slinkey; his position--his earning--his
talent--his wealth--'
'Oh, d----n his wealth,' ejaculated Mr. Solomon Jenks, a young gentleman
who affected a charming frankness and abruptness in his speech, but who
was in reality the most specious flatterer of the entire party. Mr.
Jenks rejoiced in the following personal advantages: red hair, a blue
nose, goggle eyes, and jaws of transparent thinness.
'D----n his wealth!' said Jenks--'who cares for _that_? Sydney's a good
fellow--a capital dog--an excellent, d----d good sort of a whole-souled
devil--but his _wealth_ is no merit. If he lost every shilling he has in
the world, why curse me if I shouldn't like him all the better for it! I
almost wish the rascal would become penniless tomorrow, in order to
afford me an opportunity of showing him the disinterestedness of my
friendship. I would divide my purse with him, take him by the hand and
say--Frank, my boy, I like you for yourself alone, and d----n me if you
are not welcome to all I have in the world--That's how I would do it.'
'I thank you gentlemen, for your kind consideration,' said Frank; 'I
trust I may never be necessitated to apply to any of my friends, for aid
in a disagreeable emergency--but should such ever unfortunately be the
case, be assured that I shall not hesitate to avail myself of your
generous assistance.'
'Bravo--capital--excellent!' responded the choir of flatterers, in full
chorus, and their glasses were again emptied in honor of their host.
It was midnight ere these worthies took their departure. When at length
they were all gone, and Frank found himself alone, he exclaimed--'Thank
heaven, I am at last rid of those miserable and servile fellows, who in
my presence load me with the most extravagant praise and adulation,
while behind my back they doubtless ridicule my supposed credulity. I
have too long tolerated them--henceforth, I discard and cast them off.'
He approached the window, and drawing aside the curtain, looked forth
into the streets. The moon was shining brightly; and its rays fell with
dazzling lustre upon the snow which covered the ground. It was a most
lovely night, altho' excessively cold; and Sydney, feeling not the least
inclination to retire to rest, said to himself:
'What is to prevent me from beginning my career of usefulness and
charity to-night? The hour is late--but misery sleeps not, and 'tis
never too late to alleviate the sufferings of distressed humanity. Yes,
I will go forth, even at the midnight hour, and perchance I may
encounter some poor fellow-creature worthy of my aid, or visit some
abode of poverty where I can minister to the comfort of its wretched
inmates.'
He threw on an ample cloak, put on a fur cap and gloves, and taking his
sword-cane in his hand, left the hotel, and proceeded at a rapid pace
thro' the moon-lit and deserted streets. He entered the Park, and
crossed over towards Chatham street, wishing to penetrate into the more
obscure portions of the city, where Poverty, too often linked with
Crime, finds a miserable dwelling-place. Thus far, he had not
encountered a single person; but on approaching the rear of the City
Hall, he observed the figure of a man issue from the dark obscurity of
the building, and advance directly toward him. Sydney did not seek to
avoid him, supposing him to be one of the watchmen stationed in that
vicinity, but a nearer view satisfied him that the person was no
watchman but a man clothed in rags, whose appearance betokened the
extreme of human wretchedness. He was of a large and powerful build, but
seemed attenuated by want, or disease--or perhaps, both. As he
approached Sydney, his gestures were wild and threatening: he held in
his hands a large paving-stone, which he raised, as if to hurl it at the
other with all his force.
Sydney, naturally conceiving the man's intentions to be hostile, drew
the sword from his cane, and prepared to act on the defensive, at the
same time exclaiming:
'Who are you, and what do you wish?'
'Money!' answered the other, in a hollow tone, with the stone still
upraised, while his eyes glowed savagely upon the young man.
Sydney, who was brave and dauntless, steadily returned his gaze, and
said, calmly:
'You adopt a strange method, friend, of levying contributions upon
travellers. If you are in distress and need aid, you should apply for it
in a becoming manner--not approach a stranger in this threatening and
ruffianly style. Stand off--I am armed, you see--I shall not hesitate to
use this weapon if--'
The robber burst into a wild, ferocious laugh:
'Fool!' he cried. 'What can your weak arm or puny weapon do, against the
strength of a madman? For look you, I am mad with _hunger_! For three
days I have not tasted food--for three cold, wretched nights I have
roamed thro' the streets of this Christian city, homeless, friendless,
penniless! Give me money, or with this stone will I dash out your
brains.'
'Unfortunate man,' said Sydney, in accents of deep pity--'I feel for
you, on my soul I do. Want and wretchedness have made you desperate.
Throw down your weapon, and listen to me; he who now addresses you is a
man, possessing a heart that beats in sympathy for your misfortunes. I
have both the means and the will to relieve your distress.'
The robber cast the stone from him, and burst into tears. 'Pardon me,
kind stranger,' he cried, 'I did intend you harm, for my brain is
burning, and my vitals consumed by starvation. You have spoken to me the
first words of kindness that I have heard for a long, long time. You
pity me, and that pity subdues me. I will go and seek some other
victim.' 'Stay,' said Sydney, 'for heaven's sake give up this dreadful
trade of robbery. Here is money, sufficient to maintain you for
weeks--make a good use of it--seek employment--be honest, and should you
need further assistance, call at ---- Hotel, and ask for Francis Sydney.
That is my name, and in me you will ever find a friend, so long as you
prove yourself worthy.'
'Noble, generous man!' exclaim the robber, as he received a fifty dollar
note from the hands of Frank. 'God will reward you for this. Believe me,
I have not always been what I now am--a midnight ruffian, almost an
assassin. No--I have had friends, and respectability, and wealth. But I
have lost them all--all! We shall meet again--farewell!'
He ran rapidly from the spot, leaving Frank to pursue his way alone, and
ponder upon this remarkable encounter.
Leaving the Park, and turning to the left, Frank proceeded up Chatham
street towards the Bowery. As he was passing a house of humble but
respectable exterior, he observed the street door to open, and a female
voice said, in a low tone--'Young gentleman I wish to speak to you.'
Frank was not much surprised at being thus accosted, for his long
residence in New York had made him aware of the fact that courtezans
often resorted to that mode of procuring 'patronage' from such midnight
pedestrians as might happen to be passing their doors. His first impulse
was to walk on without noticing the invitation--but then the thought
suggested itself to his mind: 'Might I not possibly be of some use or
benefit to that frail one? I will see what she has to say.'
Reasoning thus, he stepped up to the door, when the female who had
accosted him took him gently by the hand, and drawing him into the
entry, closed the door. A lamp was burning upon a table which stood in
the passage, and by its light Frank perceived that the lady was both
young and pretty; she was wrapped in a large shawl, so that the outlines
of her form were not plainly visible, yet it was easy to be seen that
she was of good figure and graceful carriage.
'Madame, or Miss,' said Frank, 'be good enough to tell me why--'
'We cannot converse here in the cold,' interrupted the lady, smiling
archly. 'Pray, sir, accompany me up-stairs to my room, and your
curiosity shall be satisfied.'
Frank (who had his own reasons) motioned her to lead the way; she took
the lamp from the table, and ascended the staircase, followed by the
young gentleman. The lady entered a room upon the second floor, in which
stood a bed and other conveniences denoting it to be a sleeping chamber;
a cheerful fire was glowing in the grate. The apartment was neatly and
plainly furnished, containing nothing of a character to indicate that
its occupant was other than a perfectly virtuous female. No obscene
pictures or immodest images were to be seen--all was unexceptionable in
point of propriety.
The lady closed and locked the chamber door; then placing two chairs
before the fire, she seated herself in one, and requested Frank to
occupy the other. Throwing off her shawl, she displayed a fine form and
voluptuous bust--the latter very liberally displayed, as she was arrayed
in nothing but a loose dressing gown, which concealed neither her plump
shoulders, nor the two fair and ample globes, whiter than alabaster,
that gave her form a luxurious fullness.
'You probably have sufficient discrimination, sir, to divine my motive
in inviting you into this house and chamber,' began the young lady, not
without some embarrassment. 'You will readily infer, from my conduct,
that I belong to the unfortunate class--'
'Say no more,' said Frank, interrupting her, 'I can readily guess why
you accosted me, and as readily comprehend your true position and
character. Madame, I regret to meet you in this situation.'
The lady cast down her eyes, and made no immediate reply, but for some
minutes continued to trace imaginary figures upon the carpet, with the
point of her delicate slipper. Meanwhile, Frank had ample leisure to
examine her narrowly. His eyes wandered over the graceful, undulating
outlines of her fine form, and lingered admiringly upon the exposed
beauties of her swelling bosom; he glanced at her regular and delicate
features which were exceedingly girlish and pretty, for she certainly
was not much over sixteen years of age. When it is remembered that Frank
was a young man of an ardent and impulsive temperament, the reader will
not be surprised that the loveliness of this young creature began to
excite within his breast those feelings and desires which are inherent
in human nature. In fact, he found himself being gradually overcome by
the most tumultuous sensations: his heart palpitated violently, his
breath grew hurried and irregular, and he could scarcely restrain
himself from clasping her to his breast with licentious violence. His
passions were still further excited, when she raised her eyes to his
face, and glanced at him with a soft smile, full of tenderness and
invitation. Frank Sydney was one of the best fellows in the world, and
possessed a heart that beat in unison with every noble, generous and
kindly feeling; but he was not an angel. No, he was _human_, and subject
to all the frailties and passions of humanity. When, therefore, that
enticing young woman raised her eyes, swimming with languishing desire,
to his face, and smiled so irresistibly, he did precisely what
ninety-nine out of every one hundred young men in existence would have
done, in the same circumstances--he encircled her slender waist with his
arm, drew her to his throbbing breast, and tasted the nectar of her ripe
lips, which so plainly invited the salute. Ah Frank, Frank! thou hast
gone too far to retract now! Thy hand plays with those ivory globes--thy
lips kiss those rounded shoulders, and that beauteous neck--thy brain
becomes dizzy, thy senses reel, and thy amorous soul bathes in a sea of
rapturous delight!
* * * * *
Truly, Frank Sydney, thou art a pretty fellow to prate about sallying
forth at midnight to do good to thy fellow creatures!--Here we find
thee, within an hour after thy departure from thy home, on an 'errand of
mercy,' embraced in the soft arms of a pretty wanton, and revelling in
the delights of voluptuousness. We might have portrayed thee as a
paragon of virtue and chastity; we might have described thee as
rejecting with holy horror the advances of that frail but exceedingly
fair young lady--we might have made a saint of thee, Frank. But we
prefer to depict human nature _as it is_ not _as it should
be_;--therefore we represent thee to be no better than thou art in
reality. Many will pardon thee for thy folly, Frank, and admit that it
was natural--very natural. Our hero did not return to his hotel until an
hour after daybreak. The interval was passed with the young lady of
frailty and beauty. He shared her couch; but neither of them slumbered,
for at Frank's request, his fair friend occupied the time in narrating
the particulars of her history, which we repeat in the succeeding
chapter.
CHAPTER II
_The Courtezan's story, showing some of the Sins of Religious
Professors--A carnal Preacher, a frail Mother, and a lustful Father--a
plan of revenge._
'My parents are persons of respectable standing in society;--they are
both members of the Methodist Episcopal church, and remarkably rigid in
their observance of the external forms and ceremonies of religion.
Family worship was always adhered to by them, as well as grace before
and after meals. They have ever been regarded as most exemplary and
pious people. I was their only child; and the first ten years of my life
were passed in much the same manner as those of other children of my sex
and condition. I attended school, and received a good education; and my
parents endeavored to instill the most pious precepts into my mind, to
the end, they said, that I might become a vessel of holiness to the
Lord. When I reached my twelfth year, a circumstance occurred which
materially diminished my belief in the sanctity and godliness of one of
my parents, and caused me to regard with suspicion and distrust, both
religion and its professors.
'It was the custom of the pastor of the church to which my parents
belonged, to make a weekly round of visits among the members of his
congregation. These visits were generally made in the middle of the
forenoon or afternoon, during the absence of the male members of the
various families. I observed that 'our minister' invariably paid his
visits to our house when my father was absent at his place of business.
Upon these occasions, he would hold long and private conferences with my
mother, who used to declare that these interviews with that holy man did
her more substantial _good_ than all his preaching. 'It is so refreshing
to my soul,' she would say, 'to pray in secret with that good man--he is
_so_ full of Christian love--so tender in his exhortations--so fervent
in his prayers! O that I could meet him every day, in the sanctity of my
closet, to strengthen my faith by the outpourings of his inexhaustible
fount of piety and Christian love!'
'The _wrestlings with the Lord_ of my maternal parent and her holy
pastor, must have been both prolonged and severe, judging from the fact
that at the termination of these pious interviews, my mother sometimes
made her appearance with disordered apparel and disarranged hair; while
the violence of her efforts to strengthen her faith was further manifest
from the flushed condition of her countenance, and general peculiarity
of aspect.
'One afternoon the Reverend Mr. Flanders--for that was the name of our
minister--called to see my mother, and as usual they retired together to
a private room, for 'holy communion.' Young as I was, my suspicions had
long been excited in regard to the nature of these interviews; I began
to think that their true object partook more largely of an earthly and
carnal character, than either the pastor or my mother would care to have
known. Upon the afternoon in question, I determined to satisfy myself on
this point;--and accordingly, as soon as they entered the room and
closed the door, (which they always locked,) I stole noiselessly
up-stairs, and stationed myself in the passage, on the outside of the
room, and listened intently. I had scarcely taken up my position, when
my ear caught the sound of _kissing_; and applying my eye to the
key-hole, I beheld the Rev. Mr. Flanders bestowing the most fervent
embraces upon my mother, which she returned with compound interest. The
pious gentleman, clasping her around the waist with one arm, proceeded
to take liberties which astonished and disgusted me: and my mother not
only permitted the revered scoundrel to do this, but actually seemed to
encourage him. Soon they placed themselves upon a sofa, in full view of
my gaze; and I was both mortified and enraged to observe the wantonness
of my mother, and the lasciviousness of her _pious_ friend. After
indulging in the most obscene and lecherous preliminaries, the full
measure of their iniquity was consummated, I being a witness to the
whole disgraceful scene. Horrified, and sick at heart, I left the spot
and repaired to my own room, where I shed many bitter tears, for the
dishonor of my mother and the hypocrisy of the minister filled me with
shame and grief. From that moment, I ceased to love and respect my
mother, as formerly; but she failed to perceive any alteration in my
conduct towards her, and at that time was far from suspecting that I had
witnessed the act of her dishonor and disgrace.
'I had always regarded my father as one of the best and most exemplary
of men; and after my mother's crime, I comforted myself with the
reflection that _he_, at least, was no hypocrite! but in every sense a
good and sincere Christian. Nothing happened to shake this belief, until
I had reached my fourteenth year; and then, alas! I became too painfully
convinced that all _his_ professions of piety and holiness were but a
cloak to conceal the real wickedness of his heart. It chanced, about
this time, that a young woman was received into our family, as a
domestic: this person was far from being handsome or in the slightest
degree interesting, in countenance--yet her figure was rather good than
otherwise. She was a bold, wanton-looking wench; and soon after she came
to live with us, I noticed that my father frequently eyed her with
something sensual in his glances. He frequently sought opportunities of
being alone with her; and one evening, hearing a noise in the kitchen, I
went to the head of the stairs, and listened--there was the sound of a
tussle, and I heard Jane (the name of the young woman,) exclaim--'Have
done, sire--take away your hands--how dare you?' And then she laughed,
in a manner that indicated her words were not very seriously meant. My
father's voice next reached me; what he said I could not clearly
distinguish; but he seemed to be remonstrating with the girl, and
entreating her to grant him some favor; what that favor was, I could
readily guess; and that she _did_ grant it to him, without much further
coaxing, was soon evident to my mind, by certain unmistakable sounds.
But I preferred _seeing_ to _hearing;_ creeping softly down the kitchen
stairs, I peeped in at the door, which was slightly ajar, and beheld my
Christian papa engaged in a manner that reflected no credit on his
observance of the seventh commandment.
'Thus having satisfied myself as to the nature and extent of _his_
sanctity and holiness, I softly ascended the stairs, and resumed my seat
in the parlor. In less than ten minutes afterwards, the whole family
were summoned together around the family altar, and then my excellent
and pious father poured out his pure spirit in prayer, returning thanks
for having been 'preserved from temptation,' and supplicating that all
the members of his household might flee from fleshy lusts, which war
against the soul; to which my chaste and saint-like mother responded in
a fervent 'Amen.' From that evening, the kitchen wench with whom my
father had defiled himself, assumed an air of bold insolence to every
one in the house; she refused to perform any of the menial services
devolving upon her, and when my mother spoke of dismissing her, my
father would not listen to it; so the girl continued with us. She had
evidently obtained entire dominion over my father, and did not scruple
to use her power to her own advantage; for she flaunted about in showy
ribbons and gay dresses, and I had no difficulty in surmising who
furnished her with the means of procuring them.
'I still continued to attend the church of the Rev. Mr. Flanders. He
used to preach excellent sermons, so far as composition and style of
delivery were concerned; his words were smooth as oil; his manner full
of the order of sanctity; his prayers were fervid eloquence. Yet, when I
thought what a consummate scoundrel and hypocrite he was at heart, I
viewed him with loathing and disgust.
'I soon became sensible that this reverend rogue began to view me with
more than an ordinary degree of interest and admiration; for I may say,
without vanity, that as I approached my fifteenth year, I was a very
pretty girl; my form had begun to develop and ripen, and my maiden
graces were not likely to escape the lustful eyes of the elderly roues
of our 'flock,' and seemed to be particularly attractive to that aged
libertine known as the Rev. Balaam Flanders.
'So far from being flattered by the attentions of our minister (as many
of our flock were,) I detested and avoided him. Yet his lecherous
glances were constantly upon me, whenever I was thrown into his society;
even when he was in the pulpit, he would often annoy me with his lustful
gaze.
'A bible class of young ladies was attached to the church, of which I
was a member. We assembled at the close of divine service in the
evening, for the study and examination of the Scriptures. Mr. Flanders
himself had charge of this class, and was regarded by all the young
ladies (myself excepted) as a 'dear, good man.' When one of us was
particularly apt in answering a question or finding a passage, he would
playfully chuck the good scholar under the chin, in token of his
commendation; and sometimes, even, he would bestow a fatherly kiss upon
the fair student of holy writ.
'These little tokens of his amativeness he often bestowed on me; and I
permitted him, as I considered such liberties to be comparatively
harmless. He soon however went beyond these 'attentions' to me--he first
began by passing his hand over my bust, outside my dress, and, growing
emboldened by my suffering him to do this, he would slide his hand into
my bosom, and take hold of my budding evidences of approaching
womanhood. Once he whispered in my ear--'My dear, what a delicious bust
you have!' I was by no means surprised at his conduct or words, for his
_faux pas_ with my frail mother convinced me that he was capable of any
act of lechery. I also felt assured that he lusted after me with all the
ardor of his lascivious passions, and I well know that he waited but for
an opportunity to attempt my seduction.--I hated the man, both for his
adultery with my mother, and his vile intentions towards myself--and I
determined to _punish him_ for his lewdness and hypocrisy--yes, punish
him through the medium of his own bad passions, and in a manner that
would torture him with alternate hope and despair; now inspiring him
with rapture by apparently almost yielding to his wishes, and then
maddening him by my resistance--at the same time resolving not to submit
to his desires in any case. This was my plan for punishing the hoary
libertine, and you shall see how well I carried it out.
'I did not discourage my reverend admirer in his amorous advances, but
on the contrary received them in such a manner as might induce him to
suppose that they were rather pleasing to me than otherwise. This I did
in order to ensure the success of my scheme--I observed with secret
satisfaction that he grew bolder and bolder in the liberties which he
took with my person. He frequently accompanied me home in the evening
after prayer meeting; and he always took care to traverse the most
obscure and deserted streets with me, so as to have a better opportunity
to indulge in his licentious freedoms with me, unobserved. Not content
with thrusting his hand into my bosom, he would often attempt to pursue
his investigations elsewhere: but this I always refused to permit him to
do. He was continually embracing and kissing me--and in the latter
indulgence, he often disgusted me beyond measure, by the excessive
libidinousness which he exhibited--I merely mention these things to show
the vile and beastly nature of this man, whom the world regarded as a
pure and holy minister of the gospel. Though old enough to be my
grandfather, the most hot blooded boy in existence could not have been
more wanton or eccentric in the manifestations of his lustful yearnings.
In fact, he wearied me almost to death by his unceasing persecution of
me; yet I bore it with patience, so as to accomplish the object I had in
view.
'I have often, upon the Sabbath, looked at that man as he stood in the
pulpit; how pious he appeared, with his high, serene forehead, his
carefully arranged gray hair, his mild and saint-like features, his
snow-white cravat, and plain yet rich suit of glossy black! How calm and
musical were the tones of his voice!--How beautifully he portrayed the
happiness of religion, and how eloquently he prayed for the repentance
and salvation of poor sinners! Yet how black was his heart with
hypocrisy, and how polluted his soul with lust!
'One New Year's evening--I remember it well--my parents went to pay a
visit to a relative a short distance out of the city, leaving me in
charge of the house; the servants had all gone to visit their friends,
and I was entirely alone. I had good reason to suppose that the Rev. Mr.
Flanders would call on me that evening, as he knew that my parents would
be absent. I determined to improve the opportunity, and commence my
system of torture. Going to my chamber, I dressed myself in the most
fascinating manner, for my wardrobe was extensive; and glancing in the
mirror, I was satisfied of my ability to fan the flame of his passions
into fury. I then seated myself in the parlor, where a fine fire was
burning: and in a few minutes a hurried knock at the door announced the
arrival of my intended victim. I ran down stairs and admitted him, and
he followed me into the parlor, where he deliberately took off his
overcoat, and then wheeling the sofa in front of the fire, desired me to
sit by him. This I did, with apparent hesitation, telling him there was
nobody in the house, and I wasn't quite sure it was right for me to stay
alone in his company. This information, conveyed with a well assumed
maiden bashfulness, seemed to afford the old rascal the most intense
delight; he threw his arm around me, and kissed me repeatedly, then his
hand began the exploration to which I have alluded. I suffered him to
proceed just far enough to set his passions in a blaze; and then,
breaking from his embrace, I took my seat at the further end of the
sofa, assuring him if he approached me without my permission, I should
scream out. This was agony to him; I saw with delight that he was
beginning to suffer. He begged, entreated, supplicated me to let him
come near me; and at last I consented; upon condition that he should
attempt to take no further liberties. To this he agreed, and seating
himself at my side, but without touching me, he devoured me with lustful
eyes. For some minutes neither of us spoke, but at length he took my
hand, and again passed his arm around my waist. I did not oppose him,
but remained passive and silent. 'Dear girl,' he whispered, pressing me
close to him--'why need you be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of
love? Consider, I am your minister, and cannot sin: it will therefore be
no sin for you to favor me.'
'Oh, sir,' I answered, 'I wish you were a young man--then I could
almost--'
'Angelic creature!' he cried passionately--'true, I am not young, but
Love never grows old--no, no, no! Consent to be mine, sweet delicious
girl, and--'
'Ah, sir!' I murmured--'you tempt me sorely--I am but a weak giddy
young creature; do not ask me to do wrong, for I fear that I may yield,
and how very, very wicked that would be!'
'The reverend gentleman covered my cheeks and lips with hot kisses, as
he said--'Wicked--no! Heaven has given us passions, and we must gratify
them. Look at David--look at Solomon--both good men;--they enjoyed the
delights of love, and are now saints in Heaven, and why may not we do
the same? Why, my dear, it is the special privilege of the ministry
to--'
'Ruin us young girls, sir?' I rejoined, smiling archly. 'Ah, you have
set my heart in a strange flutter! I feel almost inclined--if you are
sure it is not wicked--very sure--then I--'
'You are mine!' he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, with frenzied triumph
gleaming in his eyes. I never saw anybody look so fearful as he did
then; his form quivered with intense excitement--his features appeared
as if convulsed--his eyes, almost starting from their sockets, were
blood shot and fiery. I trembled, lest in the madness of his passions,
he might forcibly overcome me. He anticipated no resistance, imagining
that he had an easy prey; but, at that very instant when he thought he
was about to intoxicate his vile soul with the delicious draught of
sensual delight, I spurned him from me as I would have spurned the most
loathsome reptile that crawls amid the foetid horrors of a dungeon
vault.--That was the moment of my triumph; I had led him step by step,
until he felt assured of his ultimate success: I had permitted him to
obtain, as it were, glimpses of a Paradise he was never to enjoy; and at
the very moment he thought to have crossed the golden threshold, to
enter into the blissful and flowery precincts of that Paradise, he was
hurled from the pinnacle of his hopes, and doomed to endure the bitter
pangs of disappointment, and the gnawings of a raging desire, never to
be appeased!
'Thus repulsed, my reverend admirer did not resume his attempt, for my
indignation was aroused, and he saw fierce anger flashing from my eyes.
I solemnly declared, that had he attempted forcibly to accomplish his
purpose, I would have dashed out his brains with the first weapon I
could have laid my hand to!
'Humbled and abashed, he retired to a corner of the room, where he
seated himself with an air of mortified disappointment. Yet still he
kept his eyes upon me; and as I knew that his desires were raging as
violently within him as ever (tho' he dare not approach me,) I devised
the following method of augmenting his passions, and inflicting further
torture upon him:--In my struggle with him, my dress had become somewhat
disarranged and torn; and standing before a large mirror which was
placed over the mantle-piece, I loosened my garments, and while
pretending to examine the injury which had been done to them, I took
especial pains to remove all covering from my neck, shoulders and bosom,
which were uncommonly soft and white, as you, my dear, can testify. The
sight of my naked charms instantly produced the desired effect upon the
minister, who watched my slightest movement with eager scrutiny: he
ceased almost to breathe, but panted--yes, absolutely _panted_--with the
intensity of his passions.--Oh, how my heart swelled with delight at the
agony he was thus forced to endure! Affecting to be unconscious of his
presence, I assumed the most graceful and voluptuous attitudes I could
think of--and he could endure it no longer; for--would you believe
it?--he actually fell upon his knees before me, and groveled at my feet,
entreating me, in a hoarse whisper, to kill him at once and end his
torments, or else yield myself to him!
'My revenge was now accomplished, and I desired no more. I requested him
to arise from his abject posture, and listen to me. Then I told him all
I knew of his hypocrisy and wickedness--how I had become aware of his
criminal intercourse with my mother, which, combined with his vile
conduct and intentions in regard to myself, had induced me to punish him
in the manner I had done, by exciting his passions almost to madness,
and then repulsing him with disdain. I added, maliciously, that my own
passions were warm and ardent, and that my young blood sometimes coursed
thro' my veins with all the heat of sensual desire--and that were a man,
young and handsome, to solicit my favors, I _might possibly yield_, in a
thoughtless moment: but as for _him_, (the minister) sooner than submit
to _his_ embraces, I would permit the vilest negro in existence, to take
me in his arms, and do with me as he pleased.
'All this I told the Rev. Mr. Flanders, and much more; and after
listening in evident misery to my remarks, he took himself from the
house. After this occurrence, I discontinued my attendance at his church
and bible class. When my parents asked me the reason of my
nonattendance, I refused to answer them; and at length they became
enraged at what they termed my obstinacy, and insisted that I should not
fail to attend church on the following Sabbath.--When the Sabbath came,
I made no preparation for going to church; which mother perceiving, she
began to apply the most reproachful and severe language to me. This
irritated me; and without a moment's reflection, I said to her angrily:
'I can well conceive, madam, the reason of your great partiality to the
Rev. Mr. Flanders; your many _private interviews_ with him have
wonderfully impressed you in his favor!'
'Wretch, what do you mean?' stammered my mother in great confusion, and
turning pale and red alternately.
'You know very well what I mean, vile woman!' I cried, enraged beyond
all power of restraining my speech, and perfectly reckless of the
consequences of what I was saying. 'I was a witness of your infamous
adultery with the hypocritical parson, and--'
'As I uttered these words, my mother gave a piercing scream, and flew at
me with the fury of a tigress. She beat me cruelly, tore my hair and
clothes, and being a large and powerful woman, I verily believe she
would have killed me, had not my father, hearing the noise, rushed into
the room, and rescued me from her grasp. He demanded an explanation of
this extraordinary scene, and, in spite of the threatening looks and
fierce denial of my mother, I told him all. He staggered and almost fell
to the floor, when I thus boldly accused her of the crime of adultery;
clinging to a chair for support, he faintly ejaculated--'My God, can
this be true?'
'It is false--I call Heaven to witness, it is false!' exclaimed my
wretched and guilty mother--then, overcome by the terrors of the
situation, she sank insensible upon the carpet. My father summoned a
servant to her assistance; and then bade me follow him into another
room. Carefully closing the doors, he turned to me with a stern aspect,
and said, with much severity of tone and manner:
'Girl, you have made a serious charge against your mother; you have
impugned her chastity and her honor. Adultery is the most flagrant crime
that can stain the holy institution of marriage. If I believed your
mother guilty of it, I would cast her off forever!'
'I laughed scornfully as he said this, whereupon he angrily demanded the
cause of my ill-timed mirth; and as I detested his hypocrisy, I boldly
told him that it ill became _him_ to preach on the enormity of the crime
of adultery, after having been guilty of that very offence with his
kitchen wench! He turned deadly pale at this unexpected retort, and
stammered out--'Then you know all--denial is useless.' I told him how I
had witnessed the affair in the kitchen, and reproached him bitterly for
the infamous conduct. He admitted the justness of my rebuke, and when I
informed him that Mr. Flanders had attempted to debauch me, he foamed
with rage, and loaded the reverend libertine with epithets which were
decidedly uncomplimentary. Still, he doubted the story of my mother's
crime--he could not believe _her_ to be guilty of such baseness; but he
assured me that he should satisfy himself of her innocence or guilt,
then left me, after having made me promise not to expose him in
reference to his affair with the servant girl in the kitchen.
'Upon leaving me, my father immediately sought an interview with my
mother, who by this time had recovered from her swoon. She was in her
chamber; but as I was naturally anxious to know what might pass between
my parents, under such unusual circumstances, I stationed myself at the
door of the room, as soon as my father had entered, and heard distinctly
all that was said.'
CHAPTER III
_Domestic Troubles--A Scene, and a Compromise--an Escape--various
matters amative, explanatory and miscellaneous, in the Tale of the
Courtezan._
'Well, madam,' said my father, in a cold, severe tone--'this is truly a
strange and serious accusation which our daughter has brought against
you. The crime of adultery, and with a Christian minister!'
'Surely,' rejoined my mother, sobbing--'you will not believe the
assertions of that young hussy. I am innocent--indeed, indeed I am.'
'I am inclined to believe that you _are_ innocent, and yet I never shall
rest perfectly satisfied until you _prove_ yourself guiltless in this
matter,' rejoined my father, speaking in a kinder tone. 'Now listen to
me,' he continued. 'I have thought of a plan by which to put your
virtue, and the purity of our pastor, to the test. I shall invite the
reverend gentleman to dinner this afternoon, after divine service; and
when we have dined, you shall retire with him to this room, for private
prayer. You shall go first, and in a few minutes he shall follow you;
and I shall take care that no secret communication is held between you,
in the way of whispering or warnings of any kind, whether by word or
sign. I will contrive means to watch you narrowly, when you are with him
in the chamber; and I caution you to beware of giving him the slightest
hint to be on his guard, for that would be a conclusive evidence of your
guilt. He will of course conduct himself as usual, not knowing that he
is watched. If you are innocent, he will pray or converse with you in a
Christian and proper manner; but if you ever _have_ had criminal
intercourse with him, he will, in all human probability, indicate the
same in his language and actions. This is most plain; and I trust that
the result will clear you of all suspicion.'
'My mother knew it would be useless to remonstrate, for my father was
unchangeable, when once he had made up his mind to anything. She
therefore was obliged to submit. Accordingly, Mr. Flanders dined with us
that day: once, during the meal, happening to look into his face, I saw
that he was gazing at me intently, and I was startled by the expression
of his countenance: for that expression was one of the deadliest hate.
It was but for an instant, and then he turned away his eyes; yet I still
remember that look of bitter hatred. As soon as dinner was over, my
mother withdrew, and a few minutes afterwards my father said to the
minister:
'Brother Flanders, I am going out for a short walk, to call upon a
friend; meantime, I doubt not that Mrs. ---- will be happy to hold
sisterly and Christian communion with you. You will find her in her
chamber.'
'It is very pleasant, my brother,' responded the other--'to hold private
and holy communion with our fellow seekers after divine truth. These
family visits I regard as the priceless privilege of the pastor; by them
the bond of love which unites him to his flock, is more strongly
cemented. I will go to my sister and we will pray and converse
together.'
'Saying this, Mr. Flanders arose and left the room; he had scarcely time
to ascend the stairs and enter my mother's chamber, when my father
quickly and noiselessly followed him, and entered an apartment
adjoining. He had previously made a small hole in the wall, and to this
hole he applied his eye. So rapid had been his movements, that the
minister had just closed the door, when he was at his post of
observation; so that it was rendered utterly impossible for my mother to
whisper a word or make a sign, to caution her paramour against
committing both her and himself. I lost no time in taking up my position
at the chamber door, and availed myself of the keyhole as a convenient
channel for both seeing and hearing. I saw that my mother was very pale
and seemed ill at ease, and I did not wonder at it, for her position was
an extremely painful and embarrassing one. She well knew that my
father's eye was upon her, watching her slightest movement; she knew,
also, that the minister was utterly unaware of my father's _espionage_,
and she had good reason to fear that the reverend libertine would, as
usual, begin the interview by amorous demonstrations. Oh, how she must
have longed to put him on his guard, and thereby save both her honor and
her reputation!--But she dare not.
'The minister seated himself near my unhappy mother, and opened the
conversation as follows:
'Well, my dear Mrs. ----, I am sorry to inform you that I have tidings
of an unpleasant nature to communicate to you. _We are discovered!_'
'These fatal words were uttered in a low whisper; but yet I doubt not
that my father had heard them. I could see that my mother trembled
violently--yet she spoke not a syllable.
'Yes,' continued the minister, all unconscious of the disclosure he was
making to my father--'Your daughter knows all. She suspected, it seems,
the real object of our last interview, when, you recollect, we indulged
in a little amative dalliance.--On New Year's evening, during your
absence, I called here and saw your daughter, when she reproached me for
having debauched you, stating in what manner she had seen the whole
affair. Since then, I have had no opportunity of informing you that she
knew our intimacy.'
'Still my mother uttered not a single word!'
'This girl,' continued the minister,'must be made to hold her tongue,
somehow or other: it would be dreadful to have it reach your husband's
ears. But why are you so taciturn to-day, my dear? Come, let us enjoy
the present, and dismiss all fear for the future. But first we must make
sure that there are no listeners _this_ time,' and he approached the
door.
'I retreated precipitately, and slipped into another room, while he
opened the chamber; seeing no-one on the outside, he closed it again,
and locked it. I instantly resumed my station; and I saw the minister
approach my mother, (who appeared spell-bound,) and clasp her in his
arms. He was about to proceed to the usual extreme of his criminality
when my father uttered an expression of rage; I instantly ran into the
room which had before served me as a hiding place, and in a moment more
my father was at the door of my mother's chamber, demanding admission.
After a short delay, the door was opened; and then a scene ensued which
defies my powers of description.
''Tis needless to dwell upon the particulars of what followed. My father
raved, the pastor entreated, and my mother wept. But after an hour or
so, the tempest subsided; the parties arriving at the reasonable
conclusion, that what was done could not be undone. Finally it was
arranged that Mr. Flanders should pay my father a considerable sum of
money, upon condition that the affair be hushed up.--My mother was
promised forgiveness for her fault--and as I was the only person likely
to divulge the matter, it was agreed that I should be placed under
restraint, and not suffered to leave the house, until such time as I
should solemnly swear never to reveal the secret of the
adultery.--Accordingly, for one month I remained a close prisoner in the
house, and at the end of that period, not feeling inclined to give the
required pledge of secrecy, I determined to effect my escape, and leave
my parents forever.--The thought of parting from them failed to produce
the least impression of sadness upon my mind, for from the moment I had
discovered the secret of their guilty intrigues, all love and respect
for them had ceased. I knew it would be no easy matter for me to depart
from the house unperceived, for the servant wench, Janet, was a spy upon
my actions; but one evening I contrived to elude her observation, and
slipping out of the door, walked rapidly away. What was to become of me,
I knew not, nor cared, in my joy at having escaped from such an abode of
hypocrisy as my parents' house--for of all the vices which can disgrace
humanity, I regard _hypocrisy_ as the most detestable.
'Fortunately, I had several dollars in my possession; and I had no
difficulty in procuring a boarding house. And now as my story must be
getting tedious by its length, I will bring it to a close in as few
words as possible. I supported myself for some time by the labor of my
needle; but as this occupation afforded me only a slight maintenance,
and proved to be injurious to my health, I abandoned it, and sought some
other employment. It was about that time that I became acquainted with a
young man named Frederick Archer, whose manners and appearance
interested me exceedingly, and I observed with pleasure that he regarded
me with admiration. Our acquaintance soon ripened into intimacy; we
often went to places of amusement together, and he was very liberal in
his expenditures for my entertainment. He was always perfectly
respectful in his conduct towards me, never venturing upon any undue
familiarity, and quite correct in his language. One evening I
accompanied him to the Bowery Theatre, and after the play he proposed
that we should repair to a neighboring 'Ladies Oyster Saloon,' and
partake of refreshments. We accordingly entered a very fashionable
place, and seated ourselves in a small room, just large enough to
contain a table and sofa.--The oysters were brought, and also a bottle
of champagne; and then I noticed that my companion very carefully locked
the door of the room. This done, he threw his arms around me, and kissed
me. Surprised at this liberty, which he had never attempted before, I
scolded him a little for his rudeness; and he promised not to offend
again. We then ate our oysters, and he persuaded me to drink some of the
wine. Whether it contained a stimulant powder, or because I had never
drank any before, I know not; but no sooner had I swallowed a glass of
the sparkling liquid, than a strange dizzy sensation pervaded me--not a
disagreeable feeling, by any means, but rather a delightful one. It
seemed to heat my blood, and to a most extraordinary degree. Rising, I
complained of being slightly unwell, and requested Frederick to conduct
me out of the place immediately. Alas, sir, why need I dwell upon what
followed? Frederick's conquest was an honest one; I suffered him to do
with me as he pleased, and he soon initiated me into the voluptuous
mysteries of Venus. I confess, I rather sought than avoided this
consummation--for my passions were in a tumult, which could only be
appeased by full unrestrained gratification.
'From that night my secret frailties with Frederick became frequent. I
granted him all the favors he asked; yet I earnestly entreated him to
marry me. This he consented to do, and we were accordingly united in the
bonds of wedlock. My husband immediately hired these furnished
apartments, which I at present occupy; and then he developed a trait in
his character, which proved him a villain of the deepest dye. How he
made a livelihood, had always to me been a profound mystery; and as he
avoided the subject, I never questioned him. But how he intended to
live, after our marriage, I soon became painfully aware. _He resolved
that I should support him in idleness, by becoming a common prostitute._
When he made this debasing and inhuman proposition to me, I rejected it
with the indignation it merited; whereupon he very coolly informed me,
that unless I complied, he should abandon me to my fate, and proclaim to
the world that I was a harlot before he married me. Finding me still
obstinate, he drew a bowie knife, and swore a terrible oath, that
unless I would do as he wished, he would kill me! Terrified for my life,
I gave the required promise; but he made me swear upon the Bible to do
as he wished. He set a woman in the house to watch me during the day,
and prevent my escaping, and in the evening he returned, accompanied by
an old gentleman of respectable appearance, whom he introduced to me as
Mr. Rogers. This person surveyed me with an impertinent stare, and
complimented me on my beauty; in a few minutes, Frederick arose and said
to me--'Maria, I am going out for a little while, and in the meantime
you must do your best to entertain Mr. Rogers.' He then whispered in my
ear--'Let him do as he will with you, for he has paid me a good price;
now don't refuse him, or be in the least degree prudish, or by G---- it
shall be worse for you!' Scarcely had he taken his departure, when the
old wretch, who had _purchased_ me, clasped me in his palsied arms, and
prepared to debauch me; in reply to my entreaties to desist, and my
appeals to his generosity, he only shook his head, and said--'No, no,
young lady, I have given fifty dollars for you, and you are mine!' The
old brute had neither shame, nor pity, nor honor in his breast; he
forced me to comply with his base wishes, and a life of prostitution was
for the first time opened to me.
'After this event, I attempted no further opposition to my husband's
infamous scheme of prostituting myself for his support. Almost nightly,
he brought home with him some _friend_ of his, who had previously paid
him for the use of my person. The money he gains in this way he expends
in gambling and dissipation; allowing me scarcely anything for the
common necessaries of life, and I am in consequence obliged to solicit
private aid from such gentlemen as are disposed to enjoy my favors. My
husband rarely sleeps at home, and I see but very little of him; this is
a source of no regret to me, for I have ceased to feel the slightest
regard for him.
'And now, sir, you have heard the particulars of my history. You will do
me the justice to believe that I have been reduced to my present
unfortunate position, more through the influence of circumstances, than
on account of any natural depravity.--True, I am now what is termed a
woman of the town--but still I am not entirely destitute of delicacy or
refinement of feeling. I am an admirer of it in others. My parents I
have never seen, since the day I quitted their house; but I have heard
that my mother has since given birth to a fine boy, the very image of
the minister; and also that Jane, my father's paramour, has become the
mother of a child bearing an astonishing resemblance to the old
gentleman himself!
'If you ask me why I do not escape from my husband, and abandon my
present course of living, I would remind you that, as society is
constituted, I never can regain a respectable standing in the eyes of
the world. No, my course is marked out, and I must adhere to it. I am
not happy, neither am I completely miserable; for sometimes I have my
moments of enjoyment. When I meet a gentlemanly and intelligent
companion, like yourself, disposed to sympathize with the misfortunes of
a poor and friendless girl, I am enabled to bear up under my hard lot
with something like cheerfulness and hope.'
Thus ended the Courtezan's Tale; and as it was now daylight, Frank
Sydney arose and prepared for his departure, assuring her that he would
endeavor to benefit her in some way, and generously presenting her with
a liberal sum of money, for which she seemed truly grateful. He then
bade her farewell, promising to call and see her again ere long.
CHAPTER IV
_A Fashionable Lady--the Lovers--the Negro Paramour--astounding
developments of Crime in High Life--the Accouchement--Infanticide--the
Marriage--a dark suspicion._
The scene changes to that superb avenue of fashion, Broadway; the time,
eleven o'clock in the morning, and the place, one of the noblest
mansions which adorn that aristocratic section of the city.
Miss Julia Fairfield was seated in a luxurious apartment, lounging over
a late breakfast, and listlessly glancing over the morning newspapers.
This young lady was about eighteen years of age, a beauty, an heiress,
and, per consequence, a _belle_. She was a brunette; her beauty was of a
warm, majestic, voluptuous character; her eyes beamed with the fire of
passion, and her features were full of expression and sentiment. Her
attire was elegant, tasteful, and unique, consisting of a loose, flowing
robe of white satin, trimmed with costliest lace; her hair was
beautifully arranged in the best Parisian style; and her tiny feet were
encased in gold-embroidered slippers. The peculiarity of her dress
concealed the outlines of her form; yet the garment being made very low
in the shoulders, the upper portions of a magnificently full bust were
visible.
For some time she continued to sip her chocolate and read in silence;
but soon she exclaimed, in a rich, melodious voice--
'Very well, indeed!--and so those odious editors have given the full
particulars of the great ball last night, and have complimented me
highly on my grace and beauty! Ah, I never could have ventured there in
any other costume than the one I wore. These loose dresses are capital
things--but my situation becomes more and more embarrassing every day.'
At this moment a domestic announced Mr. Francis Sydney, and the
announcement was followed by the entrance of that gentleman.
'My dear Julia,' said Frank, seating himself--'you will pardon my
intrusion at this unfashionable hour, but I was anxious to learn the
state of your health, after the fatigues of last night's assembly.'
'No apology is necessary, my dear Frank,' replied the lady, with a
bewitching smile, at the same time giving him her hand, which he
tenderly raised to his lips. 'I am in excellent health this morning,
although dreadfully bored with _ennui_, which I trust will be dispelled
by the enlivening influence of your presence.'
'What happiness do I derive from the reflection, my sweet girl,' said
Frank, drawing his chair closer to hers, 'that, in one short month, I
shall call you mine! Yes, we shall then stand before the bridal altar,
and I shall have the felicity of wedding the loveliest, most
accomplished, and purest of her sex!'
'Ah, Francis,' sighed the lady--'how joyfully will I then bestow upon
you the gift of this hand!--my heart you have already.'
These words were said with so much tenderness, and with such a charming
air of affectionate modesty, that the young man caught her to his breast
and covered her lips with kisses. Struggling from his ardent embrace,
Julia said to him, in a tone of reproach,--
'Francis, this is the first time you ever forgot the respect due to me
as a lady; but do not repeat the offense, or you will diminish my
friendship for you--perhaps, my love also.--When we are _married_,' she
added, blushing--'my person will be wholly yours--but not till then.'
'Pardon me, dear Julia,' entreated Frank, in a tone of contrition--'I
will not offend again.'
The lady held out her hand, and smiled her forgiveness.
'Now that we are good friends again,' said she--'I will order some
refreshments.' She rang a silver bell, and gave the necessary order to a
servant, and in a few minutes, cake and wine were brought in by a black
waiter, clad in rich livery. The complexion of this man was intensely
dark, yet his features were good and regular and his figure tall and
well-formed. In his demeanor towards his mistress and her guest, he was
respectful in the extreme, seldom raising his eyes from the carpet, and
when addressed, speaking in the most servile and humble tone.
After having partaken of the refreshments, and enjoyed half an hour's
conversation, Frank arose and took his leave.
As soon as he had gone, an extraordinary scene took place in that
parlor.
The black waiter, having turned the key within the lock of the door,
approached Miss Fairfield, deliberately threw his arms around her, and
kissed her repeatedly! And how acted the lady--she who had reproved her
affianced husband for a similar liberty--how acted she when thus rudely
and grossly embraced by that black and miscreant menial? Did she not
repulse him with indignant disgust,--did she not scream for assistance,
and have him punished for the insolent outrage?
No; she abandoned her person to his embraces, and returned them! She,
the well-born, the beautiful, the wealthy, the accomplished lady--the
betrothed bride of a young gentleman of honor--the daughter of an
aristocrat--the star of a constellation of fashion--yielding herself to
the arms of a negro servant!
Oh, woman! how like an angel art thou in thy virtue and goodliness! how
like a devil, when thou art fallen from thy high estate!
Yes, that black fellow covers her exquisite neck and shoulders with
lustful kisses! His hands revel amid the glories of her divine and
voluptuous bosom; and his lips wander from her rosy mouth, to the
luxurious beauties of her finely developed bust.
'My beautiful mistress!' said the black, 'how kind in you to grant me
these favors! What can I do to testify my gratitude?'
'Oh Nero,' murmured the lady 'what if our intimacy should be discovered?
yet you are discreet and trustworthy; for from the night I first hinted
my desires to you, and admitted you into my chamber, you have behaved
with prudence and caution. Yet you are aware of my situation; you know
that I am _enciente_ by you; all our precautions have failed to prevent
that result of our amours. I dress myself in such a way as to keep my
condition from observation; no one suspects it. In a month, you know, I
am to be married to Mr. Sydney; but I hope to give birth to the child in
less than a week from the present time, so that, with good care and
nursing, assisted by my naturally robust constitution, I shall recover
my health and strength in sufficient time to enable my marriage to pass
on without suspicion. I will endeavor to adopt such artifices and
precautions as will completely deceive my husband, and he will never
know that I am otherwise than he now supposes me. After my marriage, we
can continue our intrigues as before, provided we are extremely
cautious. Ah, my handsome African, how dearly I love you.'
The guilty and depraved woman sank back upon a sofa, and her paramour
clasped her in his arms.
Let no one say that our narrative is becoming too improbable for belief,
that the scenes which we depict find no parallel in real life. Those who
are disposed to be skeptical with reference to such scenes as the
foregoing had better throw this volume aside; for crimes of a much
deeper dye, than any yet described, will be brought forward in this
tale: crimes that are daily perpetrated, but which are seldom discovered
or suspected. We have undertaken a difficult and painful task, and we
shall accomplish it; unrestrained by a false delicacy, we shall drag
forth from the dark and mysterious labyrinths of great cities, the
hidden iniquities which taint the moral atmosphere, and assimilate human
nature to the brute creation.
Five days after the occurrences just described, in the middle of the
afternoon, Miss Julia Fairfield rode out in her carriage alone, driven
by the black, Nero. The vehicle stopped before a house of respectable
exterior, in Washington street, and the young lady was assisted to
alight; entering the house, she was received by an elderly female, who
immediately conducted her to a private room, which contained a bed and
furniture of a neat but unostentatious description. The carriage drove
away, and Julia remained several hours in the house. At about nine
o'clock in the evening, the carriage returned, and she was assisted to
enter, being apparently in a very feeble and unwell condition. She
reached her own dwelling, and for over a week remained in her chamber,
under plea of severe indisposition. When at length she made her
appearance, she looked extremely pale, and somewhat emaciated; yet, for
the first time in several months, she wore a tight-fitting dress, and
her father, unconscious of her crimes, good-naturedly expressed his joy
at seeing her 'once more dressed like a Christian lady, and not in the
loose and slatternly robes she had so long persisted in wearing.'
The next morning after her visits to the house on Washington Street, the
newspapers contained a notice of the discovery of the body of a newborn
mulatto child, in the water off the Bowery. That child was the offspring
of Miss Julia and the black; it had been strangled, and its body thrown
into the water.
About three weeks after her secret accouchement, Julia became the wife
of Frank Sydney. An elegant establishment had been prepared for the
young couple, in Broadway. Here they repaired after the performance of
the marriage ceremony; and now being for the first time alone with his
beautiful bride, Frank embraced her with passionate ardor, and was not
repulsed.
Ah, happy bridegroom, how little thou knowest the truth! Thou dost not
suspect that the lovely woman at thy side, dressed in spotless white,
and radiant with smiles--thou dost little think that she, whom thou hast
taken to be thy wedded wife, comes to thy arms and nuptial bed, not a
pure and stainless virgin, but a wretch whose soul is polluted and whose
body is unchaste, by vile intimacy with a negro menial!
The hour waxes late, and the impatient husband conducts his fair bride
to the nuptial chamber--Love's hallowed sanctuary.
Two hours afterwards, that husband was pacing a parlor back and forth,
with uneven strides, his whole appearance indicative of mental
agony.--Pausing, he exclaimed--
'My God, what terrible suspicions cross my mind! I imagined Julia to be
an angel of purity and virtue yet now I doubt her! Oh, horrible,
horrible! But may not my doubts be facts without any foundation? I will
tomorrow consult a physician on the subject. Pray heaven my suspicions
may prove to be utterly groundless!'
He was startled by the sound of an approaching foot-step; the door
opened, and his wife entered, bearing a light. How seductive she looked,
in her white night-dress! how tenderly she caressed him, as with
affectionate concern she inquired if he were unwell.
'Dearest Frank,' she said, 'I had fallen into the most delicious slumber
I have ever enjoyed;--doubly delicious, because my dreams were of you.
Awaking suddenly, I missed you from my arms, and hastened hither to find
you. What is the matter, love?'
'Nothing, Julia,' answered the husband; 'I had a slight head-ache, but
it is over now. Return to your chamber, and I will follow you in a few
moments.'
She obeyed, and Frank was alone. 'Either that woman is as chaste as
Diana,' he said to himself, 'or she is a consummate wretch and
hypocrite. But let her not be too hastily condemned. My friend, Dr.
Palmer, shall give me his opinion, and if he thinks that she could have
been _as she was_, and still be chaste, then I will discard my
suspicions; but if, on the contrary, the doctor deems such a condition
to be incompatible with chastity, then will I cast her off forever. I
cannot endure this fearful state of suspense, would that it were
morning!'
Morning came at last, and Sydney sought the residence of Dr. Palmer,
with whom he held a long and private consultation. The result of this
interview was not very satisfactory to the husband, for the doctor's
concluding remarks were as follows:--
'My dear sir, it is impossible for any physician, however great may be
his professional knowledge and experience, to decide with positive
certainty upon such a matter. Nature has many freaks; the condition of
your lady _might_ be natural--yet pardon me if, in my own private
opinion, I doubt its being so! I have heard of such cases, where the
chastity of the lady was undoubted; yet such cases are exceedingly rare.
Your position, Mr. Sydney, is a peculiarly embarrassing and delicate
one. I cannot counsel you as a physician; yet, as _a friend_, permit me
to advise you to refrain from acting hastily in this matter. Your wife
may be innocent; you should consider her so, until you have ocular or
other positive evidence of her guilt. Meanwhile, let her not know your
suspicions, but watch her narrowly; if she were frail before marriage,
she needs but the opportunity to be inconstant afterwards. I have
attended upon the lady several times, during slight illness, in my
capacity as a physician, and I have had the opportunity to observe that
she is of an uncommonly ardent and voluptuous temperament. Phrenology
confirms this; for her amative developments are singularly
prominent.--Candidly, her physical conformation strongly impresses me
with the belief, that moral principle will scarcely restrain her from
unlawful indulgence, when prompted by inclination.'
'The devil!' muttered Frank, as he retraced his steps home--'I am about
as wise as ever! A pretty opinion Dr. Palmer expresses of her, truly!
Well, she shall have the benefit of a doubt, and I shall try to look
upon her as an innocent woman, until I detect her in an act of guilt.
Meanwhile, she shall be watched narrowly and constantly.'
Frank's suspicions with reference to his newly-made wife, did not
prevent his carrying out the plan of benevolence which he formed in the
first chapter of this narrative. Adopting various disguises, he would
penetrate into the most obscure and dangerous quarters of the city, at
all hours of the day and night. The details of many of these secret
adventures will be hereafter related.
CHAPTER V
_A Thieves' Crib on the Five Points--Bloody Mike--Ragged Pete--the Young
Thief, and the stolen Letters--The Stranger--a general Turn-out-Peeling
a Lodger--the 'Forty-Foot Cave.'_
It was a dreary winter's night, cold, dark, and stormy. The hour was
midnight; and the place, the '_Five Points_.'
The narrow and crooked streets which twine serpent-like around that
dreaded plague spot of the city were deserted; but from many a dirty
window, and through many a red, dingy curtain, streamed forth into the
darkness rages of ruddy light, while the sounds of the violin, and the
noise of Bacchanalian orgies, betokened that the squalid and vicious
population of that vile region were still awake.
In the low and dirty tap-room of a thieves' _crib_ in Cross street, are
assembled about a dozen persons. The apartment is twenty feet square,
and is warmed by a small stove, which is red-hot; a roughly constructed
bar, two or three benches, and a table constitute all the furniture.
Behind the bar stands the landlord, a great, bull-necked Irishman, with
red hair, and ferocious countenance, the proprietor of the elegant
appropriate appellation of 'Bloody Mike.' Upon the table are stretched
two men, one richly dressed, and the other in rags--both sound asleep.
Beneath the table lay a wretched-looking white prostitute, and a
filthy-looking negro--also asleep. The remainder of the interesting
party are seated around the stove, and sustain the following dialogue:
'Well, blow me tight,' said one, 'if ever I seed such times as these
afore! Why, a feller can't steal enough to pay for his rum and tobacco.
I haven't made a cent these three days. D----n me if I ain't half a mind
to knock it off and go to work!'
The speaker was a young man, not over one and twenty years of age; yet
he was a most wretched and villainous looking fellow. His hair was wild
and uncombed; his features bloated and covered with ulcers; his attire
miserable and ragged in the extreme; and sundry sudden twitchings of his
limbs, as well as frequent violent scratchings of the same, indicated
that he was overrun with vermin. This man, whose indolence had made him
a common loafer, had become a petty thief; he would lurk around
backyards and steal any article he could lay his hands to--an axe, a
shovel, or a garment off a line.
'What you say is true enough, Ragged Pete,' said a boy of about
fourteen, quite good looking, and dressed with comparative neatness. 'A
_Crossman_ has to look sharp now-a-days to make a _boodle_. And he often
gets deceived when he thinks he has made a raise. Why the other day I
cut a rich looking young lady's reticule from her arm in Broadway and
got clear off with it; but upon examining my prize, I found it contained
nothing but a handkerchief and some letters. The _wipe_ I kept for my
own use; as for the letters, here they are--they are not worth a
tinker's d----n, for they are all about love.'
As he spoke, he carelessly threw upon the table several letters, which
were taken up and examined by Ragged Pete, who being requested by others
to read aloud, complied, and opening one, read as follows:--
'_Dear Mistress_,--Since your marriage, I have not enjoyed any
of those delicious private _tete-a-tetes_ with you, which
formerly afforded us both so much pleasure. Send me word when
I can find you alone, and I will fly to your arms.
'Your ever faithful Nero'
'By Jesus!' exclaimed Bloody Mike--'it's a mighty quare name me
gentleman signs himself, any how. And it's making love to another man's
wife he'd be, blackguard! Devil the much I blame him for that same, if
the lady's continted!'
'Here,' said Ragged Pete, taking up another letter, 'is one that's
sealed and directed, and ain't been broke open yet. Let's see what it
says.'
Breaking the seal, he read aloud the contents, thus:--
'_Dear Nero_,--I am dying to see you, but my husband is with
me so constantly that 'tis next to impossible. He is kind and
attentive to me, but oh! how infinitely I prefer _you to him_!
I do not think that he has ever suspected that before my
marriage, I * * * _Fortunately for us_, Mr. Sydney has lately
been in the habit of absenting himself from home evenings,
often staying out very late. Where he goes I care not, tho' I
suspect he is engaged in some intrigue of his own; and if so,
all the better for us, my dear Nero.
'Thus I arrange matters; when he has gone, and I have reason
to think he will not soon return, a light will be placed in my
chamber window, which is on the extreme left of the building,
in the third story. Without this signal, do not venture into
the house. If all is favourable my maid, Susan (who is in our
secret,) will admit you by the back gate, when you knock
thrice. Trusting that we may meet soon, I remain, dear Nero,
'Your loving and faithful JULIA.'
'Hell and furies!' exclaimed one of the company, starting from his seat,
and seizing the letter; he ran his eye hastily over it, and with a groan
of anguish, sank back upon the bench.
The person who manifested this violent emotion, was a young man, dressed
in a mean and tattered garb, his face begrimed corresponding with that
of the motley crew by which he was surrounded. He was a perfect stranger
to the others present, and had not participated in their previous
conversation, nor been personally addressed by any of them.
Bloody Mike, the landlord, deeming this a fit opportunity for the
exercise of his authority, growled out, in a ferocious tone--
'And who the devil may ye be, that makes such a bobbaboo about a letter
that a _kinchen_ stales from a lady's work bag? Spake, ye blasted
scoundrel; or wid my first, (and it's no small one) I'll let daylight
thro' yer skull! And be what right do ye snatch the letter from Ragged
Pete? Answer me _that_ ye devil's pup!'
All present regarded the formidable Irishman with awe, excepting the
stranger, who gazed at him in contemptuous silence. This enraged the
landlord still more, and he cried out--
'Bad luck to ye, who are ye, at all at all? Ye're a stranger to all of
us--ye haven't spint a pinney for the good of the house, for all ye've
been toasting yer shins furnist the fire for two hours or more! Who
knows but ye're a police spy, an officer in disguise, or--'
'Oh, _slash yer gammon_, Bloody Mike,' exclaimed the stranger, speaking
with a coarse, vulgar accent--'I know you well enough, tho' you don't
remember _me_. Police spy, hey? Why, I've just come out of _quod_
myself, d'y see--and I've got _tin_ enough to stand the rum for the
whole party. So call up, fellers--what'll ye all have to drink?'
It is impossible to describe the effect of these words on everybody
present. Bloody Mike swore that the stranger was a 'rare gentleman', and
asked his pardon; Ragged Pete grasped his hand in a transport of
friendship; the young thief declared he was 'one of the b'hoys from
home;' the negro and the prostitute crawled from under the table, and
thanked him with hoarse and drunken voices; the vagabond and
well-dressed man on the table, both rolled off, and 'called on.' And the
stranger threw upon the counter a handful of silver, and bade them
'drink it up.'
Such a scene followed! Half pints of 'blue ruin' were dispensed to the
thirsty throng, and in a short time all, with two or three exceptions,
were extremely drunk. The negro and the prostitute resumed their places
under the table; the well-dressed man and his ragged companion stretched
themselves upon their former hard couch; and Ragged Pete ensconced
himself in the fireplace, with his head buried in the ashes and his
heels up the chimney, in which comfortable position he vainly essay'd to
sing a sentimental song, wherein he [_illegible word_] to deplore the
loss of his 'own true love.' (The only sober persons were the stranger,
the young thief and the Irish landlord.) The two former of these, seated
in one corner, conversed together in low whispers.
'See here, young feller,' said the stranger--'I've taken a fancy to them
two letters, and if you'll let me keep 'em, here's a dollar for you.'
The boy readily agreed, and the other continued:
'I say, there's a rum set o' coves in this here crib, ain't there? Who
is that well-dressed chap on the table?'
'That,' said the boy, 'is a thief who lately made a large haul, since
which time he has been cutting a tremendous swell--but he spent the
whole thousand dollars in two or three weeks, and his fine clothes is
all that remains. In less than a week he will look as bad as Ragged
Pete.'
'And what kind of a cove is the landlord, Bloody Mike?' asked the
stranger.
'He is the best friend a fellow has in the world, as long as his money
lasts,' replied the boy. 'The moment that is gone, he don't know you.
Now you'll see in a few moments how he'll clear everybody out of the
house except such as he thinks has money. And, 'twixt you and me, he is
the d----dst scoundrel out of jail, and would as lief kill a man as
not.'
At this moment, Bloody Mike came from behind the counter and took a
general survey of the whole party. At length his eye settled upon the
form of Ragged Pete, in the fireplace; muttering something about
'pinnyless loafers,' he seized that individual by the heels, and
dragging him to the door, opened it, and thrust the poor wretch forth
into the deep snow and pelting storm! All the rest with the exception of
the stranger, the boy thief, and the well dressed man, shared the same
fate. But Mike was not done yet; he swore that the well dressed
personage should pay for his lodgings, and deliberately he stripped the
man of his coat, vest and boots, after which summary proceeding he
ejected him from the house, as he had the others.
'Suppose we take up our quarters in some other 'crib',' whispered the
boy to the stranger; the latter assented, and they both arose to depart.
The landlord invited them to remain and partake of 'something hot,' but
they declined this hospitality, and sallied forth into the street.
It was now about two o'clock, and snowing heavily. The stranger, placing
himself under the guidance of the boy, followed him around into Orange
street. Pausing before a steep cellar, exceedingly narrow, dark and
deep, the young thief whispered--
'This is the _forty-foot cave_--the entrance into the _dark vaults_.[1]
You have been down, I suppose?'
The stranger answered in the negative.
'Then come on, if you are not afraid,' said the boy--and followed by his
companion, he cautiously began to descend into the dark and dreary
chasm.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: It is a fact by no means generally known that there was,
beneath the section of New York called the 'Five Points,' a vast
subterranean cavern, known as the _dark vaults_. There mysterious
passages run in many directions, for a great distance, far beneath the
foundations of the houses. Some have supposed that the place was
excavated in time of war, for the secretion of ammunition or stores,
while others think it was formerly a deep sewer of the city. In these
dark labyrinths _daylight_ never _shone_: an eternal night prevailed.
Yet it swarmed with human beings, who passed their lives amid its
unwholesome damps and gloomy horrors. It served as a refuge for
monstrous crimes and loathsome wretchedness. The Police rarely ventured
to explore its secret mysteries--for Death lurked in its dark passages
and hidden recesses. The horrors of this awful place have never
heretofore been thoroughly revealed; and now the author of this work
will, for the first time, drag forth the ghastly inmates of this
charnel-house into the clear light of day.]
CHAPTER VI
_The Dark Vaults--Scenes of Appalling Horror--The Dead Man--The
Catechism--arrangements for a Burglary._
Down, down, they went, far into the bowels of the earth; groping their
way in darkness, and often hazarding their necks by stumbling upon the
steep and slippery steps. At length the bottom of the 'forty-foot cave'
was reached; and the boy grasping the hand of his follower, conducted
him thro' a long and circuitous passage. Intense darkness and profound
silence reigned; but after traversing this passage for a considerable
distance, lights began to illumine the dreary path, and that indistinct
hum which proceeds from numerous inhabitants, became audible. Soon the
two explorers emerged into a large open space, having the appearance of
a vast vault, arched overhead with rough black masonry, which was
supported by huge pillars of brick and stone. Encircling this mighty
_tomb_, as it might be properly called, were numerous small hovels, or
rather _caves_, dug into the earth; and these holes were swarming with
human beings.
Here was a _subterranean village_! Myriads of men and women dwelt in
this awful place, where the sun never shone; here they festered with
corruption, and died of starvation and wretchedness--those who were
poor; and here also the fugitive murderer, the branded outlaw, the
hunted thief, and the successful robber, laden with his booty, found a
safe asylum, where justice _dare not_ follow them--here they gloried in
the remembrance of past crimes, and anticipated future enormities. Men
had no secrets here;--for no treachery could place them within the grasp
of the law, and every one spoke openly and boldly of his long-hidden
deeds of villainy and outrage.
'Come', said the boy to the stranger--'let us go the rounds and see
what's going on.'
They drew nigh a large, shelving aperture in the earth, on one side of
the vault, and looking in saw a man, nearly naked; seated upon a heap of
excrement and filthy straw. A fragment of a penny candle was burning
dimly near him, which showed him to be literally daubed from head to
foot with the vilest filth. Before him lay the carcase of some animal
which had died from disease--it was swollen and green with putrefaction;
and oh, horrible! we sicken as we record the loathsome fact--the starved
wretch was ravenously devouring the carrion! Yes, with his finger nails,
long as vultures' claws, he tore out the reeking entrails, and ate them
with the ferocity of the grave-robbing hyena! One of the spectators
spoke to him, but he only growled savagely, and continued his revolting
meal.
'Oh, God!' said the stranger, shuddering--'this is horrible!'
'Pooh!' rejoined the boy--'_that's_ nothing at all to what you will see
if you have the courage and inclination to follow me wherever I shall
lead you, in these vaults.'
In another cavern an awful scene presented itself. It was an Irish
_wake_--a dead body lay upon the table, and the relations and friends of
the deceased were howling their lamentations over it. An awful stench
emanating from the corpse, indicated that the process of decomposition
had already commenced. In one corner, several half-crazed, drunken,
naked wretches were fighting with the ferocity of tigers, and the
mourners soon joining in the fray, a general combat ensued, in the fury
of which, the table on which lay the body was overturned, and the corpse
was crushed beneath the feet of the combatants.
Leaving this appalling scene, the boy and the stranger passed on, until
they stood before a cave which was literally crammed with human beings.
Men and women, boys and girls, young children, negroes, and _hogs_ were
laying indiscriminately upon the ground, in a compact mass. Some were
cursing each other with fierce oaths; and horrible to relate! negroes
were lying with young white girls, and several, unmindful of the
presence of others, were perpetrating the most dreadful enormities.
These beings were vile and loathsome in appearance, beyond all human
conception; every one of them was a mass of rags, filth, disease, and
corruption. As the stranger surveyed the loathsome group, he said to his
guide, with a refinement of speech he had not before assumed--
'Had any one, two hours ago, assured me that such a place as this,
containing such horrible inmates, existed in the very heart of the city,
I would have given him the lie direct! But I see it for myself, and am
forced to believe it.'
'These wretches,' said the boy--'are many of them related to each other.
There are husbands and wives there; mothers and children; brothers and
sisters. Yet they all herd together, you see, without regard to nature
or decency. Why the crime of _incest_ is as common among them as dirt! I
have known a mother and her son--a father and his daughter--a brother
and sister--to be guilty of criminal intimacy! Those wretched children
are many of them the offspring of such unnatural and beastly
connections. In my opinion, those hogs have as good a claim to humanity,
as those brutes in human form!'
'And how came those hogs to form part of the inhabitants of this
infernal place?' asked the stranger.
'You must know,' replied the boy,'that these vaults communicate with the
common street _sewers_ of the city; well, those animals get into the
sewers, to devour the vegetable matter, filth and offal that accumulate
there; and, being unable to get out, they eventually find their way to
these vaults. Here they are killed and eaten by the starving wretches.
And would you believe it?--these people derive almost all their food
from these sewers. They take out the decayed vegetables and other filth,
which they actually eat; and the floating sticks and timber serve them
for fuel. You remember the man we saw devouring the dead animal; well,
he took that carcase from the sewer.'
'And what effect does such loathsome diet produce upon them?' asked the
other.
'Oh,' was the reply--'it makes them insane in a short time; eventually
they lose the faculty of speech, and howl like wild animals. Their
bodies become diseased, their limbs rot, and finally they putrify and
die.'
'And how do they dispose of the dead bodies?' asked the stranger.
'_They throw them into the sewer_,' answered the boy, with indifference.
His listener shuddered.
'Come,' said the young guide--'you have only seen the wretched portion
of the Dark Vaults. You are sick of such miseries, and well you may
be--but we will now pay a visit to a quarter where there are no
sickening sights. We will go to the _Infernal Regions_!'
Saying this, he led the way thro' a long, narrow passage, which was
partially illumined by a bright light at the further end. As they
advanced loud bursts of laughter greeted their ears; and finally they
emerged into a large cavern, brilliantly illuminated by a multitude of
candles, and furnished with a huge round table. Seated around this were
about twenty men, whose appearance denoted them to be the most desperate
and villainous characters which can infest a city. Not any of them were
positively ragged or dirty; on the contrary, some of them were dressed
richly and expensively; but there was no mistaking their true
characters, for villain was written in their faces as plainly as though
the word was branded on their faces with a hot iron.
Seated upon a stool in the centre of the table was a man of frightful
appearance: his long, tangled hair hung over two eyes that gleamed with
savage ferocity; his face was the most awful that can be imagined--long,
lean, cadaverous and livid, it resembled that of a corpse. No stranger
could view it without a shudder; it caused the spectator to recoil with
horror. His form was tall and bony, and he was gifted with prodigious
strength. This man, on account of his corpse-like appearance was known
as 'the Dead Man.' He never went by any other title; and his real name
was unknown.
The stupendous villainy and depravity of this man's character will
appear hereafter. Upon the occasion of his first introduction in this
narrative, he was acting as president of the carousals; he was the first
one to notice the entrance of the boy and the stranger; and addressing
the former, he said--
'How now, _Kinchen_--who have you brought with you? Is the cove _cross_
or _square_--and what does he want in our _ken_?'
'He is a _cross cove_,' answered the boy--'he is just from _quay_; and
wishes to make the acquaintance of the knights of the Round Table.'
'That being the case,' rejoined the Dead Man, 'he is welcome, provided
he has the blunt to pay for the _lush_ all round.'
The stranger, understanding the import of these words, threw upon the
table a handful of money; this generosity instantly raised him high in
the estimation of all present. He was provided with a seat at the table,
and a bumper of brandy was handed him, which he merely tasted, without
drinking.
The boy seated himself at the side of the stranger, and the Dead Man,
addressing a person by the name of the 'Doctor,' requested him to resume
the narration of his story, in which he had been interrupted by the two
newcomers.
The 'Doctor,' a large, dark man, very showily dressed, complied, and
spoke as follows:--
'As I was saying, gentlemen, I had become awfully reduced--not a cent in
my possession, not a friend in the world, and clothed in rags. One
night, half-crazed with hunger, I stationed myself at the Park, having
armed myself with a paving stone, determined to rob the first person
that came along, even if I should be obliged to dash out his
brains.--After a while, a young gentleman approached my lurking place; I
advanced towards him with my missile raised, and he drew a sword from
his cane, prepared to act on the defensive--but when I mentioned that
three days had elapsed since I had taken food, the generous young man,
who might easily have overcome me, weak and reduced as I was--took from
his pocket a fifty dollar bill, and gave it to me. This generous gift
set me on my legs again, and now here am I, a Knight of the Round Table,
with a pocket full of rocks, and good prospects in anticipation. Now,
the only wish of my heart is to do that generous benefactor of mine a
service; and if ever I can do a good action to him, to prove my
gratitude, I shall be a happy fellow indeed.'
'Posh!' said the Dead Man, contemptuously--'don't talk to me of
gratitude--if a man does _me_ a service I hate him for it ever
afterwards. I never rest till I repay him by some act of treachery or
vengeance.'
As the hideous man gave utterance to this abominable sentiment, several
females entered the apartment, one of whom led by the hand a small boy
of five years of age. This woman was the wife of the Dead Man, and the
child was his son.
The little fellow scrambled upon the table, and his father took him upon
his knee, saying to the company--
'Pals, you know the blessed Bible tells us to 'train up a child in the
way he should go;' very good--now you will see how well I have obeyed
the command with this little _kid_. Attend to your catechism, my son.
What is your name?'
'Jack the Prig,' answered the boy without hesitation.
'Who gave you that name?'
'The Jolly Knights of the Round Table.'
'Who made you?' asked the father.
'His Majesty, old Beelzebub!' said the child.
'For what purpose did he make you?'
'To be a bold thief all my life, and die like a man upon the gallows!'
Immense applause followed this answer.
'What is the whole duty of man?'
'To drink, lie, rob, and murder when necessary.'
'What do you think of the Bible?'
'It's all a cursed humbug!'
'What do you think of me--now speak up like a man!'
'You're the d----dest scoundrel that ever went unhung,' replied the boy,
looking up in his father's face and smiling.
The roar of laughter that followed his answer was perfectly deafening,
and was heartily joined in by the Dead Man himself, who had taught the
child the very words--and those words were true as gospel. The Dead Man
knew he was a villain, and gloried in the title. He gave the boy a glass
of brandy to drink, as a reward for his cleverness; and further
encouraged him by prophesying that he would one day become a great
thief.
Room was now made at the table for the women, several of whom were
young and good-looking. They were all depraved creatures, being common
prostitutes, or very little better; and they drank, swore, and boasted
of their exploits in thieving and other villainy, with as much gusto as
their male companions. After an hour of so spent in riotous debauchery,
the company, wearied with their excesses, broke up, and most of them
went to their sleeping places; the Dead Man, the boy and the stranger,
together with a man named Fred, remained at the table; and the former,
addressing the stranger, said to him--
'And so, young man, you have just come out of _quod_, hey? Well, as you
look rather hard up, and most likely haven't a great deal of blunt on
hand, suppose I put you in the way of a little profitable business--eh?'
The stranger nodded approvingly.
'Well, then,' continued the Dead Man--'you must know that Fred Archer
here and myself _spotted_ a very pretty _crib_ on Broadway, and we have
determined to _crack_ it. The house is occupied by a young gentleman
named Sydney, and his wife--they have been married but a short time. We
shall have no difficulty in getting into the crib, for Mr. Sydney's
butler, a fellow named Davis, is bribed by me to admit us into the
house, at a given signal. What say you--will you join us?'
'Yes--and devilish glad of the chance,' replied the stranger, gazing at
Fred Archer with much interest. Fred was a good looking young man,
genteelly dressed, but with a dissipated, rakish air.
'Very well--that matter is settled,' said the Dead Man. 'Three of us
will be enough to do the job, and therefore we shan't want your
assistance, _Kinchen_,' he added, addressing the boy. 'It must now be
about six o'clock in the morning--we will meet here to-night at eleven
precisely. Do not fail, for money is to be made in this affair.'
The stranger promised to be punctual at the appointed hour; and bidding
him good night (for it was always night in that place), Fred and the
Dead Man retired, leaving the _Kinchen_ and the stranger alone together.
'Well,' said the _Kinchen_--'so it seems that you have got into business
already. Well and good--but I must caution you to beware of that Dead
Man, for he is treacherous as a rattlesnake. He will betray you, if
anything is to be gained by it--and even when no advantage could be
gained, he will play the traitor out of sheer malice. He is well aware
that I, knowing his real character, would not join him in the business,
and therefore he affected to think that my assistance was unnecessary.'
'I will look out for him,' rejoined the stranger--and then added, 'I
will now thank you to conduct me out of this place, as I have matters to
attend to elsewhere.'
The _Kinchen_ complied, and in ten minutes they emerged into the street
above, by the same way they had entered.
Here they parted, the stranger having first presented the boy with a
liberal remuneration for his services as guide, and made an appointment
to meet him on a future occasion.
CHAPTER VII
_The false wife, and the dishonest servant--scene in the Police
Court--capture of the Burglars, and threat of vengeance._
Mr. Francis Sydney and his lady were seated at dinner, in the
sumptuously furnished dining parlor of their elegant Broadway mansion.
The gentleman looked somewhat pale and ill at ease, but the lady had
never looked more superbly beautiful.
The table was waited upon by Davis, the butler, a respectable looking
man of middle age, and Mr. Sydney, from time to time, glanced furtively
from his wife to this man, with a very peculiar expression of
countenance.
'My love,' said Mrs. Sydney, after a pause of several minutes--'I have a
little favor to ask.'
'You have but to name it, Julia, to ensure it being granted,' was the
reply.
'It is this,' said the lady;--'our present footman is a stupid Irishman,
clumsy and awkward; and I really wish him to be discharged. And, my
dear, I should be delighted to have the place filled by my father's
black footman, who is called Nero. He is civil and attentive, and has
been in my father's family many years. Let us receive him into our
household.'
'Well Julia,' said the husband, 'I will consider on the subject. I
should not like to part with our present footman, Dennis, without some
reluctance--for though uncouth in his manners, he is an honest fellow,
and has served me faithfully for many years. _Honest_ servants are
exceedingly scarce now-a-days.'
As he uttered these last words, Davis, the butler, cast a sudden and
suspicious look upon his master, who appeared to be busily engaged with
the contents of his plate, but who in reality was steadfastly regarding
him from the corner of his eyes.
As soon as dinner was over, the lady retired to her _boudoir_; Davis
removed the cloth and Mr. Sydney was left alone. After taking two or
three turns up and down the room, he paused before the fireplace and
soliloquized thus:
'Curses on my unhappy situation! My wife is an adulteress, and my
servants in league with villains to rob me! These two letters confirm
the first--and my last night's adventure in the Dark Vaults convinced me
of the second. And then the woman just now had the damnable effrontery
to request me to take her rascally paramour into my service, in place of
my faithful Dennis! She wishes to carry on her amours under my very
nose! And that scoundrel Davis--how demure, how innocently he looks--and
yet how suspiciously he glanced at me, when I emphasized _honest_
servants! He is a cursed villain, and yet not one-tenth part so guilty
as this woman, whom I espoused in honorable marriage, supposing her to
be pure and untainted and yet who was, previous to our marriage, defiled
by co-habitation with a vile negro--and now _after_ our marriage, is
still desirous of continuing her beastly intrigues. Davis is nothing but
a low-born menial, without education or position, but Julia is by birth
a lady, the daughter of a man of reputation and honor, moving in a
brilliant sphere, possessing education and talent, admired as much for
her beauty as for her accomplishments and wit--and for her to surrender
her person to the lewd embraces of _any man_--much more a negro
menial--is horrible! And then to allow herself to be led to the altar,
enhanced her guilt tenfold; but what caps the climax of her crimes, is
this last movement of hers, to continue her adulterous intercourse!
Heavens!--what a devil in the form of a lovely woman! But patience,
patience! I must set about my plan of vengeance with patience.'
The reader of course need not be told, that the stranger of the Dark
Vaults, and Frank Sydney, were one and the same person. The adventure
had furnished him with the evidences of his wife's criminality and his
servant's dishonesty and perfidy.
That same afternoon, the young gentleman sallied forth from his mansion,
and took his way to the police office. On his way he mused thus:
'By capturing these two villains, the Dead Man and Fred Archer, I shall
render an important service to the community. It is evident that the
first of these men is a most diabolical wretch, capable of any crime;
and the other, I am convinced, is the same Frederick Archer who is the
husband of the unfortunate girl with whom I passed the night not long
since, at which time she related to me her whole history. He must be a
most infernal scoundrel to make his wife prostitute herself for his
support; and he is a _burglar_ too, it seems. Society will be benefited
by the imprisonment of two such wretches--and this very night shall they
both lodge in the Tombs.'
When Frank arrived at the police office, he found a large crowd
assembled; a young thief had just been brought in, charged with having
abstracted a gentleman's pocket-book from his coat pocket, in Chatham
Street. What was Frank's surprise at recognizing in the prisoner, the
same boy who had been his companion in the Dark Vaults, on the
proceeding night! The lad did not know Frank, for there was no
similarity between the ragged, vagabond looking fellow of the night
before, and the elegantly dressed young gentleman who now surveyed him
with pity and interest depicted in his handsome countenance.
It was a clear case--the young offender was seen in the act, and the
pocket-book was found in his possession. The magistrate was about to
make out his commitment, when Frank stepped forward, and required what
amount of bail would be taken on the premises?
'I shall require surety to the amount of five hundred dollars, as the
theft amounts to grand larceny,' replied the magistrate.
'I will bail him, then,' said Frank.
'Very well, Mr. Sydney,' observed the magistrate, who knew the young
gentleman perfectly well, and highly respected him.
'You will wait here in the office for me, until I have transacted some
business, and then accompany me to my residence,' said Frank--'I feel
interested in you, and, if you are worthy of my confidence hereafter,
your future welfare shall be promoted by me.'
Frank had a long private interview with the magistrate. After having
made arrangements for the capture of the two burglars, the young man
urged the police functionary to take immediate measures for the breaking
up of the band of desperate villains who lurked in the Dark Vaults, and
the relief of the miserable wretches who found a loathsome refuge in
that terrible place. The magistrate listened with attention and then
said--
'I have long been aware of the existence of the secret, subterranean
Vaults of which you allude, and so have the officers of the police; yet
the fact is known to very, very few of the citizens generally. Now you
propose that an efficient and armed force of the police and watch, make
a sudden descent into the den, with the view of capturing the villains
who inhabit it. Ridiculous!--why, sir, the thing is impossible: they
have a mysterious passage, unknown to any but themselves, by which they
can escape and defy pursuit. The thing has been attempted twenty times,
and as often failed. So much for the _villains_ of the den;--now in
regard to the wretched beings whom you have described, if we took them
from that hole, what in the world should we do with them? Put them in
the prisons and almshouse, you say. That would soon breed contagion
throughout the establishments where they might be placed, and thus many
lives would be sacrificed thro' a misdirected philanthropy. No,
no--believe me, Mr. Sydney, that those who take up their abode in the
Vaults, and become diseased, and rot, and die there, had much better be
suffered to remain there, far removed from the community, than to come
into contact with that community, and impart their disease and pollution
to those who are now healthy and pure. Those vaults may be regarded as
the moral sewers of the city--the scum and filth of our vast population
accumulate in them. With reference to the desperadoes who congregate
there, their living is made by robbery and outrage throughout the city;
and all, sooner or later, are liable to be arrested and imprisoned for
their offences.'
'I admit the force of your reasoning,' said Frank--'yet I cannot but
deeply deplore the existence of such a den of horrors.'
'A den of horrors indeed!' rejoined the magistrate. 'Why, sir, there are
at this moment no less than six murderers in the Vaults--one of whom
escaped from his cell the night previous to the day on which he was to
be hung. The gallows was erected in the prison yard--but when the
sheriff went to bring the convict forth to pay the penalty of his crime,
his cell was empty; and upon the wall was written with charcoal,--'_Seek
me in the Dark Vaults!_' The police authorities once blocked up every
known avenue to the caverns, with the design of starving out the
inmates; but they might have waited till doomsday for the accomplishment
of that object, as the secret outlet which I have mentioned enabled the
villains to procure stores of provisions, and to pass in and out at
pleasure. I am glad that your scheme, Mr. Sydney, will tonight place in
the grip of the law, two of these miscreants, one of whom, the Dead Man,
has long been known as the blackest villain that ever breathed. He is a
fugitive from justice, having a year ago escaped from the State Prison,
where he had been sentenced for life, for an atrocious murder; he had
been reprieved from the gallows, thro' the mistaken clemency of the
Executive. He will now be returned to his old quarters, to fulfil his
original sentence, and pass the remainder of his accursed life in
imprisonment and exclusion from the world, in which he is not fit to
dwell.'
Frank now took leave of the magistrate, and, accompanied by the young
pickpocket, returned to his own residence. It was now about five
o'clock, and growing quite dark; a drizzly rain was falling intermingled
with snow. Frank conducted the boy to his library, and having carefully
closed and locked the door, said to him--
'_Kinchen_, don't you know me?'
The boy started, and gazed earnestly at him for a few moments, and then
shook his head.
'Wait here a short time, and I will return,' said Frank, and he stepped
into a closet adjoining the library, and shut the door.
Ten minutes elapsed; the closet door opened, and a ragged, dirty looking
individual entered the library. The boy jumped to his feet in
astonishment, and exclaimed--
'Why, old fellow, how the devil came _you_ here?'
'Hush,' said Frank--'I am the man who accompanied you thro' the Vaults
last night, and I am also the gentleman who bailed you to-day. Now
listen; you can do me a service. You know that the Dead Man, Fred Archer
and myself are to enter this house to-night; the two burglars little
think that I am the master of the house. It is my intention to entrap
those two villains. Take this pistol; conceal yourself in that closet,
and remain quiet until you hear the noise of a struggle; then rush to
the scene of the conflict, and aid me and the officers in capturing the
two miscreants. Rather than either of them should escape, shoot him
thro' the head. I am inclined to think that you will prove faithful to
me; be honest, and in me you have secured a friend. But I must enlist
another person in our cause.'
He rang a bell, and Dennis, the Irish footman, made his appearance. This
individual was not surprised to see his master arrayed in that strange
garb, for he had often assisted him in similar disguises. Dennis was a
large, raw-looking Hibernian, yet possessing an honest open
countenance.--Frank explained to him in a few words the state of the
case, and the nature of the service required of him; and honest Dennis
was delighted with the opportunity of displaying his personal prowess,
and fidelity to his master.
'Och, be the powers!' he exclaimed--'it's nather a sword nor a pistol I
want at all, but only a nate little bit of shillalab in my fist, to bate
the thieves of the worruld, and scatter them like the praste scatters
the divil wid holy water.'
'Very well,' said Frank--'now, _Kinchen_, you will take your station in
the closet, for fear you should be seen by the servants, and you,
Dennis, will bring him up some refreshments, and then attend to your
ordinary duties as usual. Say not a word to anybody in regard to this
affair, and give the other servants to understand that I have gone out,
and will not return until tomorrow morning. I shall now leave the house,
and at about midnight you may expect me, accompanied by the burglars.'
Saying this, Frank quitted the mansion by a private stair-case. Turning
into Canal street, he walked towards the Bowery, and not far from where
that broad thoroughfare joins Chatham street, he ascended the steps of a
dwelling-house, and knocked gently at the door; it was soon opened by
the young courtezan with whom Frank had passed the night at the
commencement of this tale. She did not recognize the visitor in his
altered garb, until he had whispered a few words in her ear, and then
uttering an exclamation of pleasure, she requested him to follow her
up-stairs.
Frank complied, and after seating himself in the well-remembered
chamber, related to the young woman, as briefly as possible, the
circumstances under which he had met her husband, Fred Archer, and the
share he was to take in the burglary. He concluded by saying--
'I am sure, Mrs. Archer, that you will rejoice in the prospect of
getting rid of such a husband. Once convicted and sent to the State
Prison, he has no further claim upon you. You will be as effectually
separated from him as though you were divorced.'
'I shall be most happy,' said Mrs. Archer--'to escape from the
tyrannical power of that bad man. He has used me brutally of late, and I
have often suffered for the common necessaries of life. Oh, how gladly
would I abandon the dreadful trade of prostitution and live a life of
virtue!'
'And so you shall, by Heavens!' cried Frank, in the warmth of his
generous nature. 'Take courage, madam, and after the affairs of tonight
are settled, your welfare shall be my special care. I will endeavor to
procure you a comfortable home in some respectable family, where--'
At this moment the street door was opened, and some one was heard
ascending the stairs.
'It is my husband!' whispered Mrs. Archer, and pointing to the bed, she
requested Frank to conceal himself behind the curtains; he did so, and
in a moment more, Fred Archer entered the room, and threw himself into a
chair.
'Well, by G----!' he exclaimed--'it seems impossible for a man to make a
living these times! Here I am, without a cursed cent in my pocket.
Maria, what money have you in the house?'
'I have no money, Frederick,' replied his wife.
'No money--you lie, cursed strumpet! What do you do with the gains of
your prostitution?'
'As God is my witness,' replied the wretched woman, bursting into
tears--'I have not received a cent for the past week; I have even
suffered for food; and the lady threatens to turn me out of doors this
very night, if the rent is not paid. I know not what to do.'
'Do!--why, d----n you, do as other w----s do; go and parade Broadway,
until you pick up a flat--ha, ha, ha!' and the ruffian laughed brutally.
After a pause, he added--
'Well, I've got an appointment tonight, at eleven o'clock; a little job
is to be done, that will fill my pocket with shiners. But don't you
expect to get a farthing of the money--no, d----n you, you must earn
your living as other prostitutes earn it. Good bye--I'm off.'
He departed, and Frank emerged from his hiding place. 'What a beastly
scoundrel that fellow is!' he thought, as he gazed with pity at the
weeping and wretched wife. He was about to address her with some words
of comfort, when a loud knocking was heard on the chamber door. Mrs.
Archer started, and whispered to Frank that it was the landlady, come
to demand her rent--she then in a louder tone, requested the person to
walk in.
A stout, vulgar looking woman entered the room and having violently shut
the door and placed her back to it, said--
'I've come, Missus, or Miss, or whatever you are, to see if so be you
can pay me my rent, as has now been due better nor four weeks, and you
can't deny it, either.'
'I am sorry to say, madam,' replied Mrs. Archer,'that I am still unable
to pay you. My husband has left me no money, and--'
'Then you will please to bundle out of this house as soon as possible,'
retorted the woman, fiercely. 'What am I to let my furnished rooms to a
lazy, good-for-nothing hussy like you, as is too proud to work and too
good to go out and look for company in the streets, and can't pay me, an
honest, hard-working woman, her rent! Am I to put up with--'
'Silence, woman!' interrupted Frank--'do not abuse this unfortunate
female in this manner! Have you no sympathy--no pity?'
'And who are _you_, sir?' demanded the virago, dreadfully enraged--'how
dare _you_ interfere, you dirty, ragged, vagabond? Come, tramp out of
this, both of you, this very instant, or I shall call in them as will
make you!'
Frank made no reply, but very composedly drew from his pocket a handful
of silver and gold; at the sight of the money, the landlady's eyes and
mouth opened in astonishment--and her manner, from being most
insufferably insolent, changed to the most abject servility.
'Oh, sir,' she said, simpering and curtsying--'I am sure I always had
the greatest respect for Mrs. Archer, and I hope that neither you nor
her will think hard of me for what I said--I only meant--'
'That will do,' cried Frank, contemptuously--and having inquired the
amount due, paid her, and then desired her to withdraw, which she did,
with many servile apologies for her insolent rudeness.
The young gentleman then prevailed upon Mrs. Archer to accept of a sum
of money sufficient to place her beyond immediate want, and promised to
call upon her again in a few days and see what could be done for her
future subsistence. She thanked him for his kindness with tears in her
eyes; and bidding her farewell, he left the house, and proceeded towards
the Five Points.
He had no difficulty in finding the 'forty-foot cave,' the entrance of
the Dark Vaults; but, previous to descending, curiosity prompted him to
step into the _crib_ of Bloody Mike, to see what was going on. He found
the place crowded with a motley collection of vagrants, prostitutes,
negroes and petty thieves; Ragged Pete was engaged in singing a shocking
obscene song, the others joined in the chorus. Clothed in filthy rags,
and stupidly drunk, was the man whom Frank had seen the night before so
handsomely dressed; Bloody Mike, who had 'peeled' his coat, had since
become the possessor of all his other genteel raiment, giving the poor
wretch in exchange as much 'blue ruin' as he could drink, and the
cast-off garments of a chimney-sweep!
Bloody Mike welcomed Frank with enthusiasm, and introduced him to the
company as the 'gintleman that had thrated all hands last night.' At
this announcement, the dingy throng gave a loud shout of applause, and
crowded about him to shake his hand and assure him how glad they were to
see him. These demonstrations of regard were anything but pleasing to
our hero, who threw a dollar upon the counter, inviting them all to
drink; and, while they were crowding around the bar to receive their
liquor, he made his escape from the _crib_, and sought the entrance to
the Dark Vaults. Having reached the bottom of the 'forty-foot cave' in
safety, he proceeded cautiously along the dark passage which he had
before traversed, and passing thro' the first Vault, soon emerged into
the cavern of the desperadoes. Here he was met by Fred Archer and the
Dead Man, who had been waiting for him.
'Ah, old fellow,' said the latter worthy--'here you are; it's somewhat
before the appointed time, but so much the better. Put it down and drink
a bumper of brandy to the success of our enterprise.'
The three seated themselves at the table, and remained over an hour
drinking, smoking and conversing. Frank partook very sparingly of the
liquor, but the others drank freely. At last the Dead Man arose, and
announced that it was time to go. He then began to make his
preparations.
Retiring for a short time to an inner cavern, he returned with his arms
full of various articles. First, there were three large horse pistols,
two of which he gave to his companions, retaining one for himself; then
he produced three cloaks to be worn by them, the better to conceal any
booty which they might carry off. There was also a dark lantern, and
various implements used by burglars. The Dead Man then proceeded to
adjust a mask over his hideous face, which so completely disguised him,
that not one of his most intimate acquaintances would have known him.
The mask was formed of certain flexible materials, and being colored
with singular truthfulness to nature, bore a most wonderful resemblance
to a human face. The Dead Man, who, without it, carried in his
countenance the loathsome appearance of a putrefying corpse, with it was
transformed into a person of comely looks. All the preparations being
now complete, the party took up their line of march, under the
directions of the Dead Man. To Frank's surprise, that worthy did not
lead the way out of the cavern by means of the 'forty-foot cave,' but
proceeded in a different course, along a passage, dark and damp, its
obscurity but partially dispelled by the dim rays of the dark lantern,
which was carried by the leader. After traversing this passage for a
considerable distance, the Dead Man suddenly paused, and said to Frank--
'You are not acquainted with the Secret Outlet to these Vaults--and as
you are not yet a Knight of the Round Table, I dare not trust you, a
stranger, with the knowledge of it, until you join us, and prove
yourself to be trustworthy. Therefore, we must blindfold you, until we
reach the streets above. This is a precaution we use by every stranger
who goes out this way.'
'But why do you not leave the Vaults by the 'forty-foot cave' thro'
which I entered?' demanded Frank, who was fearful of some treachery.
'Because,' answered the Dead Man--'there are police officers in disguise
constantly lurking around the entrance of that cave, ready to arrest the
first suspicious character who may come forth. You were not arrested
last night, because you were unknown to the police--but I, or Fred here,
would be taken in a jiffy.'
'How would they know _you_ in the disguise of that mask?' asked Frank.
'They might recognise me by my form--my gait--my air--my speech--damn
it, they would almost know me by my smell! At all events, I prefer not
to risk myself, while there is a safe outlet here. But, if you hesitate,
you can return the way you came, and we will abandon the undertaking.'
'No,' said Frank--'I will proceed.'
The Dead Man bound a handkerchief tightly over Frank's eyes, and led him
forward some distance; at length he was desired to step up about a foot,
which he did, and found himself standing upon what appeared to be a
wooden platform. The other two took their places beside him, and then he
heard a noise similar to that produced by the turning of an iron crank;
at the same time he became sensible that they were slowly ascending.
Soon a dull, sluggish sound was heard, like the trickling of muddy
water; and a foetid odor entered the nostrils, similar to the loathsome
exhalations of a stagnant pool. Up, up they went, until Frank began to
think that they must have attained a vast height from the place whence
they had started; but at last the noise of the crank ceased, the
platform stood still, and the Dead Man, after conversing for a short
time in whispers with some person, took hold of Frank's arm, and led him
forward thro' what appeared to be an entry. A door was opened, they
passed out, and Frank, feeling the keen air, and snow beneath his feet,
knew that they were in the open streets of the city. After walking some
distance, and turning several corners the bandage was removed from his
eyes, and he found himself in Pearl street, the Dead Man walking by his
side, and Fred following on behind.
They soon turned into Broadway, and in less than ten minutes had reached
the mansion of Mr. Sydney. The streets were silent and deserted for the
hour was late; and the Dead Man whispered to his companions--
'We can now enter the house unobserved. In case of surprise, we must not
hesitate to _kill_, sooner than be taken. I will now give the signal.'
He gave a low and peculiar whistle, and after the lapse of a few
moments, repeated it. Instantly, the hall door was noiselessly opened by
a person whom Frank recognized as Davis, the butler. The Dead Man
beckoned the two others to follow him into the hall, which they did, and
the door was closed.
Five minutes after they had entered the house two men who had been
concealed behind a pile of bricks and rubbish on the opposite side of
the street, crossed over, and passing around to the rear of the house,
obtained access to the garden thro' the back gate which had been
purposely left unfastened for them. These two men were police officers,
who had been for some time on the watch for the burglars. They entered
the house thro' the kitchen window, and stationed themselves upon the
stairs, in readiness to rush to the assistance of Frank, as soon as he
should give the appointed signal.
Meantime, the Dead Man had raised the slide of his dark lantern, and by
its light he led the way into the back parlor, followed by the others.
Davis had not the remotest suspicion that one of the men, whom he
supposed to be a burglar, and whose appearance was that of a ruffian,
was his master! No--he looked him full in the face without recognizing
him in the slightest degree.
The Dead Man, approaching a side-board, poured out a bumper of wine and
tossed it off, after which he drew from his pocket a small iron bar,
(called by thieves a _jimmy_,) and applying it to a desk, broke it open
in an instant. But it contained nothing of value;--and the burglar,
addressing the others, said:
'We must disperse ourselves over the house, in order to do anything. I
will rummage the first story: you, Fred, will explore the second, and
our new friend here can try his luck in the third. As for you, Davis,
you must descend into the kitchen, and collect what silver ware and
plate you can find. So now to work.'
At this instant Frank threw himself upon the Dead Man, and exclaimed, in
a loud voice:
'Yield, villain!'
'Damnation, we are betrayed!' muttered the ruffian, as with a mighty
effort he threw Frank from him, and drew his horse pistol;--levelling it
at the young man with a deadly aim, he was about to draw the fatal
trigger, when Dennis, the Irish footman, who had been concealed beneath
a large dining table, sprang nimbly behind him, and felled him to the
carpet with a tremendous blow of his thick cudgel, crying:
'Lie there, ye spalpeen, and rest asy.'
Fred Archer and Davis instantly made for the door, with the intention of
escaping--but they were seized by the two policemen, who now rushed to
the scene of uproar; the butler and burglar, however, struggled
desperately, and one of the policemen was stunned by a heavy blow on his
head, with the butt of a pistol, dealt by the hand of Archer, who, thus
freed from the grasp of his antagonist, dashed thro' the hall and
effected his escape from the house. Davis, however, was quickly
overpowered by the other officer, who slipped hand-cuffs upon his
wrists, and thus secured him.
All these occurrences took place within the space of two minutes; and
the _Kinchen_, who had been secreted in the library upstairs, arrived,
pistol in hand, at the scene of action, just as the conflict had
terminated.
The Dead Man lay motionless upon the carpet, and Frank began to fear
that he was killed; but upon approaching and examining him, he
discovered that he still breathed, though faintly. The blow from Dennis'
cudgel had apparently rendered him insensible, and blood was flowing
from a severe but not serious wound in his head.
The policeman who had been stunned was speedily brought to, by proper
treatment;--and it was found that he had sustained but a trifling
injury. Frank now approached Davis, and regarding him sternly, said--
'So, sir, you have leagued yourself with burglars, it seems. What
induced you to act in this treacherous manner?'
'The promise of a liberal reward,' replied the man, sulkily.
'Your reward will now consist of a residence of several years in the
State Prison,' observed his master as he walked away from him.
The noise of the conflict had aroused the inmates of the house from
their slumbers, and much alarm prevailed among them, particularly the
females, whose screams resounded throughout the building. To quiet them,
Dennis was despatched as a messenger, with assurances that the robbers
were in safe custody, and no cause for alarm existed. On passing the
chamber of his mistress, that lady called to him, desiring to know the
cause of the uproar; and when she had learned the details of the affair,
she expressed her gratification at the result.
Frank ordered refreshments to be brought up, and while the whole party
gathered around the table to partake of a substantial collation, he
congratulated the two officers on having secured so desperate and
dangerous a villain as the Dead Man. The form of that miscreant was
still stretched upon the carpet directly behind Frank, who stood at the
table; and as he was supposed to be insensible, from the effect of the
heavy blow which he had received, no one deemed it necessary to bestow
any attention upon him. But while the officers and others were eating
and conversing, the _Kinchen_ suddenly uttered an exclamation of alarm,
and seizing a wine bottle which stood upon the table, dashed it at the
head of the Dead Man, who had arisen upon his knees, and held in his
hand a sharp, murderous-looking knife, which he was just on the point of
plunging into the side of the unsuspecting Frank! The bottle was broken
into shivers against the ruffian's head, and ere he could recover
himself, he was disarmed and handcuffed by the officers, one of whom
tore the mask from his face; and the spectators shrunk in horror at the
ghastly and awful appearance of that corpse-like countenance! Turning
his glaring eye upon Frank, he said, in tones of deepest hate--
'Sydney, look at me--_me_, the _Dead Man_--dead in heart, dead in pity,
dead in everything save _vengeance_! You have won the game; but oh!
think not your triumph will be a lasting one. No, by G----! there are no
prison walls in the universe strong enough to keep me from wreaking upon
you a terrible revenge! I will be your evil genius; I swear to follow
you thro' life, and cling to you in death; yes--I will torture you in
hell! Look for me at midnight, when you deem yourself most secure; I
shall be in your chamber. Think of me in the halls of mirth and
pleasure, for I shall be at your elbow. In the lonely forest, on the
boundless sea, in far distant lands, I shall be ever near you, to tempt,
to torture, and to drive you mad! From this hour you are blasted by my
eternal curse!'
* * * * *
Half an hour afterwards, the Dead Man and Davis the butler were inmates
of the 'Egyptian Tombs.'
CHAPTER VIII
_The Subterranean Cellar--Capture and Imprisonment of the Black--the
Outcast Wife--The Villain Husband--the Murder and Arrest._
The next day after the occurrence of the events detailed in the last
chapter, Frank Sydney caused to be conveyed to the negro footman, Nero,
the letter which his wife had addressed to him--which letter it will be
recollected, had been stolen from the lady, in her reticule, by the
young thief, who had sold it and another epistle from the black, to
Frank, at the _crib_ of Bloody Mike.
The plan adopted by the much injured husband for the punishment of his
guilty wife and her negro paramour, will be developed in the course of
the present chapter.
The black, upon receiving the letter, imagined that it came direct from
the lady herself; and much rejoiced was he at the contents, resolving
that very night to watch for the signal in the chamber window of the
amorous fair one.
Beneath the building in which Frank resided, was a deep stone cellar,
originally designed as a wine vault; it was built in the most
substantial manner, the only entrance being protected by a massive iron
door--the said door having been attached in order to prevent dishonest
or dissolute servants from plundering the wine. In the course of the day
upon which he had sent the letter to Nero, Frank paid a visit to this
cellar, and having examined it with great care, said to himself--'This
will answer the purpose admirably.'
He then summoned Dennis and the _Kinchen_--the latter of whom he
retained in his service--and desired them to remove the few bottles and
casks of wine which still remained in the cellar and deposit them
elsewhere.--This being done, a quantity of straw was procured and thrown
in one corner, and then the arrangements were complete.
'Now listen,' said Frank, addressing Dennis and the _Kinchen_; 'a
certain person has injured me--irretrievably injured me--and it is my
intention to confine him as a prisoner in this cellar. The matter must
be kept a profound secret from the world; you must neither of you
breathe a syllable in relation to it, to a living soul. My motive for
confiding to you the secret, is this: I may at times find it necessary
to be absent from home for a day or so, and it will devolve upon you two
to supply the prisoner with his food. Be secret--be vigilant, and your
faithfulness shall be rewarded.'
Both of his listeners expressed their willingness to serve him in the
matter, and Frank dismissed them, with instructions to await his further
orders.
Mrs. Sydney, having lost the letter which she had addressed to Nero
(never dreaming that it had fallen into the hands of her husband,) that
afternoon, while Frank was engaged in the wine cellar, wrote _another
letter_ to the black, couched in nearly the same language as her former
one, and making precisely the same arrangement in reference to an
interview with him in her chamber. This letter she gave to her maid,
Susan, to convey privately to the black. It so happened that Frank, who
had just finished his business in the wine cellar, encountered the girl
as she was emerging from the rear of the house; she held her mistress'
letter in her hand, and, confused at meeting Mr. Sydney so unexpectedly,
thrust it hastily into her bosom. Frank saw the action, and suspecting
the truth, forced the letter from her, broke the seal, and hastily
glanced over the contents. It instantly occurred to him that, if he
permitted this letter to reach its intended destination, the negro would
naturally suspect something wrong, from the fact that he had received
that morning a precisely similar letter; and thus Frank's plan might be
frustrated. On the other hand, it was necessary for Mrs. Sydney to
believe that the letter was safely delivered, in order that she might
still suppose her husband to be ignorant of her amour with the black. In
view of these considerations, Frank put the letter in his pocket, and
then turning to the trembling Susan, said to her, sternly--
'Woman, your agency in this damnable intrigue is known to me, and if you
would save yourself from ruin, you will do as I command you. Remain
concealed in the house for half an hour, and then go to your mistress
and tell her that you have delivered the letter to the black; and say to
her that he sends word in reply, that _should the signal be given
to-night, he will come to her chamber_. And do you, when you hear him
knock thrice upon the gate, admit him, and conduct him to your
mistress's chamber. Do this, and you are forgiven for the part you have
taken in the business; but if you refuse, by the living God you shall
die by my hand!'
'Oh, sir,' sobbed the girl, frightened at the threat, 'I will do all you
wish me to.'
'Then you have nothing to fear--but remember, I am not to be trifled
with.'
Half an hour afterwards, Susan went up to the chamber of her mistress,
and said--
'Well, ma'am, I gave the letter to Nero.'
'And did he send any message?' asked the lady.
'Yes, ma'am,' replied the girl, in obedience to the instructions of
Frank--'he said that if the signal is given to-night, he will come to
your chamber.'
'Very well, Susan--you are a good girl, and here is a dollar for you,'
said the lady, and then added--'you will be sure to admit him when he
knocks?'
'Oh, yes, ma'am,' replied the maid; and thanking her mistress, she
withdrew.
Left alone, the guilty, adulterous woman fell into a voluptuous reverie,
in which she pictured to herself the delights which she anticipated from
her approaching interview with her sable lover. The possibility of her
husband's remaining at home that evening, thereby preventing that
interview, did not once obtrude itself upon her mind--so regularly had
he absented himself from home every night during the preceding two or
three weeks; and as he had never returned before midnight, she
apprehended no difficulty in getting her paramour out of the house
undiscovered by him.
The conduct of this woman will doubtless appear very extraordinary and
unaccountable to those who have not studied human nature very deeply;
while the eccentricity of her passion, and the singular object of her
desires, will excite disgust. But to the shrewd and intelligent observer
of the female heart and its many impulses, the preferences of this frail
lady are devoid of mystery. They are readily accounted for--pampered
with luxury, and surrounded by all the appliances of a voluptuous
leisure, a morbid craving for _unusual indulgences_ had commingled with
her passions--a raging desire, and mad appetite for a _monstrous_ or
_unnatural_ intrigue--and hence her disgraceful _liaison_ with the
black.
Were we disposed, what astounding disclosures we could make, of beastly
amours among the sons and daughters of the aristocracy! We have known
many instances of unnatural births, unquestionably produced by unnatural
cohabitations! We once visited the private cabinet of an eminent medical
practitioner, whose collection comprised over a hundred half-human
monstrosities, preserved;--and we were assured that many were the
results of the most outrageous crimes conceivable.--But why dwell upon
such a subject, so degrading to humanity? We will pursue the loathsome
theme no longer.
Evening came, and after supper Mrs. Sydney retired to her chamber. To
her surprise, her husband joined her there; but her surprise increased,
and her annoyance was extreme, when he announced his intention of
remaining with her that evening, at home!
Disguising her real feelings, and affecting a joy which was a stranger
to her heart at the moment, she only smiled as if in approval of his
determination. But in her heart she was most painfully disappointed.
'At all events,' she said to herself, 'I will not place a light in my
window, which was the signal I arranged with Nero--so I am safe, at
least.'
What was her astonishment and dismay, when her husband deliberately took
the lamp from the table, and placed it in the window!
Amazed and trembling, she sat for some minutes in silence, while Frank,
having lighted a cigar, began smoking with the utmost coolness. At
length the conscience-stricken lady ventured to say--
'My dear, why do you place the light in the window?'
'Because it is my whim to do so,' replied Frank.
'It is a singular whim,' remarked his wife.
'Not so singular as the whim of a white lady of my acquaintance, who
amalgamates with a negro,' said her husband.
'What do you mean?' demanded the guilty woman, ready to faint with
terror and apprehension.
'I mean this, woman--that you are a vile adulteress!' exclaimed Frank,
now thoroughly enraged--'I mean that your abominable conduct is known to
me--your true character is discovered. Before your marriage you were
defiled by that negro footman, Nero--and since our marriage you have
sought the opportunity to renew the loathsome intimacy.'
'What proof have you of this?' murmured the wretched woman, ready to die
with shame and terror.
'These letters--this one, addressed to you by the black, and this, which
you wrote to him this very afternoon; but it did not reach its
destination, for I intercepted it. The one which you wrote a few days
ago, and which was stolen from you in your reticule, came into my
possession in a manner almost providential--that letter I sent to the
place this morning, and he, supposing it came from you, will come
to-night to keep the appointment. He will observe the signal agreed
upon, and will be admitted into the house, and conducted to this
chamber, little imagining who is waiting for him. So you see, madam,
both you and your _friend_ are in my power.'
It is impossible to describe the expression of despair and misery which
overspread the countenance of Mrs. Sydney during the utterance of these
words. She attempted to speak, but could not articulate a single
syllable--and in another moment had fallen insensible upon the carpet.
Frank raised her and placed her upon the bed; he had scarcely done so,
when he heard some one stealthily ascending the stairs, and in another
moment the door softly opened, and Nero, the African footman, entered.
Great was his astonishment and alarm on beholding the husband of the
lady whom he had come to debauch. His first impulse was to retreat from
the room and endeavor to make his escape from the house; but his design
was frustrated by Frank, who rushed forward and seized him by the
throat, exclaiming, in a tone of furious rage--
'Eternal curses on you, black ruffian, how dare you enter this house?'
The African, recovering somewhat his presence of mind, struggled to
release himself from the fierce grasp of Frank, and would probably have
succeeded, had not the _Kinchen_ entered, and, seizing a chair, dealt
him a blow with it which knocked him down. He then drew from his pocket
a stout cord, and, with Frank's assistance, bound the negro's arms
securely with it.
Nero, though a black, was both educated and intelligent; he knew that he
was now in the power of the man who had been so foully wronged, and he
conceived that there was but one way to extricate himself from the
difficulty--namely, by promises and entreaties.
'Mr. Sydney,' said he, in an humble, submissive tone--'it is evident
that you have discovered my intimacy with that lady, by what means I
know not. You have just cause to be indignant and enraged; but I throw
myself upon your mercy--and consider, sir, the lady made the first
advances, and was I so much to blame for acceding to the wishes of such
a lovely woman? Now, sir, if you will suffer me to depart, I promise to
leave the city of New York forever, and never will I breathe to another
ear the secret of my intimacy with your wife.'
'Think not, accursed miscreant, thus to escape my vengeance,' replied
Frank. 'That you are less guilty than that adulterous woman who lies
there,' he added, pointing to the bed, 'I admit, and her punishment
shall be greater than yours, for she shall endure the pangs of infamy
and disgrace, while you only suffer the physical inconvenience of a
lengthened imprisonment. I cannot suffer you to go at large after this
outrage on my honor as a husband and a man. Attempt no further
parley--it is useless, for your fate is sealed.'
Frank took from a bureau drawer a brace of pistols, and commanded the
negro to follow him, threatening to shoot him through the head if he
made the least noise or resistance.--Nero obeyed, trembling with
apprehension and dread. Descending the stairs, Frank conducted him to
the cellar, and unlocking the massive iron door, bade him enter; the
poor wretch began to supplicate for mercy, but his inexorable captor
sternly ordered him to hold his peace, and having unbound his arms,
forced him into the dark and gloomy vault, closed the door, and locked
it. He then gave the key to the _Kinchen_, requesting him to use the
utmost vigilance to prevent the escape of the prisoner, and to supply
him every day with sufficient food and water.
'You perceive, my boy,' said Frank, 'that I am disposed to place the
utmost confidence in your integrity and faithfulness. From the moment I
first saw you, I have been impressed with the belief that you possess a
good heart, and some principles of honor. Destitution and bad company
have led you astray--but I trust that your future conduct will prove
your sincere repentance. I will see the gentleman from whom you
attempted to take the pocket-book, and I will compromise the matter with
him, so that it shall never come to trial. Be honest--be faithful--be
true--and in my house you shall ever have a home, and in me you shall
ever have a steadfast friend.'
'Oh, sir,' said the _Kinchen_, his eyes filling with tears--'your
kindness and generosity have made me a different being from what I was.
I now view my former life with abhorrence, and sooner would I die than
return to it. Ah, it is delightful to lead an honest life, to have a
comfortable home, and a kind friend like you, sir. My faithful devotion
to your interests will prove my gratitude. I should like, sometime, to
tell you my history, Mr. Sydney; and when you have heard it, I am sure
that you will say that I deserve some pity, as well as blame.'
'I shall be pleased to hear your story,' replied Frank. 'As you are now
regularly in my service, you shall be no longer designated as
_Kinchen_,[2] for that name is associated with crime. What is your own
proper name?'
'Clinton Romaine,' replied the boy.
'Well, Clinton, you shall hereafter be called by that name. To-morrow I
will give you an order on my tailor for a new and complete wardrobe. You
had better now retire to bed; as for myself,' he added, gloomily--'I
shall probably enjoy but little rest or sleep to-night.'
Clinton bade his patron good night, and retired; Frank ascended to the
chamber of his wife, and found that she had recovered from her swoon,
though she was still pale from apprehension and shame. Averting her eyes
from her husband's gaze, she sat in moody silence; after a pause of
several minutes, Frank said--
'Julia, it is not my intention to waste my breath in upbraiding
you--neither will I allude to your monstrous conduct further than to
state it has determined me to cast you off forever. You are my wife no
longer; you will leave this house to-night, and never again cross its
threshold. Take with you your maid Susan, your wardrobe, your jewels--in
short, all that belongs to you; you must relinquish the name of
Sydney--cease to regard me as your husband, and never, never, let me see
your face again.'
These words, uttered calmly and solemnly, produced an extraordinary
effect upon the lady; so far from subduing or humiliating her, they
aroused within her all the pride of her nature, notwithstanding her
recent overwhelming shame. A rich color dyed her cheeks, her eyes
sparkled, and her bosom heaved, as she arose, and boldly confronting
Frank, said, in passionate tones--
'You cast me off forever!--I thank you for those words; they release me
from a painful thralldom. Now am I mistress of my own actions--free to
indulge to my heart's content in delightful amours!--I will not return
to my father's house--no, for you will doubtless proclaim there the
story of my shame, and my father would repulse me with loathing; and
even if 'twere not so, I prefer liberty to follow my own inclinations,
to the restraint of my parent's house.'
'Wretched woman,' exclaimed Franks--'are you indeed so lost--so
depraved?'
'Fool!' returned the frail lady--'you cannot understand the fiery and
insatiate cravings of my passions. I tell you that I consume with
desire--but not for enjoyment with such as _you_, but for delicious
amours which are _recherche_ and unique! Ah, I would give more for one
hour with my superb African, than for a year's dalliance with one like
you, so ordinary, so excessively common-place! Now that the mask is torn
from my face, reserve is needless. Know then that I have been a wanton
since early girlhood. What strange star I was born under, I know not;
but my nature is impregnated with desires and longings which you would
pronounce absurd, unnatural, and criminal. Be it so: I care not what you
or the world may say or think--my cravings must be satisfied at all
hazards. As for relinquishing the name of Sydney, I do so with
pleasure--that name has no pleasure for me; I never loved you, and at
this moment I hate and despise you. Do you ask me wherefore?--Because
you had wit enough to detect me in my intrigues. I shall leave your
house tonight, and we meet no more. My future career is plainly marked
out: I shall become an abandoned and licentious woman, yielding myself
up unreservedly to the voluptuous promptings of my ardent soul. I part
from you without regret, and without sorrow do I now bid you farewell
forever.'
'Stay a moment,' said Frank, as she was about to leave the room--'I
would not have you to be entirely destitute: I will fill you out a check
for a sum of money sufficient to keep you from immediate want.'
He wrote out and signed a check for one thousand dollars, which he gave
her, and then left her without saying another word. She received the
donation with evident satisfaction, and immediately began to make her
preparations for departure. Her maid, Susan, assisted her; and also
informed her in what manner Frank had compelled her to assist in
entrapping Nero into the house. Susan, herself being unobserved, had
seen the African conveyed to the cellar, and locked in; this fact she
also communicated to her mistress, who heard it with much pleasure, as
she had anticipated that her paramour would meet with a worse fate than
mere confinement.--She determined to effect his release, if possible,
although she knew that some time must necessarily elapse before she
could hope to accomplish that object.
When all was ready, Julia and her maid seated themselves in a hackney
coach which had been procured, and were rapidly driven from that
princely mansion, of which the guilty woman had so recently been the
proud mistress, but from which she was now an outcast forever.
That night, Frank, in the solitude of his chamber, shed many bitter
tears. He mourned over the fallen condition of that beautiful woman,
whom, had she been worthy, he would have cherished as his wife, but who
had proved herself not only undeserving of his affection, but depraved
and wicked to an astonishing degree. Until the fatal moment when he was
led to suspect her chastity, he had loved her devotedly and sincerely.
How cruelly had he been deceived!
And that night, in the solitude and darkness of his cold and gloomy
dungeon, Nero, the African, swore a terrible oath of vengeance upon the
white man who had shut him up in that subterranean cell.
Within a week after the capture of the Dead Man and David the butler,
those two villains were inmates of the State Prison at Sing Sing--the
former to fulfil his original sentence of imprisonment for life, and the
latter to undergo an imprisonment for five years, for his participation
in the attempted robbery of Mr. Sydney.
Fred Archer, on escaping from the officer in the manner which we have
described, made his way to the Dark Vaults, where he remained concealed
for several days, not venturing to appear abroad. At the end of a week
he began to grow impatient of the restraint, and, conceiving that no
great danger would be incurred if he left his place of refuge in the
darkness of night, he resolved to do so; moreover, he was destitute of
money, and entertained some hope of being able to extort a sum from his
unfortunate wife, whom he had driven to prostitution. Accordingly, at
about eight o'clock in the evening, he left the Vaults by means of the
secret outlet before alluded to and gaining the street, proceeded at a
rapid pace towards the Bowery. In the breast of his coat he carried a
huge Bowie knife, with which to defend himself in case any attempt
should be made to arrest him.
That very day, Frank Sydney, mindful of his promise, had succeeded in
obtaining a situation for Mrs. Archer, in the family of an old lady, an
aunt of his, who required the attendance of a young woman as a companion
and nurse, she being an invalid. In the afternoon, Mrs. Archer received
a visit from the boy, Clinton, who came to announce to her the joyful
intelligence of a good home having been secured for her; he then placed
the following brief note from Frank in her hands:--
'Mrs. Archer,--Madame: I shall this evening call upon you, to
confirm the words of my messenger. The unfortunate career
which you have followed, is now nearly ended. Extortion and
oppression shall triumph no longer. F.S.'
It was about eight o'clock in the evening when Frank knocked at the door
of the house in which Mrs. Archer resided, and he was admitted by the
mercenary landlady who figured not very creditably upon a former
occasion. She immediately recognized the young gentleman, who was
dressed in the garments of a laborer; and very civilly informing him
that the young lady was at home, requested him to walk upstairs to her
room.
Our hero assumed a disguise upon that occasion, for this reason: he did
not know but that the house was publicly regarded as a brothel; and he
therefore did not wish to hazard his reputation by being recognized
either while entering or leaving the place.
He ascended the stairs and knocked gently at the chamber, which was
immediately opened by Mrs. Archer, who pressed his hand with all the
warmth of a grateful heart, and placed a chair for him near the
fire.--Glancing around the room, Frank saw that she had made every
arrangement for her departure: bandboxes and trunks were in readiness
for removal, and all her little effects were heaped together in one
corner. She herself was dressed with considerable elegance and taste; a
close fitting dress of rich silk displayed the fine proportions of her
symmetrical form to advantage.
'I know not how to thank you, Mr. Sydney,' she said, seating
herself--'for your generous interest in my welfare; but oh! believe me,
I am grateful for your kindness.'
Frank assured her that he had derived much satisfaction from what
services it had been in his power to render, tending to her benefit. He
then related to her all that had occurred on the night of the attempted
robbery at his house--how her husband had made his escape, and was
probably lurking in the Dark Vaults.
'Then he is still at large,' said Mrs. Archer, shuddering--'and I am not
yet safe.'
'Fear nothing,' said her benefactor--'he dare not intrude into the
respectable and quiet asylum where you are to be placed. No harm can
reach you there.'
'God grant it may be so!' fervently ejaculated the young lady; and at
that instant some one was heard stealthily ascending the stairs. 'It is
Frederick!' she whispered--'you had better conceal yourself, to avoid
useless altercation.' Frank quickly secreted himself behind the curtains
of the bed, his former hiding place: and in another moment Fred Archer
entered the room, and closed the door with extreme caution. 'Maria,' he
said, roughly--'I must have money from you to-night; the affair which I
spoke to you about, when I was last here, failed most infernally. One of
the very fellows who were to assist me in the job, proved to be the
owner of the house which we were going to plunder. He had a trap
prepared for us, and two of my pals were taken, while I escaped just by
a miracle. I dare not go abroad in daylight, for fear of being arrested;
and I need money--give it to me!'
'Frederick,' said his wife, mildly--'I have but a few dollars, and you
are welcome to them. I leave this house to-night; I am going to live
hereafter a life of honesty and virtue.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Archer, now observing for the first time the
preparations for removal--'and may I ask where the devil you're going?'
'I do not wish to tell you, Frederick,' replied the lady--'I shall have
a good and comfortable home; let that suffice. I will always pray for
your welfare; but we must part forever.'
'Ha! is it so?' he hissed from between his clenched teeth, while the hot
blood of anger mantled on his face, and his eyes were lit up with the
fires of demoniac passions--'do you think to desert me and cast me off
forever?'--As he spoke, his right hand was thrust into the breast of his
coat.
'We must part; my resolution is fixed,' she replied firmly. 'Your
treatment of me--'
She paused in affright, for her husband had seized her violently by the
arm; then he plucked the gleaming Bowie knife from its sheath, and ere
she could scream out, the murderous blade was buried in her heart!
From his place of concealment behind the curtains of the bed, Frank saw
the atrocious deed perpetrated. The villain had struck the fatal blow
ere he could rush forth and stay his murderous arm. The poor victim sank
upon the floor, the lifeblood streaming from her heart.--Ere the
horrified witness of the crime could seize the murderer, he had fled
from the house with a celerity which defied pursuit.
Frank, overwhelmed with grief at the tragic fate of that erring but
unfortunate woman, raised her body in his arms and placed it upon a
sofa. He then drew from her bosom the reeking blade of the assassin, and
as he did so, the warm blood spouted afresh from the gaping wound,
staining his hands and garments with gore.
He bent over the corpse, and contemplated the pallid features with
profound sorrow. As he thus gazed mournfully at the face of the dead,
holding in his hand the blood-stained knife, the chamber door opened,
and the landlady entered the room.
On beholding the awful scene--the bleeding, lifeless form stretched upon
the sofa, and the young man standing with a gory knife grasped in his
hand--the landlady made the house resound with her shrieks and cries of
'Murder!'
The street door below was forced open and men with hurried footsteps
ascended the stairs--in a moment more the chamber was filled with
watchmen and citizens.
'Seize the murderer!' exclaimed the landlady, pointing towards Frank.
Two watchmen instantly grasped him by the arms, and took from him the
bloody knife.
Frank turned deadly pale--he was speechless--his tongue refused its
office, for then the dreadful conviction forced itself upon him, that he
was regarded as the murderer of that young woman. And how could he prove
his innocence? The weight of circumstantial evidence against him was
tremendous and might produce his conviction and condemnation to an
ignominious death!
Several persons present recognized him as the rich and (until then)
respectable Mr. Sydney; and then they whispered among themselves, with
significant looks, that he was _disguised_!--clad in the mean garb of a
common laborer!
Now it happened that among the gentlemen who knew him, were two of the
flatterers who supped with him in the first chapter of this
narrative--namely, Messrs. Narcissus Nobbs and Solomon Jenks: the former
of whom it will be recollected, was enthusiastic in his praises of
Frank, upon that occasion, while the latter boisterously professed for
him the strongest attachment and friendship. The sincerity of these
worthies will be manifested by the following brief conversation which
took place between them, in whispers--
'A precious ugly scrape your friend has got himself into,' said Mr.
Nobbs.
'_My_ friend, indeed!' responded Mr. Jenks, indignantly--'curse the
fellow, he's no friend of mine! I always suspected that he was a d----d
scoundrel at heart!'
'I always _knew_ so,' rejoiced Mr. Nobbs.
Oh, hollow-hearted Jenks and false-souled Nobbs! Ye fitly represent the
great world, in its adulation of prosperous patrons--its forgetfulness
of unfortunate friends!
Frank Sydney was handcuffed, placed in a coach and driven to the Tombs.
Here he was immured in the strong cell which had long borne the title of
the 'murderer's room.'
Fred Archer was safely concealed in the secret recesses of the Dark
Vaults.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: The term _Kinchen_, in the flash language of the thieves,
signifies a boy thief.]
CHAPTER IX
_The Masquerade Ball--the Curtain raised, and the Crimes of the
Aristocracy exposed._
Mrs. Lucretia Franklin was a wealthy widow lady, who resided in an
elegant mansion in Washington Place. In her younger days she had been a
celebrated beauty; and though she was nearly forty at the period at
which we write, she still continued to be an exceedingly attractive
woman. Her features were handsome and expressive, and she possessed a
figure remarkable for its voluptuous fullness.
Mrs. Franklin had two daughters: Josephine and Sophia. The former was
eighteen years of age, and the latter sixteen. They were both beautiful
girls, but vastly different in their style of beauty; Josephine being a
superb brunette, with eyes and hair dark as night, while Sophia was a
lovely blonde, with hair like a shower of sunbeams, and eyes of the
azure hue of a summer sky.
In many other respects did the two beautiful sisters differ. The figure
of Josephine was tall and majestic; her walk and gestures were
imperative and commanding. Sophia's form was slight and sylph-like; her
every movement was characterized by exquisite modesty and grace, and her
voice had all the liquid melody of the Aeolean harp.
In mind and disposition they were as dissimilar as in their personal
qualities. Josephine was passionate, fiery and haughty to an eminent
degree; Sophia, on the contrary, possessed an angelic placidity of
temper, and a sweetness of disposition which, like a fragrant flower,
shed its grateful perfume upon the lowly and humble, as upon the wealthy
and proud.
Mrs. Franklin's husband had died two years previous to the date of this
narrative; he had been an enterprising and successful merchant, and at
his death left a large fortune to his wife. Upon that fortune the lady
and her two daughters lived in the enjoyment of every fashionable luxury
which the metropolis could afford; and they moved in a sphere of society
the most aristocratic and select.
Mr. Edgar Franklin, the lady's deceased husband, was a most excellent
and exemplary man, a true philanthropist and a sincere Christian. He was
scrupulously strict in his moral and religious notions--and resolutely
set his face against the least departure from exact propriety, either in
matters divine or temporal. The austerity of his opinions and habits was
somewhat distasteful to his wife and eldest daughter, both of whom had
a decided predilection for gay and fashionable amusements. Previous to
his death, they were obliged to conform to his views and wishes; but
after that event, they unreservedly participated in all the aristocratic
pleasures of the 'upper ten': and their evenings were very frequently
devoted to attendance at balls, parties, theatres, the opera, and other
entertainments of the gay and wealthy inhabitants of the 'empire city.'
Mr. Franklin's death had occurred in a sudden and rather remarkable
manner. He had retired to bed in his usual good health, and in the
morning was found dead by the servant who went to call him.
The body was reclining upon one side in a natural position, and there
was nothing in its appearance to indicate either a violent or painful
death. Disease of the heart was ascribed as the cause of his sudden
demise; and his remains were deposited in the family tomb in St. Paul's
churchyard. Many were the tears shed at the funeral of that good
man;--for his unaffected piety and universal benevolence had endeared
him to a large circle of friends.
The grief of the bereaved widow and eldest daughter was manifested by
loud lamentations and passionate floods of tears; but the sorrow of the
gentle Sophia, though less violent, was none the less heart-felt and
sincere.
There was little sympathy between the haughty, imperious Josephine and
her mild, unobtrusive sister. Their natures were too dissimilar to admit
of it; and yet Sophia loved the other, and at the same time feared
her--she was so cold, so distant, so formal, so reserved. Josephine, on
her part, viewed her sister as a mere child--not absolutely as an
inferior, but as one unfitted by nature and disposition to be her
companion and friend. Her treatment of Sophia was therefore marked by an
air and tone of patronizing condescension, rather than by a tender,
sisterly affection.
Mrs. Franklin loved both her daughters, but her preference manifestly
inclined to Josephine, whose tastes were in exact accordance with her
own. Sophia had little or no inclination for the excitement and tumult
of fashionable pleasures; and therefore she was left much to herself,
alone and dependent upon her own resources to beguile her time, while
her mother and sister were abroad in the giddy whirl of patrician
dissipation.
But upon the Sabbath, no family were more regular in their attendance at
church than the Franklins. Punctually every Sunday morning, the mother
and daughter would alight from their splendid carriage opposite St.
Paul's church, and seating themselves in their luxuriously cushioned and
furnished pew, listen to the brilliant eloquence of Dr. Sinclair, with
profound attention. Then, when the pealing organ and the swelling anthem
filled the vast dome with majestic harmony, the superb voice of
Josephine Franklin would soar far above the rolling flood of melody, and
her magnificent charms would become the cynosure of all eyes. Few
noticed the fair young creature at her side, her golden hair parted
simply over her pure brow, and her mild blue eyes cast modestly upon the
page of the hymn-book before her.
Having now introduced Mrs. Lucretia Franklin and her two daughters to
the reader, we shall proceed at once to bring them forward as active
participants in the events of our history.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon; in a sumptuous chamber of
Franklin House (for by that high-sounding title was the residence of the
wealthy widow known,) two ladies were engaged in the absorbing mysteries
of a singular toilet.
One of these ladies was just issuing from a bath. Although not young,
she was very handsome; and her partially denuded form exhibited all the
matured fullness of a ripened womanhood. This lady was Mrs. Lucretia
Franklin.
Her companion was her daughter Josephine. This beautiful creature was
standing behind her mother; she had just drawn on a pair of broadcloth
pants, and was in an attitude of graceful and charming perplexity,
unaccustomed as she was to that article of dress. The undergarment she
wore had slipped down from her shoulders, revealing voluptuous beauties
which the envious fashion of ladies' ordinary attire, usually conceals.
Upon the carpet were a pair of elegant French boots and a cap, evidently
designed for Miss Josephine. Various articles of decoration and costume
were scattered about: upon a dressing-table (whereon stood a superb
mirror,) were the usual luxurious trifles which appertain to a
fashionable toilet--perfumes, cosmetics, &c.--and in one corner stood a
magnificent bed.
This was the chamber of Josephine; that young lady and her mother were
arraying themselves for a grand fancy and masquerade ball to be given
that night, at the princely mansion of a _millionaire_.
By listening to their conversation, we shall probably obtain a good
insight into their true characters.
'I am thinking, mamma,' said Josephine--'that I might have selected a
better costume for this occasion, than these boys' clothes. I shall
secure no admirers.'
'Silly girl,' responded her mother--'don't you know that the men will
all run distracted after a pretty woman in male attire? Besides, such a
costume will display your shape so admirably.'
'Ah, that is true,' remarked the beautiful girl, smiling so as to
display her brilliant teeth; and removing her feminine garment, she
stood before the mirror to admire her own distracting and voluptuous
loveliness.
'And this costume of an Oriental Queen--do you think it will become me,
my love,' asked her mother.
'Admirably,' replied Josephine--'it is exactly suitable to your figure.
Ah, mamma, your days of conquest are not over yet.'
'And yours have just begun, my dear. Yours is a glorious destiny,
Josephine; beautiful and rich, you can select a husband from among the
handsomest and most desirable young gentlemen in the city. But you must
profit by _my_ experience: do not be in haste to unite yourself in
marriage to a man who, when he becomes your husband, will restrict you
in the enjoyment of those voluptuous pleasures in which you now take
such delight. _I_ 'married in haste and repented at leisure;' after my
union with your father, I found him to be a cold formalist and canting
religionist, continually boring me with his lectures on the sins and
folly of 'fashionable dissipation,' as he termed the elegant amusements
suitable to our wealth and rank and discoursing upon the pleasures of
the domestic circle, and such humbugs. All this was exceedingly irksome
to me, accustomed as I was to one unvarying round of excitement; but
your father was as firm as he was puritanical--and obstinately
interposed his authority as a husband, to prevent my indulging in my
favorite entertainments. This state of affairs continued, my dear, until
you attained the age of sixteen, when you began to feel a distaste for
the insipidity of a domestic life, and longed for a change.--Our
positions were then precisely similar: we both were debarred from the
delights of gay society, for which we so ardently longed. One obstacle,
and one only, lay in our way; that obstacle was your father--my husband.
We were both sensible that we never could enjoy ourselves in our own
way, while _he lived_; his death alone would release us from the
condition of thralldom in which we were placed--but as his constitution
was robust and his health invariably good, the agreeable prospect of his
death was very remote--and we might have continued all our lives under
the despotic rules of his stern morality, had we not rid ourselves of
him by--'
'For Heaven's sake, mother,' said Josephine, hastily--'don't allude to
_that_!'
'And why not,' asked the mother, calmly. 'You surely do not regret the
act which removed our inexorable jailer, and opened to us such flowery
avenues of pleasure? Ah, Josephine, the deed was admirably planned and
skillfully executed. No one suspects--'
'Once more, mother, I entreat you to make no further allusion to that
subject; it is disagreeable--painful to me,' interrupted the daughter,
impatiently. 'Besides, sometimes the walls have ears.'
'Well, well, child--I will say no more about it. Let us now dress.'
Josephine, having arranged her clustering hair in a style as masculine
as possible, proceeded to invest herself in the boyish habiliments which
she had provided. First, she drew on over her luscious charms, a
delicately embroidered shirt, of snowy whiteness, and then put on a
splendid cravat, in the tasteful fold of which glittered a magnificent
diamond. A superb Parisian waistcoat of figured satin was then closely
laced over her rounded and swelling bust; a jacket of fine broadcloth,
decorated with gold naval buttons and a little cap, similarly adorned,
completed her costume. The character she was supposed to represent was
that of 'the Royal Middy;' and her appearance was singularly captivating
in that unique and splendid dress.
Mrs. Franklin, when attired as the Sultana or Oriental Queen, looked
truly regal--the rich and glittering Eastern robes well became her
voluptuous style of beauty.
The labor of the toilet being completed, the ladies found that it still
lacked an hour or so of the time appointed for them to set out; and
while they partook of a slight but elegant repast, they amused
themselves and beguiled the time by lively and entertaining chat.
'These masquerade balls are delightful affairs; one can enjoy an
intrigue with so much safety, beneath the concealing mask,' remarked
Mrs. Franklin.
'And yet last Sabbath, you recollect, Dr. Sinclair denounced masquerades
as one of Satan's most dangerous devices for the destruction of souls,'
said Josephine.
'True--so he did,' assented her mother--'but he need never know that we
attend them.'
'The Doctor is very strict--yet he is very fascinating,' rejoined her
daughter;--'do you know, mamma, that I am desperately enamored of him? I
would give the world could I entice him into an intrigue with me.' And
as she spoke, her bosom heaved with voluptuous sensations.
'Naughty girl,' said Mrs. Franklin, smiling complacently--'I cannot
blame you for conceiving a passion for our handsome young pastor. To
confess the truth, I myself view him with high admiration, not only as a
talented preacher, but also as one who would make a most delightful
lover.'
'Delightful indeed!' sighed Josephine--'but then he is so pure, so
strict, so truly and devotedly religious, that it would be useless to
try to tempt him by any advances; I should only compromise myself
thereby.'
'Well, my dear,' remarked Mrs. Franklin, 'there are other handsome young
men in the world, besides our pastor--many who would grovel at your feet
to enjoy your favors. By the way, who is your _favored one_ at present?'
'Oh, a young fellow to whom I took a fancy the other day,' replied
Josephine, 'he is a clerk, or something of the kind--respectable and
educated, but poor. I encountered him in the street--liked his fresh,
robust appearance--dropped my glove--smiled when he picked it up and
handed it to me--encouraged him to walk me home--invited him in, and
made him, as well as myself, extremely happy by my kindness. I permitted
him to call frequently, but of course I soon grew tired of him--the
affair lacked zeal, romance, piquancy; so, this morning when he visited
me, I suffered him to take a last kiss, and dismissed him forever, with
a twenty-dollar bill and an intimation that we were in future entire
strangers. Poor fellow! he shed tears--but I only laughed, and rang the
bell for the servant to show him out. Now, mamma, you must be equally
communicative with me, and tell me who has the good fortune to be the
recipient of _your_ favors at present.'
'My dear Josey,' said Mrs. Franklin--'I must really decline according
you the required information; you will only laugh at my folly.'
'By no means, mamma,' rejoined the young lady--'we have both at times
been strangely eccentric in our tastes, and must not ridicule each
other's preferences, however singular.'
'Well then, you must know that my lover is a very pretty youth of about
fifteen, who reciprocates my passion with boyish ardor. You will
acknowledge that to a woman of my age, such an amour must be delicious
and unique. For a few days past I have not seen the youthful Adonis,
who, by the bye, bears the very romantic name of Clinton Romaine. I
first met him under very unusual and singular circumstances.'
'Pray, how was that, mamma?' asked Josephine.
'You shall hear,' replied her mother. 'The occurrence which I am about
to relate took place a month ago. I was awakened one night from a sound
sleep by a noise in my chamber, and starting up in affright, I beheld by
the light of a lamp which was burning near the bed, a boy in the act of
forcing open my _escritoire_, with a small instrument which caused the
noise. I was about to scream for assistance, when the young rogue,
perceiving that he was discovered, advanced to the bed, and quieted me
by the assurance that he intended me no personal harm, and implored me
to suffer him to depart without molestation, promising never to repeat
his nocturnal visit. He then placed upon the table my watch, purse, a
casket of jewels, which he had secured about his person--and, in answer
to my inquiry as to how he had obtained an entrance into my chamber he
informed me that he had climbed into the window by means of a ladder
which he had found in the garden. While he was speaking, I regarded him
attentively, and was struck with his boyish beauty; for the excitement
of the adventure and the danger of his position had caused a flush upon
his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, which captivated me. I found it
impossible to resist the voluptuous feelings which began to steal over
me--and I smiled tenderly upon the handsome youth; he, merely supposing
this smile to be an indication of my having forgiven him, thanked me and
was about to depart in the same manner in which he came, when I
intimated to him my willingness to extend a much greater kindness than
my pardon. In short, his offence was punished only by sweet imprisonment
in my arms; and delighted with his precocity, I blessed the lucky chance
which had so unexpectedly furnished me with a youthful and handsome
lover. Ere daylight he departed; and has since then frequently visited
me, always gaining access to my chamber by means of the gardener's
ladder. To my regret he has of late discontinued his visits, and I know
not what has become of my youthful gallant. And now my dear, you have
heard the whole story.'
'Very interesting and romantic,' remarked Josephine, and consulting her
gold watch, she announced that the hour was come for them to go to the
masquerade.
The mother and daughter enveloped themselves in ample cloaks, and
descending the stairs, took their seats in the carriage which was in
readiness at the door. A quarter of an hour's drive brought them to the
superb mansion wherein the entertainment was to be given. Alighting from
the carriage, they were conducted by an obsequious attendant to a small
ante-room, where they deposited their cloaks, and adjusted over their
faces the sort of half-mask used on such occasions. A beautiful boy,
dressed as a page, then led the way up a broad marble stair case, and
throwing open a door, they were ushered into a scene of such
magnificence, that for a moment they stood bewildered and amazed, tho'
perfectly accustomed to all the splendors of fashionable life.
A fine-looking elderly man, without a mask and in plain clothes,
advanced towards the mother and daughter; this gentleman was Mr. Philip
Livingston, the host--a bachelor of fifty, reputed to be worth two
millions of dollars. The page who had waited upon the two ladies,
_whispered_ their names in Mr. Livingston's ear; and after the usual
compliments, he bowed, and they mingled with the glittering crowds which
thronged the rooms.
We feel almost inadequate to the task of describing the wonders of that
gorgeous festival; yet will make the attempt, for without it, our work
would be incomplete.
Livingston House was an edifice of vast dimensions, built in the sombre
but grand Gothic style of architecture. Extensive apartments
communicated with each other by means of massive folding doors, which
were now thrown open, and the eye wandered through a long vista of
brilliantly lighted rooms, the extent of which seemed increased ten-fold
by the multitude of immense mirrors placed on every side. Art, science
and taste had combined to produce an effect the most grand and imposing;
rare and costly paintings, exquisite statuary, gorgeous gildings, were
there, in rich profusion. But the most magnificent feature of Livingston
House was its _conservatory_, which was probably the finest in the
country, second only in beauty to the famous conservatory of the Duke of
Devonshire in England. A brief description of this gem of Livingston
House may prove interesting to the reader.
Leaving the hall through an arch tastefully decorated with flowers and
evergreens, the visitor descended a flight of marble steps, and entered
the conservatory, which occupied an extensive area of ground, and was
entirely roofed with glass. Though the season was winter and the weather
intensely cold, a delightful warmth pervaded the place, produced by
invisible pipes of heated water. The atmosphere was as mild and genial
as a summer's eve; and the illusion was rendered still more complete by
a large lamp, suspended high above, and shaped like a full moon; this
lamp, being provided with a peculiar kind of glass, shed a mild, subdued
lustre around, producing the beautiful effect of a moonlit eve! On every
side rare exotics and choice plants exhaled a delicious perfume; tropic
fruits grew from the carefully nurtured soil;--orange, pomegranate,
citron, &c. Gravelled walks led through rich shrubbery, darkened by
overhanging foliage. Mossy paths, of charming intricacy, invited the
wanderer to explore their mysterious windings. At every turn a marble
statue, life-sized, met the eye: here the sylvan god Pan, with rustic
pipes in hand--here the huntress Diana, with drawn bow--here the amorous
god Cupid, upon a beautiful pedestal on which was sculptured these
lines, said to have been once written by Voltaire under a statue of the
heathen divinity:
'Whoe'er thou art, thy master see;--
He _was_, or _is_, or _is to be_.'
In the centre of this miniature Paradise was an artificial cascade,
which fell over a large rock into a lake o'er whose glassy waters
several swans with snow white plumage were gliding; and on the brink of
this crystal expanse, romantic grottos and classic temples formed
convenient retreats for the weary dancers from the crowded halls. In
short, this magnificent conservatory was furnished with every beautiful
rarity which the proprietor's immense wealth could procure, and every
classic and graceful adornment which his refined and superior taste
could suggest.
Mrs. Franklin and her daughter, who had come on purpose to engage in
amorous intrigues, agreed to separate, and accordingly they parted, the
mother remaining in the ball room, while Josephine resolved to seek for
adventures amid the mysterious shades of the conservatory.
Over five hundred persons had now assembled in the halls appropriated to
dancing; and these were arrayed in every variety of fancy and
picturesque costume possible to be conceived. The grave Turk, the
stately Spanish cavalier, the Italian bandit and the Grecian corsair,
mingled together without reserve;--and the fairer portion of creation
was represented by fairies, nuns, queens, peasant girls and goddesses.
Mrs. Franklin soon observed that she was followed by a person in the
dress of a Savoyard; he was closely masked, and his figure was slight
and youthful. Determined to give him an opportunity to address her, the
lady strolled to a remote corner of the hall, whither she was followed
by the young Savoyard, who after some apparent hesitation, said to her--
'Fair Sultana, pardon my presumption, but methinks I have seen that
queenly form before.'
'Ah, that voice!' exclaimed the delighted lady--'thou art my little
lover, Clinton Romaine.'
'It is indeed so,' said the boy, gallantly kissing her hand. The lady
surveyed him with wanton eye.
'Naughty truant!' she murmured, drawing him towards her--'why have you
absented yourself from me so long? Do you no longer desire my favors?'
'Dear madam,' replied Clinton--'I am never so happy as when in your
arms; but I have recently entered the service of a good, kind gentleman,
who has been my benefactor; and my time is devoted to him.'
'Come with me,' said the lady, 'to a private room, for I wish to converse
with you without being observed.'
She led the way to a small anteroom, and having carefully fastened the
door to prevent intrusion, clasped the young Savoyard in her arms.
* * * * *
Half an hour afterwards, the boy and his aristocratic mistress issued
from the ante-room, and parted. Clinton wandered thro' the halls, and
descending into the conservatory, entered a temple which stood upon the
margin of the little lake, threw himself upon a luxurious ottoman, and
abandoned himself to his reflections.
'How ungrateful I am,' he said half aloud--'to engage in an intrigue
with that wicked, licentious woman, while my poor master, Mr. Sydney, is
languishing in a prison cell, charged with the dreadful crime of murder!
And yet I know he is innocent. I remember carrying his note to Mrs.
Archer on the fatal day; I knew not its contents, but I recollect the
words which he instructed me to say to her--they were words of
friendship, conveying to her an assurance that he had procured for her a
situation with his aunt. Surely, after sending such a message, he would
not go and murder her! And his aunt can testify that such an arrangement
was made, in reference to Mrs. Archer. Oh, that I could obtain admission
to the cell of my poor master, to try to comfort him, to whom I owe so
much! But alas! the keepers will not admit me; they remember that I was
once a thief, and drive me from the prison door with curses.
'I am persuaded in my own mind,' continued Clinton, following the course
of his reflections--'that Fred Archer is the murderer of that woman. I
know he secretes himself in the Dark Vaults, but I dare not venture
there to seek him, for my agency in the arrest of the Dead Man is known
to the 'Knights of the Round Table,' and were I to fall in their power,
they would assuredly kill me. Now, what has brought me here
to-night?--Not a desire for pleasure; but a faint hope of encountering
amid the masked visitors, the villain Archer; for I know that he, as
well as the other desperadoes in the Vaults, frequently attends
masquerade balls, in disguise, on account of the facilities afforded for
robbery and other crimes. Oh that I might meet him here to-night--I
would boldly accuse him of the murder, and have him taken into custody,
trusting to chance for the proofs of his guilt, and the innocence of my
master.'
It may be well here to observe that it was comparatively easy for such
characters as Archer and his companions to gain admission to such a
masquerade ball as we are describing. In the bustle and confusion of
receiving such a large company, they found but little difficulty in
slipping in, unnoticed and unsuspected.
'And that horrible Dead Man,' continued Clinton--'thank God, _he_ is now
safe within the strong walls of the State Prison, there to pass the
remainder of his earthly existence. How awfully he glared upon me, on
the night of his capture! Oh, if he were at large, my life would be in
continued danger; I should not sleep at night, for terror; I should
tremble lest his corpse-like face should appear at my bedside, and his
bony fingers grapple me by the throat! Yes, thank God--he is deprived of
the power to injure me; I am safe from his fiend-like malice.'
At this moment, Clinton heard foot-steps approaching, and presently some
one said--
'Let us enter this little temple, where we can talk without being
overheard.'
The blood rushed swiftly through Clinton's veins, and his heart beat
violently; for these words were spoken in the well-known voice of Fred
Archer! With great presence of mind he instantly crept beneath the
ottoman on which he had been lying; and the next moment two persons
entered the temple, and seated themselves directly above him.
'It was, as you say,' remarked Archer to his companion in a low tone--'a
most extraordinary piece of good luck for me that Sydney was taken for
that murder which I committed; suspicions are diverted from me, and he
will swing for it, that's certain. I'm safe in regard to that business.'
'And yet, I almost regret, Fred,' said the other, speaking in an almost
inaudible whisper--'that Sydney is in the grip of the Philistines; my
vengeance upon him would have been more terrible than a thousand deaths
by hanging. Well, since it is so, let him swing, and be d----d to him!'
A long conversation here followed, but the two men spoke in such a low
tone, that Clinton could only hear a word now and then. He was, however,
certain as to the identity of Fred Archer; and he determined not to lose
sight of that ruffian without endeavoring to have him taken into
custody.
At length the two men arose and quitted the temple, followed at a safe
distance by the boy.
At the bottom of the marble steps which led to the halls above, Fred
Archer and his companion paused for a few moments, and conversed in
whispers; then the two parted, the former ascending the steps, while
the latter turned and advanced slowly towards Clinton.
The boy instantly started in pursuit of Archer; but as he was about to
pass the person who had just quitted the company of that villain, his
progress was arrested by a strong arm, and a voice whispered in his
ear--'Ah, _Kinchen_, well met!--come with me!'
Clinton attempted to shake off the stranger's grasp--but he was no match
for his adversary, who dragged him back into the little temple before
mentioned, and regarded him with a terrible look.
'Who are you--and what means this treatment of me?' demanded the boy,
trembling with affright.
The mysterious unknown replied not by words--but slowly raised the mask
from his face. Clinton's blood ran cold with horror; for, by the dim and
uncertain light, he beheld the ghastly, awful features of THE DEAD MAN!
'Said I not truly that no prison could hold me?--vain are all stone
walls and iron chains, for I can burst them asunder at will! I had hoped
to avenge myself on that accursed Sydney, in a terrible appalling
manner; but the law has become the avenger--he will die upon the
gallows, and I am content. Ha, ha, ha! how he will writhe, and choke
while I shall be at liberty, to read the account of his execution in the
papers, and gloat over the description of his dying agonies! But I have
an account to settle with _you_, _Kinchen_; you recollect how you hurled
the wine-bottle at my head, as I was about to stab Sydney on the night
of my capture--thereby preventing me from securing a speedy and deadly
revenge at that time? Now, what punishment do you deserve for that
damnable piece of treachery to an old comrade?'
Thus spoke the terrible Dead Man, as he glared menacingly upon the
affrighted and trembling Clinton, whose fears deprived him of all power
of utterance.
'Sydney will hang like a dog,' continued the hideous miscreant, the
words hissing from between his clenched teeth--'My revenge in _that_
quarter shall be consummated, while you, d----d young villain that you
are, shall--'
'Sydney shall _not_ suffer such a fate, monster!' exclaimed Clinton, his
indignation getting the better of his fears, as he looked the villain
boldly in the face--'there are two witnesses, whose testimony can and
will prove his innocence.'
'And who may those two witnesses be?' demanded the Dead Man scornfully.
'I am one--and Sydney's aunt, Mrs. Stevens, who resides at No. ----
Grand Street, is the other,' replied Clinton.
'And what can _you_ testify to in Sydney's favor?' asked the other in a
milder tone.
'I can swear that Mr. Sydney sent me with a note to the lady who was
murdered, and desired me to inform her that he had procured a good
situation for her with his aunt--thus plainly showing the friendly
nature of his feelings and intentions towards her,' replied Clinton.
'And this aunt--what will be the nature of _her_ testimony?' inquired
the Dead Man, with assumed indifference.
'Mrs. Stevens can testify that the nephew Mr. Sydney strongly
recommended her to receive the poor unfortunate lady into her
service--and that arrangements were made to that effect,' answered the
boy, unsuspiciously.
The Dead Man seemed for a moment lost in deep thought. 'So it appears
that there are two witnesses whose testimony _might_ tend to the
acquittal of Sydney,' he thought to himself. 'Those two witnesses must
be put out of the way; one of them is now in my power--_he_ is done for;
I am acquainted with the name and residence of the other, and by G----d,
_she_ shall be done for, too!--_Kinchen_,' he said aloud, turning
savagely to the boy--'You must accompany me to the Dark Vaults.'
'Never,' exclaimed Clinton, resolutely--'rather will I die here. If you
attempt to carry me forcibly with you, I will struggle and resist--I
will proclaim to the guests in the ball room your dread character and
name; the mask will be torn from your face, and you will be dragged back
to prison, from whence you escaped.'
For the second time did the Dead Man pause, and reflect profoundly. He
thought somewhat in this wise:--'There is no possible means of egress
from this place, except thro' the ball room, which is crowded with
guests. True, I might bind and gag the _Kinchen_, but his struggles
would be sure to attract attention--and my discovery and capture would
be the result. It is evident, therefore, that I cannot carry him
forcibly hence, with safety to myself. Shall I _murder_ him? No, damn
it, 'tis hardly worth my while to do that--and somehow or other, these
murders almost invariably lead to detection. The devil himself couldn't
save my neck if I were to be hauled up on another murder--yet, by hell,
I must risk it in reference to that Mrs. Stevens, whose testimony would
be apt to save her accursed nephew, Sydney, from the gallows. Yes, I
must slit the old lady's windpipe; but the _Kinchen_--what the devil
shall I do to keep _him_ from blabbing, since I can't make up my mind to
kill him?'
Suddenly, a horrible thought flashed through the villain's mind.
'_Kinchen_,' he whispered, with a fiend-like laugh--'I have thought of a
plan by which to _silence your tongue forever_.'
He drew a huge clasp-knife from his pocket. Ere Clinton could cry out
for assistance, the monster grasped him by the throat with his vice-like
fingers--the poor boy's tongue protruded from his mouth--and oh,
horrible! the incarnate devil, suddenly loosening his hold on the
throat, quick as lightning caught hold of the tongue, and forcibly drew
it out to its utmost tension--then, with one rapid stroke of his sharp
knife, he _cut it off_, and threw it from him with a howl of savage
satisfaction. 'Now, d----n you,' exclaimed the Dead Man--'see if you can
testify in court!'
The victim sank upon the floor, weltering in his blood, while the
barbarian who had perpetrated the monstrous outrage, fled from the
conservatory, passed through the ball room and proceeded with rapid
strides towards the residence of Mrs. Stevens, Sydney's aunt, in Grand
Street, having first put on the mask which he wore to conceal the
repulsive aspect of his countenance. He found the house without
difficulty, for he remembered the number which poor Clinton had given
him; and ascending the steps, he knocked boldly at the door.
The summons was speedily answered by a servant who ushered the Dead Man
into a parlor, saying that her mistress would be down directly. In a few
moments the door opened and Mrs. Stevens entered the room.
This lady was a widow, somewhat advanced in years, and in affluent
circumstances. Her countenance was the index of a benevolent and
excellent heart; and in truth she was a most estimable woman.
'Madam,' said the Dead Man--'I have called upon you at the request of
your unfortunate nephew, Francis Sydney.'
'Oh, sir,' exclaimed the old lady, shedding tears--'how is the poor
young man--and how does he bear his cruel and unjust punishment?--for
unjust it is, as he is innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him.
Alas! the very day the poor lady was murdered, he called and entreated
me to take her into my service, to which I readily consented. Oh, he is
innocent, I am sure.'
'Mrs. Stevens,' said the villain--'I have something of a most important
nature to communicate, relative to your nephew; are we certain of no
interruption here?--for my intelligence must be delivered in strict
privacy.'
'We are alone in this house,' replied the unsuspecting lady. 'The
servant who admitted you has gone out on a short errand, and you need
fear no interruption.'
'Then, madam, I have to inform you that--'
While uttering these words, the Dead Man advanced towards Mrs. Stevens,
who stood in the centre of the apartment; he assumed an air of profound
mystery, and she, supposing that he was about to whisper in her ear,
inclined her head toward him. That movement was her last on earth; in
another instant she was prostrate upon the carpet, her throat encircled
by the fingers of the ghastly monster; her countenance became suffused
with a dark purple--blood gushed from her mouth, eyes and nostrils--and
in a few minutes all was over!
The murderer arose from his appalling work, and his loathsome face
assumed, beneath his mask, an expression of demoniac satisfaction.
''Tis done!' he muttered--'damn the old fool, she thought I was a
_friend_ of her accursed nephew's. But I must leave the corpse in such a
situation that it may be supposed the old woman committed suicide.'
He tore off the large shawl which the poor lady had worn, and fastened
it about her neck; then he hung the body upon the parlor door, and
placed an overturned chair near its feet, to lead to the supposition
that she had stood upon the chair while adjusting the shawl about her
neck and then overturned it in giving the fatal spring. This arrangement
the Dead Man effected with the utmost rapidity and then forcing open a
bureau which stood in the parlor, he took from the drawer various
articles of value, jewelry, &c., and a pocket-book containing a
considerable sum of money--forgetting, in his blind stupidity, that the
circumstances of a robbery having taken place, would destroy the
impression that the unfortunate old lady had come to her death
voluntarily by her own hands.
The murderer then fled from the house and that night he and Archer, in
the mysterious depths of the Dark Vaults, celebrated their bloody
exploits by mad orgies, horrid blasphemy, and demoniac laughter.
We left Clinton weltering in his blood upon the floor of the temple in
the conservatory. The poor mangled youth was discovered in that
deplorable situation shortly after the perpetration of the abominable
outrage which had deprived him of the blessed gift of speech forever. He
was conveyed to the residence of Dr. Schultz, a medical gentleman of
eminent skill, who stopped the effusion of blood, and pronounced his
eventual recovery certain. But oh! who can imagine the feelings of the
unfortunate boy, when returning consciousness brought with it the
appalling conviction that the faculty of expressing his thoughts in
words was gone forever, and henceforward he was hopelessly _dumb_! By
great exertion he scrawled upon a piece of paper his name and residence;
a carriage was procured, and he was soon beneath the roof of his master,
Mr. Sydney, under the kind care of honest Dennis and the benevolent
housekeeper.
And Sydney--alas for him! Immured in that awful sepulchre of crime, the
Tombs--charged with the deed of murder, and adjudged guilty by public
opinion--deserted by those whom he had regarded as his friends,
suffering from confinement in a noisome cell, and dreading the ignominy
of a trial and the horrors of a public execution--his fair fame blasted
forever by the taint of crime--what wonder that he, so young, so rich,
so gifted with every qualification to enjoy life, should begin to doubt
the justice of divine dispensation, and, loathing existence, pray for
death to terminate his state of suspense and misery!
But we must not lose sight of Josephine Franklin; her adventures at the
masquerade hall were of too amorous and exciting a nature to be passed
lightly over, in this mirror of the fashions, follies and crimes of city
life.--Our next chapter will duly record the particulars of the fair
lady's romantic intrigues on that brilliant and memorable occasion.
CHAPTER X
_The Amours of Josephine--The Spanish Ambassador, and the Ecclesiastical
Lover._
Josephine, dressed as the 'Royal Middy,' entered the conservatory, and
strolled leisurely along a gravelled walk which led to a little grotto
composed of rare minerals and shells. Entering this picturesque retreat,
she placed herself upon a seat exquisitely sculptured from marble, and
listened to the beautiful strains of music which proceeded from the ball
room.
While thus abandoning herself to the voluptuous feelings of the moment,
she observed that a tall, finely formed person in the costume of a
Spanish cavalier, passed the grotto several times, each time gazing at
her with evident admiration. He was masked, but Josephine had removed
her mask, and her superb countenance was fully revealed. The cavalier
had followed her from the ball-room, but she did not perceive him until
he passed the grotto.
'I have secured an admirer already,' she said to herself, as a smile of
satisfaction parted her rosy lips. 'I must encourage him, and perhaps
he may prove to be a desirable conquest.'
The cavalier saw her smile and, encouraged by that token of her
complaisance, paused before the grotto, and addressed her in a slightly
foreign accent:--
'Fair lady, will you suffer me to repose myself for a while in this
fairy-like retreat?'
'I shall play off a little prank upon this stranger,' thought Josephine
to herself--'it will serve to amuse me.' And then she burst into a merry
laugh, as she replied--
'I have no objection in the world, sir, to your sharing this grotto with
me; but really, you make a great mistake--you suppose me to be a lady;
but I'm no more a lady than you are, don't you see that I'm a _boy_?'
'Indeed!--a _boy_!' Exclaimed the stranger, surveying Josephine with
great interest. 'By heaven, I took you for a female; and though you are
a boy, I will say that you are an extremely pretty one.'
He entered into the grotto, and seated himself at her side. Taking her
hand, he said--
'This hand is wonderfully fair and soft for a boy's. Confess, now--are
you not deceiving me?'
'Why should I deceive you?' asked Josephine--'if my hand is fair and
soft, it is because I have been brought up as a gentleman, and it has
never become soiled or hardened by labor.'
'And yet,' rejoined the stranger, passing his hand over the swelling
outlines of her bosom, which no disguise could entirely conceal--'there
seems to me to be something feminine in these pretty proportions.'
'You doubtless think so,' replied Josephine, removing his hand--'but you
greatly err. The fact is, my appearance is naturally very effeminate,
and sometimes it is my whim to encourage the belief that I am a female.
I came here to-night, resolved to produce that impression; and you see
with what a successful result--you yourself imagined me to be a lady
dressed in male attire, but again I assure you that you never were more
mistaken in your life. The fullness of my bosom is accounted for, when I
inform you that my vest is very skillfully _padded_. So now I hope you
will be no longer skeptical in regard to my true sex.'
'I no longer doubt you, my dear boy,' said the stranger, gazing at
Josephine with increased admiration. 'Were you a lady, you would be
beautiful, but as a boy you are doubly charming. Be not surprised when I
assure you that you please me ten times--aye, ten thousand times more,
as a boy, than as a woman. By heaven, I must kiss those ripe lips!'
'Kiss _me_!' responded Josephine, laughing--'come, sire, this is too
good--you must be joking.'
'No, beautiful boy, I am serious,' exclaimed the stranger,
vehemently--'you may pronounce my passion strange, unaccountable, and
absurd, if you will--but 'tis none the less violent or sincere. I am a
native of Spain, a country whose ardent souls confine not their
affections to the fairest portion of the human race alone, but--'
'What mean you?' demanded Josephine, in astonishment. The stranger
whispered a few words in her ear, and she drew back in horror and
disgust.
'Nay, hear me,' exclaimed the Spaniard, passionately--'it is no low-born
or vulgar person who solicits this favor; for know,' he continued,
removing his mask--'that I am Don Jose Velasquez, ambassador to this
country from the court of Spain; and however high my rank, I kneel at
your feet and--'
'Say no more, sir,' said Josephine, interrupting him, and rising as she
spoke--'it is time that you should know that your first supposition in
reference to me was correct. I am a woman. I did but pretend, in
accordance with a suddenly conceived notion, to deceive you for a while,
but that deception has developed an iniquity in the human character, the
existence of which I have heard before, but never fully believed till
today. Your unnatural iniquity inspires me with abhorrence; leave me
instantly and attempt not to follow me, or I shall expose you to the
guests, in which case _His Excellency_ Don Jose Velasquez, ambassador to
this country from the court of Spain, would become an object of derision
and contempt.'
The Spaniard muttered a threat of vengeance and strode hastily away.
Josephine put on her mask, and leaving the grotto, was about to return
to the ball-room, when a gentleman, plainly but richly attired in black
velvet, and closely masked, thus accosted her in a respectful tone--
'Lady--for your graceful figure and gait betray you, notwithstanding
your boyish disguise--suffer me to depart so far from the formality of
fashionable etiquette as to entreat your acceptance of me as your
_chaperon_ through this beautiful place.'
This gentleman's speech was distinguished by a voice uncommonly
melodious, and an accent peculiarly refined; he was evidently a person
of education and respectable social position. The tones of his voice
struck Josephine as being familiar to her; yet she could not divine who
he was, and concluded that there only existed an accidental resemblance
between his voice and that of some one of her friends. His manner being
so frank, and at the same time so gentleman-like and courteous, that she
replied without hesitation--
'I thank you, sir--I will avail myself of your kindness.' She took his
proffered arm, and they began slowly to promenade the principal avenue
of the conservatory, engaged at first in that polite and desultory
discourse which might be supposed to arise between a lady and gentleman
who meet under such circumstances.
At length, becoming fatigued, they entered a pretty little arbor quite
remote from observation, and seated themselves upon a moss-covered
trunk. After a few commonplace observations, the gentleman suddenly
addressed Josephine in a start of ardent passion.
'Lady,' he exclaimed, taking her hand and pressing it tenderly, 'pardon
my rudeness; but I am overcome by feelings which I never before
experienced. Although your face is concealed by your mask, I know you
are beautiful--the rich luxuriance of your raven hair, and the exquisite
proportions of this fair hand, are proofs of the angelic loveliness of
your countenance. Am I presumptuous and bold--does my language give you
offence?--if so, I will tear myself from your side, though it will rend
my heart with anguish to do so. You do not speak--you are offended with
me; farewell, then--'
'Stay,' murmured Josephine--'I am not offended, sire--far from it; you
are courteous and gallant, and why should I be displeased?' The
gentleman kissed her hand with rapture.
'Oh,' said he, in a low tone--'I am entranced by your kindness. You will
be surprised when I assure you that I am but a novice in the way of
love; and yet I most solemnly declare that never before have I pressed
woman's hand with passion--never before has my heart beat with the
tumult of amorous inclination--never before have I clasped woman's
lovely form as I now clasp yours.' And he encircled the yielding form of
Josephine with his arms.
'Why have you been such a novice in the delights of love?' she asked,
permitting him to clasp her passionately to his breast.
'Dear lady,' he replied--'my position in life is one that precludes me
in a great measure from the enjoyment of sensual indulgences; and I have
heretofore imagined myself impervious to the attacks of Venus; but ah!
you have conquered me. My leisure moments have been devoted to study and
contemplation; I ventured here to-night to be a spectator of the joys of
others, not designing to participate in those joys myself. The graceful
voluptuousness of your form, developed by this boyish costume, fired my
soul with new and strange sensations, which, so help me heaven! I never
experienced before. Ah, I would give half of my existence to be allowed
to kiss those luscious lips!'
'You can have your wish at a far less expense,' murmured the lady, her
bosom heaving with passionate emotions.
'But first remove that mask,' said the gentleman, enraptured at the
success of the first intrigue of his life.
'I have no objection to uncover my countenance, provided you bestow upon
me a similar favor,' replied Josephine.
'I am most anxious to preserve my _incognito_,' said the gentleman, in a
tone of hesitation. 'My standing and peculiar occupation in life are
entirely incompatible with such a festival as this, and my reputation
would be dangerously compromised, if not utterly ruined. Nay, then,
since you insist upon it, fair creature, I will unmask, trusting to your
honor as a lady to keep my secret.'
He uncovered his face, and Josephine was thunderstruck when she
recognized in the amorous stranger, no less a personage than Dr.
Sinclair, the pious and eloquent rector of St. Paul's.
Yes--that learned and talented divine, who had so often denounced the
sins and follies of the fashionable world, and declaimed particularly
against the demoralizing influences of masquerade balls--that young and
handsome preacher, whose exalted reputation for sanctity and holiness
had induced the amorous Josephine and her licentious mother to suppose
him inaccessible to their lustful glances, and far removed from the
power of temptation--that model of purity and virtue was now present at
this scene of profligate dissipation, gazing into the wanton eyes of a
beautiful siren, his face flushed with excitement, and his heart
palpitating with eager desire!
For a few moments Josephine sat overcome by astonishment, and could not
utter a single syllable.
'You seem surprised, dear lady,' said Dr. Sinclair--'may I ask if you
have ever seen me before?'
'You can read in my countenance an answer to your question,' replied
Josephine, taking off her mask.
'Heavens, Miss Franklin!' exclaimed the divine. It was now his turn to
be astonished.
'We meet under extraordinary circumstances,' said Dr. Sinclair after a
short and somewhat embarrassing pause. 'Had I known that you are one who
every Sabbath sits under my ministration, no earthly consideration would
have induced me to disclose myself--not even the certainty of enjoying
your favors. However, you know me now, and 'tis impossible to recall the
past; therefore, beautiful Miss Franklin, do not withhold from the
preacher that kindness which you would have granted to the private
gentleman.--Let us religiously preserve our secret from the knowledge of
the world: when we meet in company, let it be with the cold formality
which exists between persons who are almost strangers; but now let us
revel in the joys of love.'
The superb but profligate Josephine needed no urgent persuasion to
induce her to become a guilty participator in a criminal _liaison_ with
the handsome young rector whom she had so long regarded with the eyes of
desire;--_hers_ was the conquest, that unprincipled lady of fashion; and
_he_ was the victim, that recreant fallen minister of the gospel.
Humbled and conscience-stricken, Dr. Sinclair left Livingston House and
returned to his own luxurious but solitary home; while Josephine was
driven in her carriage to Franklin House, the flush of triumph on her
cheeks and her proud, guilty heart reeling with exultation.
CHAPTER XI
_The Condemnation to Death--the Burglar's Confession and Awful Fate in
the Iron Coffin._
The arrest of Frank Sydney for the murder of Maria Archer created an
immense excitement throughout the whole community.--His wealth, standing
in society, and former respectability caused many to believe him
innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him; but public opinion
generally pronounced him guilty. The following article, extracted from a
newspaper published at that period, will throw some light upon the views
held in reference to the unhappy young man, and show how the
circumstances under which he was arrested operated prejudicially to
him:--
'ATROCIOUS MURDER. Last night, about nine o'clock, cries of
murder were heard proceeding from the house No.--Bowery. The
door was forced open by several citizens and watchmen, who,
on entering a room on the second story, found the body of a
young woman named Maria Archer stretched upon a sofa, her
throat cut in a horrible manner, and standing over the corpse
a young gentleman named Francis Sydney, holding in his hand a
large Bowie knife, covered with blood. The landlady, Mrs.
Flint, stated that Maria had that afternoon announced her
intention to remove from the house in the evening; at about
eight o'clock, Mr. Sydney called, _disguised_, and went up
into the room of the deceased;--after a while, she (the
landlady), being surprised that Maria did not begin to remove,
went up to her room, and on opening the door, saw the young
woman lying upon the sofa, her throat cut, and Mr. Sydney
standing over her with the knife in his hand. On seeing this
she screamed for assistance, and her cries had brought the
watchman and citizens into the house, as we have stated.
'Mr. Sydney is a very wealthy young man, and has heretofore
been highly respected. There can be no doubt of his guilt. He
had probably formed a criminal connection with Mrs. Archer,
whose character for chastity did not stand very high; it is
supposed that it was in consequence of this intimacy that Mrs.
Sydney recently separated from her husband. It is also
presumed that a quarrel arose between Sydney and his paramour
in consequence of his refusal to supply her with what money
she demanded. This belief is predicated upon the following
note, in the handwriting of Sydney, which was found upon the
person of his murdered victim:--
'Mrs. Archer.--Madam: I shall this evening call upon you to
confirm the words of my messenger. The unfortunate career
which you have followed, is now nearly ended. Extortion and
oppression shall triumph no longer. F.S.'
'This note, it will be perceived, accuses her of extortion
and contains a threat, &c. Alarmed at this, the poor young
woman determined to leave the house that night--but was
prevented by her paramour who barbarously slew her.
'The prisoner, whose appearance and behavior after his arrest
proved his guilt, was conveyed to the Tombs, to await his trial
for one of the most atrocious murders that has stained our
criminal courts for many years.'
Thus it will be seen that poor, innocent Frank was regarded as the
murderer.
It is needless for us to enter into the particulars of his trial:
suffice it to say, he was convicted of the murder and sentenced to
death. The evidence, though entirely circumstantial, was deemed positive
against him. Mrs. Flint testifying that he was the only person who had
entered the house that evening, and the situation in which she had
discovered him, the murderous weapon in his hand, and his clothes
stained with blood, admitted not a doubt of his guilt in the minds of
the jury, who did not hesitate to bring in their fatal verdict,
conscientiously believing it to be a just one.
A few days previous to his trial, the public were astounded by the
intelligence that Mrs. Stevens, the prisoner's aunt, had committed
suicide by hanging; and her nephew's disgrace and peril were supposed to
have been the cause of the rash act. But when it came to be discovered
that a robbery had been committed in the house, and it was stated by the
servant that a strange man had sought and obtained an interview with the
unfortunate old lady that evening, the public opinion took a different
turn, and the belief became general that she had been murdered by some
unknown miscreant, whose object was to plunder the house. No one
suspected that she had been slain to prevent her from giving favorable
testimony at the trial of her nephew Francis Sydney.
The diabolical outrage perpetrated upon the boy Clinton at the
masquerade ball soon became noised abroad, and gave rise to many
surmises, and much indignation; tho' no one as yet imagined that any
connection existed between that horrible affair and the brutal murder of
Mrs. Stevens.
After his conviction and condemnation to death, Sydney was placed in
irons, and treated with but little indulgence by the petty officials who
have charge of the Tombs. An application on his behalf was made to the
Governor, in the hope of either obtaining a pardon, or a commutation of
his sentence to imprisonment, but the executive functionary refused to
interfere, and Frank prepared for death.
The day before that fixed upon for his execution, a lady applied for
admission to the prisoner's cell, her request was granted, and Frank was
astonished by the entrance of Julia, his guilty and discarded wife!
Did she come to entreat his forgiveness for her crime, and to endeavor
to administer consolation and comfort to him in this his last extremity?
No, the remorseless and vindictive woman had come to exult over his
misfortunes, and triumph over his downfall!
'So, miserable wretch,' she said, in a tone of contempt--'You are at
last placed in a situation in which I can rejoice over your degradation
and shame! A convicted, chained murderer, to die to-morrow--ha, ha, ha!'
and she laughed with hellish glee.
'Accursed woman,' cried Frank, with indignation--'why have you come to
mock my misery? Have you the heart to rejoice over my awful and
undeserved fate?' and the poor young man, folding his arms, wept
bitterly, for his noble and manly nature was for the time overcome by
the horror of his situation.
'Yes, I have come to gloat upon your misery,' replied the vile,
unfeeling woman. 'To-morrow you will die upon the gallows, and your
memory will be hated and condemned by those who believe you to be
guilty. I am convinced in my own mind that you are innocent of the
murder; yet I rejoice none the less in your fate. Your death will free
me from all restraint; I can adopt an assumed name, and removing to some
distant city, entrap some rich fool into a marriage with me, whose
wealth will administer to my extravagance, while I secretly abandon
myself to licentious pleasures. Sydney, I never loved you--and when you
discovered my intimacy with my dear African, I hated you--oh, how
bitterly! When you cast me off, I vowed revenge upon you; but my
vengeance will be satisfied to-morrow, when you pay the forfeit of
another's crime. And now in the hour of your disgrace and death, I spit
upon and despise you!'
'Begone, vile strumpet that you are,' exclaimed Frank, starting to his
feet--'taunt me no more, or you will drive me to commit an actual
murder, and send your blackened soul into the presence of your offended
Creator!'
'Farewell, forever,' said Julia, in a tone of indifference, and she left
her poor, wronged husband to his own bitter reflections. Shortly after
her departure, a clergyman entered the cell, and remained with the
prisoner until long after midnight, preparing him for the awful change
he was to undergo on the morrow.
* * * * *
That very night Fred Archer issued from the secret outlet of the Dark
Vaults, and bent his steps in the direction of Wall street.
This street is the great focus around which all the most extensive
financial operations of the great metropolis are carried on. It is
occupied exclusively by banks, brokers' and insurance offices, and
establishments of the like character.
It was midnight when Archer turned into Wall street from Broadway. The
moon was obscured by clouds, and the street was entirely deserted. He
paused before a large, massive building in the neighborhood of the
Exchange, and glanced around him in every direction to assure himself
that he was unobserved. Seeing no one, he ascended the marble steps,
drew from his pocket a huge key, and with it unlocked the door; he
entered, and closing the door after him, carefully re-locked it.
'So far all is well,' muttered the burglar, as he ignited a match and
lighted a piece of wax candle which he had brought with him. 'It's lucky
that I obtained an impression of that lock in wax, and from it made this
key, or I might have had the devil's trouble in getting in.'
He advanced along the passageway, and opening a large door covered with
green baize, entered a commodious apartment, containing a long table
covered with papers, a desk, chairs, and other furniture, suitable to a
business office. In one corner stood an immense safe, six feet in height
and four in depth; this safe, made of massive plates of iron and
protected by a door of prodigious strength, contained the books,
valuable papers, and cash belonging to the ---- Insurance Company.
Archer advanced to the safe, and took from his pocket a piece of paper,
on which some words were written; this paper he examined with much
attention.
'Here,' said he, 'I have the written directions, furnished me by the
locksmith who made the lock attached to the safe, by which I can open
it. Curse the fellow, a cool hundred dollars was a round sum of money to
give him for this little bit of paper, but without it I never could see
the interior of his iron closet, tho' I have an exact model of the key
belonging to it, made from an impression in wax, which I bribed the
clerk to get for me.'
Pursuing the directions contained in the paper, he touched a small
spring concealed in the masonry adjoining the safe, and instantly a
slide drew back in a panel of the door, revealing a key-hole. In this he
inserted a key, and turned it, but found that he could not unlock it; he
therefore had recourse to his paper a second time, which communicated
the secret of the only method by which to open the door. Following those
directions implicitly, he soon had the satisfaction of turning back the
massive bolts which secured the door; a spring now only held it fast,
but this was easily turned by means of a small brass knob, and the heavy
door swung back upon its gigantic hinges, to the intense delight of the
burglar, who anticipated securing a rich booty.
Nor was he likely to be disappointed; for upon examination he found that
the safe contained money to a large amount. A small tin cash box was
full of bank-notes of various denominations; and in a drawer were
several thousands of dollars in gold.
'My fortune is made, by G----d!' exclaimed the burglar, as he stood
within the safe, and began hastily to transfer the treasures to his
pockets. The light of his candle, which he held in his hand, shed a
faint glow upon the walls and ceiling of the apartment.
'The devil!' muttered Archer--'my success thus far must not destroy my
prudence. If that light were to be seen from these windows, suspicion
would be excited and I might be disagreeably interrupted.'
Reaching out his arm, he caught hold of the door of the safe, and pulled
it violently towards him so that the light of his candle might not
betray him. The immense mass of iron swung heavingly upon its hinges,
and closed with a sharp _click_; the spring held it fast, and on the
inside of the door there was no means of turning back that spring. Like
lightning the awful conviction flashed through the burglar's mind that
he was _entombed alive_!
Vain, vain were his efforts to burst forth from his iron coffin; as well
might he attempt to move the solid rock! He shrieked aloud for
assistance--but no sound could penetrate through those iron walls! He
called upon God to pity him in that moment of his awful distress--but
that God, whom he had so often blasphemed, now interposed not His power
to succor the vile wretch, thus so signally punished.
No friendly crevice admitted one mouthful of air into the safe, and
Archer soon began to breathe with difficulty; he became sensible that he
must die a terrible death by suffocation. Oh, how he longed for someone
to arrive and release him from his dreadful situation, even though the
remainder of his days were passed within the gloomy walls of a prison!
How he cursed the money, to obtain which he had entered that safe,
wherein he was now imprisoned as securely as if buried far down in the
bowels of the earth! With the howl of a demon he dashed the banknotes
and glittering gold beneath his feet, and trampled on them. Then,
sinking down upon the floor of the safe, he abandoned himself to
despair.
Already had the air of that small, confined place become fetid and
noisome; and the burglar began to pant with agony, while the hot blood
swelled his veins almost to bursting. A hundred thousand dollars lay
within his grasp--he would have given it all for one breath of fresh
air, or one draught of cold water.
As the agonies of his body increased, the horrors of his guilty
conscience tortured his soul. The remembrance of the many crimes he had
committed arose before him; the spirit of his murdered wife hovered over
him, ghastly, pale and bloody. Then he recollected that an innocent man
was to be hung on the morrow, for that dreadful deed which _he_ had
perpetrated; and the thought added to the mental tortures which he was
enduring.
A thought struck the dying wretch; it was perhaps in his power to make
some atonement for his crimes--he might save an innocent man from an
ignominious death. No sooner had that thought suggested itself to his
mind, than he acted upon it, for he knew that his moments were few;
already he felt the cold hand of death upon him. He took a piece of
chalk from his pocket, and with a feeble hand traced the following words
upon the iron door of the safe:--
'My last hour is come, and I call on God, in whose awful presence I am
shortly to appear, to witness the truth of this dying declaration. I do
confess myself to be the murderer of Maria Archer. The young man Sydney
is innocent of that crime. God have mercy--'
He could write no more; his brain grew dizzy and his senses fled. It
seemed as if his iron coffin was red-hot, and he writhed in all the
agony of a death by fire. Terrible shapes crowded around him, and the
spirit of his murdered wife beckoned him to follow her to perdition. A
mighty and crushing weight oppressed him; blood gushed from the pores of
his skin; his eyes almost leaped from their sockets, and his brain
seemed swimming in molten lead. At length Death came, and snapped
asunder the chord of his existence; the soul of the murderer was in the
presence of its Maker.
* * * * *
Morning dawned upon the doomed Sydney, in his prison cell; the glad
sunbeams penetrated into that gloomy apartment, shedding a glow of ruddy
light upon the white walls. That day at the hour of noon, he was to be
led forth to die--he, the noble, generous Sydney, whose heart teemed
with the most admirable qualities, and who would not wantonly have
injured the lowest creature that crawls upon the Creator's footstool--he
to die the death of a malefactor, upon the scaffold!
The day wore heavily on; Frank, composed and resigned, was ready to meet
his fate like a man. He had heard the deep voice of the Sheriff, in the
hall of the prison, commanding his subordinates to put up the scaffold;
he had heard them removing that cumbrous engine of death from an
unoccupied cell, and his ear had caught the sound of its being erected
in the prison yard. Then he knelt down and prayed.
His hour had come. They came and removed his irons; they clothed him in
the fearful livery of the grave. His step was firm and his eye undaunted
as he passed into the prison yard, and stood beneath the black and
frowning gallows.
The last prayer was said; the last farewell spoken; and many a
hard-hearted jailer and cruel official turned aside to conceal the tears
which would flow, at the thought that in a few moments that fine young
man, so handsome, so talented and so noble to look upon, would be
strangling and writhing with the tortures of the murderous rope, and
soon after cut down, a ghastly and disfigured corpse.
The Sheriff adjusted the rope, and there was an awful pause; a man was
tottering on the verge of eternity!
But oh, blessed pause--'twas ordained by the Almighty, to snatch that
innocent man from the jaws of death! At that critical moment, a confused
murmur was heard in the interior of the prison; the Sheriff, who had his
hand upon the fatal book, which alone intervened between the condemned
and eternity, was stopped from the performance of his deadly office, by
a loud shout that rent the air, as a crowd of citizens rushed into the
prison yard, exclaiming--
'Hold--stay the execution!'
The Mayor of the city, who was present, exchanged a few hurried words
with the foremost of the citizens who had thus interrupted the awful
ceremony; and instantly, with the concurrence of the Sheriff, ordered
Sydney to be taken from the gallows, and conducted back to his cell,
there to await the result of certain investigations, which it was
believed would procure his entire exoneration from the crime of which
he had been deemed guilty, and his consequent release from imprisonment.
It appeared that an officer connected with the ---- Insurance Company,
on opening the safe that morning at about half-past eleven o'clock,
discovered the dead body of the burglar, the money scattered about, and
the writing upon the door. The officer, who was an intelligent and
energetic man, instantly comprehended the state of affairs, and hastened
with a number of other citizens to the Tombs, in order to save an
innocent man from death. Had he arrived a few moments later, it might
have been too late; but as it was, he had the satisfaction of rescuing
poor Sydney from a dreadful fate, and the credit of saving the State
from the disgrace of committing a judicial murder.
A dispatch was immediately sent to the Governor, at Albany, apprising
him of these facts. The next day a letter was received from His
Excellency, in which he stated that he had just perused the evidence
which had produced the conviction of Mr. Sydney, and that evidence,
besides being merely circumstantial, was, to his mind, vague and
insufficient. The pressure of official business had prevented him from
examining the case before, but had he reviewed the testimony, he would
assuredly have granted the prisoner a reprieve. The dying confession of
the burglar, the husband of the murdered woman, left not the slightest
doubt of Mr. Sydney's innocence; and His Excellency concluded by
ordering the prisoner's immediate discharge from custody.
Sydney left the prison, and, escorted by a number of friends, entered a
carriage and was driven to his residence in Broadway. Here he was
received with unbounded joy and hearty congratulations by all his
household, including honest Dennis, and poor, dumb Clinton, who could
only manifest his satisfaction by expressive signs.
'I will avenge thee, poor boy,' whispered Frank in his ear, as he
cordially pressed his hand.
A tall man, wrapped in a cloak, had followed Frank's carriage, and
watched him narrowly as he alighted and entered his house. This man's
eyes alone were visible, and they glared with a fiend-like malignity
upon the young gentleman; turning away, he muttered a deep curse, and a
momentary disarrangement of the cloak which hid his face, revealed the
horrible lineaments of the DEAD MAN!
CHAPTER XII
_Showing how the Dead Man escaped from the State Prison at Sing Sing._
The New York State Prison is situated at Sing Sing, a village on the
banks of the Hudson river, a few miles above the city. Being built in
the strongest manner, it is deemed almost an impossibility for a
prisoner to effect his escape from its massive walls. The discipline is
strict and severe, and the system one of hard labor and unbroken
silence, with reference to any conversation among the convicts--though
in respect to the last regulation, it is impossible to enforce it
always, where so many men are brought together in the prison and
workshops attached to it.
The Dead Man, (who it will be recollected formerly made his escape from
the prison,) on being returned there, after his capture by the two
officers at Sydney's house, was locked in one of the cells, and left to
his own not very agreeable reflections. He had been sentenced to
imprisonment for life; and as his conduct and character precluded all
hope of his ever being made the object of executive clemency, he was
certain to remain there during the rest of his days, unless he could
again manage to escape; and this he determined to do, or perish in the
attempt.
For three days he was kept locked in his solitary cell, the only food
allowed him being bread and water. On the third day he was brought out,
stripped, and severely flogged with the _cats_, an instrument of torture
similar to that used (to our national disgrace be it said,) on board of
the men-of-war in our naval service. Then, with his back all lacerated
and bleeding, the miscreant was placed at work in the shop where cabinet
making was carried on--that having been his occupation in the prison,
previous to his escape; an occupation which he had learned, while a boy,
within the walls of some penitentiary.
The convict applied himself to his labor with a look which only bespoke
a sullen apathy; but in his heart there raged a hell of evil passions.
That night when he was locked in his cell, he slept not, but sat till
morning endeavoring to devise some plan of escape.
The next day it chanced that he and another convict employed in the
cabinet-maker's shop were engaged in packing furniture in large boxes to
be conveyed in a sloop to the city of New York. These boxes, as soon as
they were filled and nailed up, were carried down to the wharf, and
stowed on board the sloop, which was to sail as soon as she was loaded.
It instantly occurred to the Dead Man that these operations might afford
him a chance to escape; and he determined to attempt it, at all hazards.
Upon an elevated platform in the centre of the shop (which was
extensive) was stationed an overseer, whose duty it was to see that the
convicts attended strictly to their work, and held no communication with
each other. This officer had received special instructions from the
Warden of the prison, to watch the Dead Man with all possible vigilance,
and by no means to lose sight of him for a single moment, inasmuch as
his former escape had been accomplished through the inattention of the
overseer who had charge of him. Upon that occasion, he had watched for a
favorable moment, slipped out of the shop unperceived, entered the
Warden's dwelling house (which is situated within the walls of the
prison) and helping himself to a suit of citizen's clothes, dressed
himself therein, and deliberately marched out of the front gate, before
the eyes of half a dozen keepers and guards, who supposed him to be some
gentleman visiting the establishment, his hideous and well-known
features being partially concealed by the broad-brimmed hat of a
respectable Quaker.
To prevent a repetition of that maneuver, and to detect any other which
might be attempted by the bold and desperate ruffian, the overseer kept
his eyes almost constantly upon him, being resolved that no second
chance should be afforded him to 'take French leave.' The Dead Man soon
became conscious that he was watched with extraordinary vigilance; he
was sagacious as well as criminal, and he deemed it to be good policy to
assume the air of a man who was resigned to his fate, knowing it to be
inevitable. He therefore worked with alacrity and endeavored to wear
upon his villainous face an expression of contentment almost amounting
to cheerfulness.
Near him labored a prisoner whose countenance indicated good-nature and
courage;--and to him the Dead Man said, in an almost inaudible whisper,
but without raising his eyes from his work, or moving his lips:--
'My friend, there is something in your appearance which assures me that
you can be trusted; listen to me with attention, but do not look towards
me. I am sentenced here for life: I am anxious to escape, and a plan has
suggested itself to my mind, but you must assist me--will you do it?'
'Yes, poor fellow, I will, if it lies in my power, provided you were not
sent here for any offence which I disapprove of,' replied the other, in
a similar tone. 'I was sentenced here for the term of seven years, for
manslaughter; a villain seduced my daughter, and I shot him dead--the
honor of my child was worth a million of such accursed lives as his.--I
consider myself guilty of no crime; he sacrificed my daughter to his
lust, and then abandoned her--I sacrificed him to my vengeance, and
never regretted the deed. The term of imprisonment will expire the day
after to-morrow, and I shall then be a free man; therefore, I can assist
you without running any great risk of myself. But you shall not have my
aid if you were sent here for any deliberate villainy or black
crime--for, thank God! I have a conscience, and that conscience permits
me, though a prisoner, to call myself an honest man.'
'Be assured,' whispered the Dead Man, perceiving the necessity of using
a falsehood to accomplish his ends--'that I am neither a deliberate
villain nor hardened criminal; an enemy attacked me, and in _self
defense_ I slew him, for which I was sentenced here for life.'
'In that case,' rejoined the other--'I will cheerfully assist you to
escape from this earthly hell--for self-defense is Nature's first law.
Had you been a willful murderer, a robber, or aught of that kind, I
would refuse to aid you--but the case is different.--But what is your
plan?'
'I will get into one of these boxes, and you will nail on the cover, and
I shall be conveyed on board the sloop, which will sail in less than an
hour hence. When the vessel arrives at New York I shall perhaps have an
opportunity to get on shore unperceived, and escape into the city, where
I know of a place of refuge which the devil himself could not
find,'--and the Dead Man chuckled inwardly as he thought of the Dark
Vaults.
'The plan is a good one, and worthy of a trial,' said the other. 'But
the overseer has his eye constantly upon you--how can you escape his
vigilance?'
'There's the only difficulty,' replied the Dead Man--and his subtle
brain was beginning to hatch some plan of surmounting that difficulty,
when a large party of visitors, among whom were several ladies, entered
the shop.
Now the overseer was a young man, and withal a tolerably good-looking
one; and among the ladies were two or three whose beauty commended them
to his gallant attentions.
He therefore left his station on the platform, and went forward to
receive them, and make himself agreeable.
'Now's my time, by G----d!' whispered the Dead Man to his fellow
prisoner; instantly he lay down in one of the boxes, and the other
nailed on the cover securely. A few moments afterwards, the box which
contained the Dead Man was carried down to the wharf, by two convicts,
and placed on board the vessel.
Meanwhile, the overseer had become the oracle of the party of ladies and
gentlemen who had visited the shop; surrounded by the group, he occupied
half an hour in replying to the many questions put to him, relative to
the prison discipline, and other matters connected with it. In answer to
a question addressed to him concerning the character of those under his
charge, the overseer remarked in a tone of much self-complacency:
'I have now in this shop a convict who is the most diabolical villain
that ever was confined in this prison. He is called the Dead Man, from
the fact that his countenance resembles that of a dead person. He was
sentenced here for life, for a murder, but contrived to escape about a
year ago. However, he was arrested on a burglary not long since, sent
back here, and placed under my particular care. I flatter myself that he
will not escape a second time. Step this way, ladies and gentlemen, and
view the hideous criminal.'
With a smirk of satisfaction, the overseer presented his arm to a pretty
young lady, whose dark eyes had somewhat smitten him, and led the way to
the further end of the shop, followed by the whole party.
The Dead Man was nowhere to be seen!
'Hullo, here! Where the devil is that rascal gone?' cried the overseer,
in great alarm, gazing wildly about him. 'Say, you fellows there, where
is the Dead Man?'
This inquiry, addressed to the convicts who were at work in that part of
the shop, was answered by a general 'don't know, sir.'
With one exception they all spoke the truth; for only the man who had
nailed the Dead Man in the box, was cognizant of the affair, and he did
not choose to confess his agency in the matter. An instant search was
made throughout the premises, but without success--and the officers of
the prison were forced to arrive at the disagreeable conclusion that the
miscreant had again given them the slip. Not one of them had suspected
that he was nailed up in a box on board the sloop which was then on her
way to New York. The Warden sent for the luckless overseer who had
charge of the escaped convict, and sternly informed him that his
services were no longer needed in that establishment; he added to the
discomfiture of the poor young man by darkly hinting his suspicions that
he (the overseer) had connived at the escape of the prisoner--but, as
the reader knows, this charge was unfounded and unjust.
The distance between Sing Sing and the city is not great: wind and tide
both being favorable, the vessel soon reached her place of destination,
and was attached to one of the numerous wharves which extend around the
city. The boxes of furniture on board were immediately placed upon
carts, for conveyance to a large warehouse in Pearl street.
The tightness of the box in which the Dead Man was placed, produced no
small inconvenience to that worthy, who during the passage was nearly
suffocated; however, he consoled himself with the thought that in a
short time he would be free. The box was about six feet in length; and
two in breadth and depth; and in this narrow compass the villain felt as
if he were in a coffin. He was greatly rejoiced when the men who were
unloading the vessel raised the box from the deck and carried it towards
one of the carts.
But oh, horrible! unconscious that there was a man in the box, they
stood it upon one end, and the Dead Man was left _standing upon his
head_. The next moment the cart was driven rapidly over the rough
pavement, towards the warehouse.
There were but two alternatives left for him--either to endure the
torments of that unnatural position until the box was taken from the
cart, or to cry out for some one to rescue him, in which case, clothed
as he was in the garb of the prison, he would be immediately recognized
as an escaped convict, and sent back to his old quarters. This latter
alternative was so dreadful to him that he resolved to endure the
torture if possible; and he could not help shuddering when he thought
that perhaps he might be placed in the same position in the warehouse!
The drive from the wharf to Pearl street occupied scarce five minutes,
yet during that brief period of time, the Dead man endured all the
torments of the damned. The blood settled in his head, and gushed from
his mouth and nostrils; unable to hold out longer, he was about to yell
in his agony for aid, when the cart stopped, and in a few moments he was
relieved by his box being taken down and carried into the warehouse,
where, to his inexpressible joy, it was placed in a position to cause
him no further inconvenience. The warehouse being an extensive one, many
persons were employed in it; and he deemed it prudent to remain in his
box until night, as the clerks and porters were constantly running
about, and they would be sure to observe him if he issued from his place
of concealment then.
As he lay in his narrow quarters, he heard the voices of two persons
conversing near him, one of whom was evidently the proprietor of the
establishment.
'We have just heard from Sing Sing,' said the proprietor--'that the
villain they call the Dead Man made his escape this morning, in what
manner nobody knows. I am sorry for it, because such a wretch is
dangerous to society; but my regret that he has escaped arises
principally from the fact that he is an excellent workman, and I, as
contractor, enjoyed the advantages of his labor, paying the State a
trifle of thirty cents a day for him, when he could earn me two dollars
and a half. This system of convict labor is a glorious thing for us
master mechanics, though it plays the devil with the journeymen. Why, I
formerly employed fifty workmen, who earned on an average two dollars a
day; but since I contracted with the State to employ its convicts, the
work which cost me one hundred dollars a day I now get for _fifteen_
dollars.' And he laughed heartily.
'So it seems,' remarked the other,'that you are enriching yourself at
the expense of the State, while honest mechanics are thrown out of
employment.'
'Precisely so,' responded the proprietor--'and if the _honest
mechanics_, as you call them, wish to work for me, they must commit a
crime and be sent to Sing Sing, where they can enjoy that
satisfaction--ha, ha, ha.'
Just then, a poor woman miserably clad, holding in her hand a scrap of
paper, entered the store, and advanced timidly to where the wealthy
proprietor and his friend were seated.
The former, observing her, said to her in a harsh tone--
'There, woman, turn right around and march out, and don't come here
again with your begging petition, or I'll have you taken up as a
vagrant.'
'If you please, sir,' answered the poor creature, humbly--'I haven't
come to beg, but to ask if you won't be so kind as to pay this bill of
my husband's. It's only five dollars, sir, and he is lying sick in bed,
and we are in great distress from want of food and fire-wood. Since you
discharged him he has not been able to get work, and--'
'Oh, get out!' interrupted the wealthy proprietor, brutally--'don't come
bothering _me_ with your distress and such humbug. I paid your husband
more than he ought to have had--giving two dollars a day to a fellow,
when I now get the same work for thirty cents! If you're in distress, go
to the Poor House, but don't come here again--d'ye hear?'
The poor woman merely bowed her head in token of assent, and left the
store, her pale cheeks moistened with tears. The friend of the wealthy
proprietor said nothing, but thought to himself, 'You're a d----d
scoundrel.' And, reader, we think so too, though not in the habit of
swearing.
She had not proceeded two dozen steps from the store, when a
rough-looking man in coarse overalls touched her arm, and thus addressed
her:
'Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I'm a porter in the store of that blasted
rascal as wouldn't pay your poor husband's bill for his work, and
treated you so insultingly; I overheard what passed betwixt you and him,
and I felt mad enough to go at him and _knock blazes_ out of him. No
matter--every dog has his day, as the saying is; and he may yet be
brought to know what poverty is. I'm poor, but you are welcome to all
the money I've got in the world--take this, and God bless you.'
The noble fellow passed three or four dollars in silver into her hand,
and walked away ere she could thank him.
The recording angel above opened the great Book wherein all human
actions are written, and affixed another _black mark_ to the name of the
wealthy proprietor. There were many black marks attached to that name
already.
The angel then sought out another name, and upon it impressed the stamp
of a celestial seal. It was the name of the poor laborer.
Oh, laborer! Thou art uncouth to look upon: thy face is unshaven, thy
shirt dirty, and lo! thy overalls smell of paint and grease; thy speech
is ungrammatical, and thy manners unpolished--but give us the grasp of
thy honest hand, and the warm feelings of thy generous heart, fifty, yes
a million times sooner than the mean heart and niggard hand of the
selfish cur that calls itself thy master!
And oh, wealthy proprietor how smooth and smiling is thy face, how
precise thy dress and snow-white thy linen! thy words (except to the
poor,) are well-chosen and marked with strict grammatical
propriety.--The world doffs its hat to thee, and calls thee
'respectable,' and 'good.' Thou rotten-hearted villain!--morally thou
art not fit to brush the cowhide boots of the MAN that thou callst thy
servant! Out upon ye, base-soul'd wretch!
The countenance of the wealthy proprietor, which had assumed a severe
and indignant expression at the woman's audacity, had just recovered its
wonted smile of complacency, when a gentleman of an elderly age and
reverend aspect entered the store. He was attired in a respectable suit
of black, and his neck was enveloped in a white cravat.
'My dear Mr. Flanders,' said the proprietor, shaking him warmly by the
hand, 'I am delighted to see you. Allow me to make you acquainted with
my friend, Mr. Jameson--the Rev. Balaam Flanders, our worthy and beloved
pastor.'
The two gentlemen bowed, and the parson proceeded to unfold the object
of his visit.
'Brother Hartless,' said he to the proprietor, 'I have called upon you
in behalf of a most excellent institution, of which I have the honor to
be President; I allude to the 'Society for Supplying Indigent and Naked
Savages in Hindustan with Flannel Shirts.' The object of the Society,
you perceive, is a most philanthropic and commendable one; every
Christian and lover of humanity should cheerfully contribute his mite
towards its promotion--Your reputation for enlightened views and noble
generosity has induced me to call upon you to head the list of its
patrons--which list,' he added in a significant whisper, 'will be
published in full in the _Missionary Journal and Cannibal's Friend_,
that excellent periodical.'
'You do me honor,' replied Mr. Hartless, a flush of pride suffusing his
face; then, going to his desk, he wrote in bold characters, at the top
of a sheet of paper--
'_Donations in aid of the Society for Supplying Indigent and
Naked Savages in Hindustan with Flannel Shirts._
--Paul Hartless. $100.00'
This document he handed to the parson, with a look which clearly said
'What do you think of that?' and then, producing his pocket-book, took
from thence a bank-note for one hundred dollars, which he presented to
the reverend gentleman, who received the donation with many thanks on
behalf of the 'Society for Supplying, &c.' and then left.
All this time the Dead Man lay in his box, impatiently awaiting the
arrival of evening, when the store would be closed, and an opportunity
afforded him to emerge from the narrow prison in which he was confined.
Once, he came very near being discovered; for a person chanced to enter
the warehouse accompanied by a dog, and the animal began smelling around
the box in a manner that excited some surprise and remark on the part of
those who observed it. The dog's acute powers of smell detected the
presence of some person in the box: fortunately, however, for the Dead
Man, the owner of the four-legged inquisitor, having transacted his
business, called the animal away, and left the store.
Mr. Hartless, in the course of some further desultory conversation with
Mr. Jameson, casually remarked--
'By the way, my policy of insurance expired yesterday, and I meant to
have it renewed today; however, tomorrow will answer just as well. But I
must not delay the matter, for this building is crammed from cellar to
roof with valuable goods, and were it burnt down tonight, or before I
renew my insurance, I should be a beggar!'
The Dead Man heard this, and grinned with satisfaction. The day wore
slowly away, and at last the welcome evening came; the hum of business
gradually ceased, and finally the last person belonging to the
warehouse, who remained, took his departure, having closed the shutters
and locked the door; then a profound silence reigned throughout the
building.
'Now I may venture to get out of this accursed box,' thought the escaped
convict:--and he tried to force off the cover, but to his disappointment
and alarm, he found that it resisted all his efforts. It had been too
tightly nailed on to admit of its being easily removed.
'Damnation!' exclaimed the Dead Man, a thousand fears crowding into his
mind,--'it's all up with me unless I can burst off this infernal cover.'
And, cursing the man who had fastened it on so securely, he redoubled
his efforts.
He succeeded at last; the cover flew off, and he arose from his
constrained and painful position with feelings of the most intense
satisfaction. All was pitch dark, and he began groping around for some
door or window which would afford him egress from the place. His hand
soon came in contact with a window; he raised the sash, and unfastened
the shutters, threw them open, when instantly a flood of moonlight
streamed into the store, enabling him to discern objects with tolerable
distinctness. The window, which was not over five feet from the ground,
overlooked a small yard surrounded by a fence of no great height; and
the Dead Man, satisfied with the appearance of things, proceeded to put
into execution a plan which he had formed while in the box. The nature
of that plan will presently appear.
After breaking open a desk, and rummaging several drawers without
finding anything worth carrying off, he took from his pocket a match,
and being in a philosophical mood, (for great rascals are generally
profound philosophers,) he apostrophized it thus:
'Is it not strange, thou little morsel of wood, scarce worth the
fiftieth fraction of a cent, that in thy tiny form doth dwell a Mighty
Power, which can destroy thousands of dollars, and pull down the great
fabric of a rich man's fortune? Thy power I now invoke, thou little
minister of vengeance; for I hate the aristocrat who expressed his
regret at my escape, because, forsooth! my services were valuable to
him!--and now, as the flames of fire consume his worldly possessions, so
may the flames of eternal torment consume his soul hereafter!'
Ah, Mr. Hartless! that was an unfortunate observation you made relative
to the expiration of your term of insurance. Your words were overheard
by a miscreant, whose close proximity you little suspected. Your
abominable treatment of that poor man is about to meet with a terrible
retribution.
The Dead Man placed a considerable quantity of paper beneath a large
pile of boxes and furniture; he then ignited the match, and having set
fire to the paper, made his exit through the window, crossed the yard,
scaled the fence, and passing through an alley gained the street, and
made the best of his way to the Dark Vaults.
In less than ten minutes after he had issued from that building, fierce
and crackling flames were bursting forth from its doors and windows. The
streets echoed with the cry of _Fire_--the deep-toned bell of the City
Hall filled the air with its notes of solemn warning and the fire
engines thundered over the pavement towards the scene of conflagration.
But in vain were the efforts of the firemen to subdue the raging flames;
higher and higher they rose, until the entire building was on fire,
belching forth mingled flame, and smoke, and showers of sparks. At
length the interior of the building was entirely consumed, and the
tottering walls fell in with a tremendous crash. The extensive warehouse
of Mr. Paul Hartless, with its valuable contents, no longer existed, but
had given place to a heap of black and smoking ruins!
The reader is now acquainted with the manner of the Dead Man's escape
from Sing Sing State Prison, and the circumstances connected with that
event.
CHAPTER XIII
_The African and his Mistress--the Haunted House--Night of Terror._
Nero, the African, still remained a prisoner in the vault beneath
Sydney's house. He was regularly supplied with his food by Dennis, who
performed the part of jailer, and was untiring in his vigilance to
prevent the escape of the negro under his charge.
One afternoon a boy of apparently fifteen or sixteen years of age called
upon Dennis and desired to speak with him in private. He was a handsome
lad, of easy, graceful manners, and long, curling hair; his dress was
juvenile, and his whole appearance extremely prepossessing.
The interview being granted, the boy made known the object of his call
by earnestly desiring to be permitted to visit the imprisoned black.
'Is it the _nager_ ye want to see?' exclaimed Dennis--'and how the devil
did ye know we had a nager shut up in the cellar, any how?'
'Oh,' replied the boy, 'a lady of my acquaintance is aware of the fact,
and she sent me here to present you with this five dollar gold piece,
and to ask your consent to my delivering a short message to the black
man.'
'Och, be the powers, and is that it?' muttered Dennis, half aloud, as he
surveyed the bright coin which the boy had placed in his hand--'I begin
to smell a rat, faith; this gossoon was sent here by Mr. Sydney's
blackguard wife, who has such a hankering after the black divil--not
contented with her own lawful husband, and a decent man he is, but she
must take up wid that dirty nager, bad luck to her and him! My master
gave me no orders to prevint any person from seeing the black spalpeen;
and as a goold yankee sovereign can't be picked up every day in the
street, faith it's yerself Dennis Macarty, that will take the
responsibility, and let this good-looking gossoon in to see black Nero,
and bad luck to him!'
Accordingly, the worthy Irishman produced a huge key from his pocket,
and led the way to the door of the vault, which he opened, and having
admitted the youth, relocked it, after requesting the visitor to knock
loudly upon the door when he desired to come out.
'Who is there?' demanded the negro in a hollow voice, from a remote
corner of the dungeon.
'Tis I, your Julia!' answered the disguised woman, in a soft
whisper--for it was no other than Sydney's guilty wife.
'My good, kind mistress!' exclaimed the black, and the next moment he
had caught the graceful form of his paramour in his arms. We shall not
offend the reader's good taste by describing the disgusting caresses
which followed. Suffice it to say, that the interview was commenced in
such a manner as might have been expected under the circumstance.
The first emotions of rapture at their meeting having subsided, they
engaged in a long and earnest conversation.
We shall not weary the reader's patience by detailing at length what
passed between them; suffice it to say, they did not separate until a
plan had been arranged for the escape of Nero from that dungeon vault.
When Julia left the abode of her husband, in the manner described in
Chapter VIII, she took apartments for herself and her maid Susan at a
respectable boarding house near the Battery. Representing herself to be
a widow lady recently from Europe, she was treated with the utmost
respect by the inmates of the establishment, who little suspected that
she was the cast-off wife of an injured husband, and the mistress of a
negro! She assumed the name of Mrs. Belmont; and, to avoid confusion, we
shall hereafter designate her by that appellation.
Mrs. Belmont was very well satisfied with her position, but she was well
aware that she could not always maintain it, unless she entrapped some
wealthy man into an amour or marriage with her; for her pecuniary
resources, though temporarily sufficient for all her wants, could not
last always. In this view of the case, she deemed it expedient to hire
some suitable and genteel dwelling-house, where she could carry on her
operations with less restraint than in a boarding-house. She accordingly
advertised for such a house; and the same day on which her advertisement
appeared in the paper, an old gentleman called upon her, and stated he
was the proprietor of just such a tenement as she had expressed a desire
to engage.
'This house, madam,' said the old gentleman, 'is a neat three-story
brick edifice, situated in Reade street. It is built in the most
substantial manner, and furnished with every convenience; moreover, you
shall occupy it upon your own terms.'
'As to that,' remarked Mrs. Belmont, 'if the house suits me, you have
but to name the rent, and it shall be paid.'
'Why, madam,' replied the old gentleman, with some embarrassment of
manner--'it is my duty to inform you that a silly prejudice exists in
the minds of some people in the neighborhood of the house, and that
prejudice renders it somewhat difficult for me to procure a tenant. You
will smile at the absurdity of the notion, but nevertheless I assure
you that a belief generally prevails that the house is _haunted_.'
'Are there any grounds for each a supposition?' inquired the lady, with
an incredulous smile, yet feeling an interest in the matter.
'Why,' replied the owner, 'all who have as yet occupied the house have,
after remaining one to two nights in it, removed precipitately,
declaring that the most dreadful noises were heard during the night,
tho' none have positively affirmed that they actually _saw_ any
supernatural visitant. These tales of terror have so frightened people
that the building has been unoccupied for some time; and as it is a fine
house, and one that cost me a good sum of money, I am extremely anxious
to get a tenant of whom only a very moderate rent would be required. The
fact is, I am no believer in this _ghost_ business; the people who lived
in the house were probably frightened by pranks of mischievous boys, or
else their nervous, excited imaginations conjured up fancies and fears
which had no reasonable foundation. Now, madam, I have candidly told you
all; it remains for you to decide whether you will conform to a foolish
prejudice, or, rising above the superstitions of the vulgar and
ignorant, become the occupant of my _haunted_ house--which, in my
belief, is haunted by naught but mice in the cupboards and crickets in
the chimneys.'
Mrs. Belmont reflected for a few moments, and then said--
'If the house suits me upon examination, I will become your tenant,
notwithstanding the ghostly reputation of the building.'
'I am delighted, my dear madam,' rejoined the old gentleman, with
vivacity, 'to find in you a person superior to the absurd terrors of
weak-minded people. If you will do me the honor to accompany me to Reade
street, I will go over the house with you, and if you are pleased with
it, the bargain shall be completed upon the spot.'
This proposal was acceded to by Mrs. Belmont, who, after putting on her
cloak and bonnet, took the arm of the old gentleman and proceeded with
him up Broadway. A walk of little more than ten minutes brought them to
Reade street, into which they turned; and in a few moments more the old
gentleman paused before a handsome dwelling-house, standing about twenty
feet back from the line of the street. The house did not adjoin any
other building, but was located upon the edge of an open lot of
considerable extent.
'This is the place,' said the guide as he took a key from his pocket;
then, politely desiring the lady to follow him, he ascended the steps,
unlocked the front door, and they entered the house. The rooms were of
course entirely empty, yet they were clean and in excellent
condition.--The parlors, chambers and other apartments were admirably
arranged and Mrs. Belmont, after going all over the house, expressed her
perfect satisfaction with it, and signified her wish to remove into it
the next day. The terms were soon agreed upon; and Mr. Hedge (for that
was the name of the landlord,) after delivering the key into her hands,
waited upon her to the door of her boarding-house, and then took his
leave.
The next morning, at an early hour, Mrs. Belmont began making
preparations to occupy her new abode. From an extensive dealer she hired
elegant furniture sufficient to furnish every apartment in the house;
and, by noon that day, the rooms which had lately appeared so bare and
desolate, presented an aspect of luxury and comfort. The naked walls
were covered with fine paintings, in handsome frames; rich curtains were
hung in the windows, and upon the floors were laid beautiful
carpets.--The mirrors, sofas, chairs and cabinets were of the costliest
kind; a magnificent piano was placed in the parlor, and the lady took
care that the chamber which she intended to occupy was fitted up with
all possible elegance and taste. A voluptuous bed, in which Venus might
have revelled, was not the least attractive feature of that luxurious
sleeping apartment. Every arrangement being completed, and as it was
still early in the afternoon, Mrs. Belmont resolved to carry out a plan
which she had formed some days previously--a plan by which she could
enjoy an interview with Nero the black. The reader is already aware that
she disguised herself in boys' clothes, and accomplished her object
without much difficulty.
That evening, Mrs. Belmont was seated in the comfortable parlor of her
new abode, before a fine fire which glowed in the ample grate, and
diffused a genial warmth throughout the apartment. She had just partaken
of a luxurious supper; and the materials of the repast being removed,
she was indulging in reflections which were far more pleasing at that
moment, than any which had employed her mind since her separation from
her husband.
She was attired with tasteful simplicity; for although she expected no
company that evening, she had taken her usual pains to dress herself
becomingly and well, being a lady who never neglected her toilet, under
any circumstances--a trait of refinement which we cannot help admiring,
even in one so depraved and abandoned as she was.
As she lounged indolently upon the sofa, complacently regarding her
delicate foot, which, encased in a satin slipper, reposed upon the rich
hearth-rug, her thoughts ran somewhat in the following channel--:
'Well--I am now not only mistress of my own actions, but also mistress
of a splendidly furnished house. Ah, 'twas a fortunate day for me when I
separated from that man I once called husband! Yet with what cool
contempt he treated me on the night when he commanded me to leave his
house forever! How bitterly I hate that man--how I long to be revenged
upon him. Not that he has ever injured me--oh, no--'tis I that have
injured him; therefore do I hate him, and thirst for revenge! And poor
Nero, whom I visited this afternoon in his dungeon--how emaciated and
feeble has he become by close confinement in that gloomy place! His
liberation must be effected, at all hazards; for strange as it is, I
love the African passionately. Now, as regards my own position and
affairs: I am young, beautiful, and accomplished--skilled in human
nature and intrigue. Two distinct paths lie before me, which are equally
desirable: as a virtuous widow lady, I can win the love and secure the
hand of some rich and credulous gentleman, who, satisfied with having
obtained a pretty wife, will not be too inquisitive with reference to my
past history. In case of marriage, I will remove to Boston with my new
husband: for not being divorced from Sydney, (how I hate that name!) I
should be rendered liable to the charge of bigamy, if the fact of my
second marriage should transpire.--On the other hand, leaving marriage
entirely out of the question: As a young and lovely woman, residing
alone, and not under the protection of male relatives, I shall attract
the attention of wealthy libertines, who will almost throw their
fortunes at my feet to enjoy my favors. Selecting the richest of these
men, it will be my aim to infatuate him by my arts, to make him my
slave, and then to deny him the pleasure for which he pants, until he
gives me a large sum of money; this being done, I can either surrender
myself to him, or still refuse to afford him the gratification he seeks,
as suits my whim. When he becomes wearied of my perverseness and
extortion, I will dismiss him, and seek another victim. Those with whom
I shall thus have to deal, will be what the world calls respectable
men--husbands, fathers--perhaps professedly pious men and clergymen--who
would make any sacrifice sooner than have their amours exposed to their
wives, families, and society generally. Once having committed themselves
with me, I shall have a hold upon them, which they never can shake
off;--a hold which will enable me to draw money from their well-filled
coffers, whenever my necessities or extravagances require it. I may
practice whatever imposition or extortion on them I choose, with perfect
impunity; they will never dare to use threats or violence towards me,
for the appalling threat of _exposure_ will curb their tempers and
render them tamely submissive to all my exactions and caprices. Thus
will I reap a rich harvest from those wealthy votaries of carnal
pleasure whom I may allure to my arms, while at the same time I can for
my own gratification unrestrainedly enjoy the embraces of any lover whom
I may happen to fancy. Ah, I am delightfully situated at present, and
have before me a glorious and happy career!'
We have devoted considerable space to the above reflections of this
unprincipled woman, because they will serve to show her views in
reference to her present position, and her plans for the future.
The agreeable current of her meditations was interrupted by the entrance
of her maid Susan.
'Well, ma'am,' said the abigail, 'I have obeyed all your orders; I have
locked all the doors, and fastened all the shutters, so that if the
ghost _should_ pay us a visit, it will have to get in through the
keyhole. But oh! my gracious! how terrible it is for you and I, ma'am,
two poor weak women, as a body might say, to be all alone together in a
house that is haunted!'
'Sit down, Susan,' said Mrs. Belmont, who was herself not altogether
devoid of superstitious fears. 'Are you so foolish as to believe in
_ghosts_? Do you think that the spirits of dead people are allowed to
re-visit the earth, to frighten us out of our wits? No, no--we have
reason to fear the _living_, but not those who are dead and buried.'
'But, if you please, ma'am,' rejoined Susan, in a solemn tone, 'I once
seed a ghost with my own eyes, and not only seed it, but _felt_ it,
too.'
'Indeed--and pray how did that happen?' inquired her mistress.
'I'll tell you all about it, ma'am,' replied Susan, who, by the way, was
rather a pretty young woman, though she was, like all ladies' maids, a
prodigious talker. 'You see, ma'am, I once went to live in the family of
a minister, and a very excellent man he was, as prayed night and
morning, and said grace afore meals. Oh, he was a dreadful clever
gentleman, 'cause he always used to kiss me when he catch'd me alone,
and chuck me under the chin, and tell me I was handsome. Well, Saturday
the minister's wife and family went to pay a visit to some relations in
New Jersey, and was to stay for two or three days; but the minister
himself didn't go with them, 'cause he was obliged to stay and preach on
Sunday.--Now comes the dreadful part of my story, ma'am, and it is true
as gospel.--That Saturday night, about twelve o'clock, I was awoke by
hearing the door of my little attic bed-room softly open; and by the
light of the moon I seed a human figger, all dressed in white, come into
the room, shut the door, and then walk towards my bed. Oh, I was
dreadfully frightened, to be sure; and just as I was going to scream
out, the ghost puts his hand upon me and says--'_hush!_' which skeer'd
me so that I almost fainted away. Well, ma'am, what does the ghost do
next but take ondecent liberties with me, and I was too much frightened
to say, 'have done, now!' And then the awful critter did what no ghost
ever did before to me, nor man neither.--Oh, I actually fainted away two
or three times; I did indeed. After a while it went away, but I was in
such a flutter that I couldn't sleep no more that night. The next
morning I up and told the minister how I had seed a ghost, and how it
had treated me; and the minister he smiled, and said he guessed I'd get
over it, and gave me some money, telling me not to say anything more
about it, 'cause it might frighten the folks. Now, ma'am, after that,
you needn't wonder that I believe in ghosts.'
Mrs. Belmont was highly amused by this narration of her maid's
experience in supernatural visitation; and the hearty laughter in which
she indulged at the close of the story, dispelled in a great measure
those unpleasant feelings which had begun to gain the ascendancy over
her. While under the influence of those feelings, she had intended to
request Susan to sleep with her in her chamber; but as such an
arrangement would betray _fear_ on her part, while she was most anxious
to appear bold and courageous, she concluded to occupy her sleeping
apartment alone. Susan herself would have been very glad to share the
room of her mistress; but as a suggestion to that effect, coming from
her, might have seemed presumptuous and impertinent, she said nothing
about it. Accordingly, when the hour for retiring arrived, Mrs. Belmont
retired to her chamber, where she dismissed her maid, saying that she
should not want her services any more that night; and poor Susan was
obliged to ascend to her solitary apartment, which she did with many
fearful misgivings, and the most dreadful apprehensions in regard to
ghosts, coupled with much painful reflection relative to the
unpleasantness of sleeping _alone_--in a haunted house.
Mrs. Belmont disrobed herself, yet ere she retired to her couch, she
paused before a large mirror to admire her own naked and voluptuous
beauty. While she was surveying herself, she gave utterance to her
thoughts in words:--
'Ah, these charms of mine will procure me friends and fortune. What man
could resist the intoxicating influence of such glorious loveliness of
face and person as I possess!'
Scarcely had she uttered these words, when her ear was greeted by a low
sound, which bore some resemblance to a laugh. Terrified and trembling,
she cast a rapid glance around the room, but could see nobody; she then
examined a small closet which adjoined the chamber and looked under the
bed, not knowing but that some person might be concealed there--but she
could uncover nothing to account for the noise which she had heard. It
then occurred to her to open the door of her chamber; but as she was
about to do so, an appalling thought flashed thro' her mind.
'What if some terrible being is now standing at the outside of that
door?' and she shrank from opening it. She deeply regretted that she had
not requested her maid Susan to sleep with her, as she crept into bed,
leaving a candle burning on the table.
For about a quarter of an hour she listened intensely, but the sound
which had alarmed her was not repeated; and she began to reason with
herself upon the absurdity of her fears. Finally she succeeded in
persuading herself that she had in reality heard nothing, but had been
deceived by her own imagination. Still, she could not entirely dissipate
her fears; she recollected that the house had the reputation of being
'haunted'--and, though she was naturally neither timid nor
superstitious, a vague and undefinable dread oppressed her, as she lay
in that solitary chamber, where reigned a heavy gloom and profound
stillness.
It was an hour after midnight when she awoke from an uneasy slumber into
which she had fallen; and the first object which met her gaze, was a
human figure, enveloped from head to toe in white drapery, standing near
her bed!
Yes, there it stood, with the upper part of a ghastly face alone
visible, pointing at her with its finger, and freezing her soul with the
steady glare of its eyes.
Long, long stood that dreadful apparition; its attitude seemed to be
either menacing or warning. The terrified woman, under the influence of
a painful fascination, could not avert her gaze from it; and the spectre
stood until the candle was entirely consumed, and the room was wrapped
in profound darkness. Then the Form glided to the bedside, and laid its
cold hand upon her brow. '_Thou shalt see me again!_' it whispered, and
then passed noiselessly from the room.
Mrs. Belmont gave one loud and piercing scream, and then sank into a
state of insensibility.