_Illustrating the truth of the proverb that 'Murder will out,' and
containing an Appalling Discovery._
Two or three days after the above events, Dr. Sinclair was sent for by a
woman lying at the point of death. He found her occupying the garret of
an old, crazy tenement in Orange street; she was stretched upon a
miserable bed, covered only by a few rags, and her short breathings,
sunken cheeks, and lustreless eyes, proclaimed that the hand of death
was upon her. Though young in years, her appearance indicated that she
had passed through much suffering, destitution and sin.
'Are you the clergyman?' she asked in a faint voice.
'I am; what can I do for you, my good woman?' said the Doctor, seating
himself on a rickety stool at the bedside.
'Oh, sir,' cried the invalid, evidently in great mental distress, 'I
want you to pray for me. Do you think there is any hope for such a
sinner as I have been? I am dying, and my soul is lost--forever!'
In his own heart, the rector felt his unfitness to administer comfort in
such a case, considering his own wickedness; yet he strove to quiet the
uneasiness of the poor creature, by assuring her that there was hope for
the 'chief of sinners.' At her request he prayed with her; and then she
addressed him as follows:--
'There is something on my mind which I must make confession of, or I
shall not die easy--something that will make you shrink from me, as from
a guilty wretch, who deserves no mercy. I am a _murderess_!'
'A murderess!' echoed the Doctor, starting back with horror; after a few
moments' pause, he added--'proceed with your confession.'
'I will, sir. Four years ago, I entered the service of Mrs. Lucretia
Franklin, in Washington Place.'
The Doctor started again--this time with surprise; and he listened with
attentive interest to the woman's narrative.
'Mrs. Franklin's husband,' she resumed, 'was a very rich man, and very
religious and strict; his daughter Sophia took after him much, and was a
very good girl; but his wife and daughter Josephine were exactly
contrary to him, for they were very giddy and gay, always going to
theatres, and balls, and such like places, keeping late hours, and
acting so dissipated like, that at last Mr. Franklin was determined to
put a stop to it entirely, and make them stay at home. So he told them
that he shouldn't allow them to go on as they had any longer; and having
once said the word, he stuck to it. My lady and Miss Josephine were both
very much dissatisfied with Mr. Franklin, on account of his being so
strict with them; and I could plainly see that they began to hate him.
It is now about two years ago, and Josephine was in her sixteenth year
(ah, sir, I have good reason to remember the time,) when I found myself
in the way to become a mother, having been led astray by a young man,
who deceived me under a promise of marriage, and then deserted me. Well,
sir, my situation was at last noticed by my lady and her daughter, and
one evening they called me up into a chamber, and accused me of being a
lewd girl. Falling on my knees, I acknowledged my fault, and implored
them to pity and forgive me, and not turn me off without a character.
Then Miss Josephine spoke harshly to me, and asked me how I dared do
such a thing, and bring disgrace upon their house and family; and her
mother threatened to send me to jail, which frightened me so that I
promised to do anything in the world if they would forgive me. '_Will
you do any thing we command you to do_, if we forgive you?' asked Mrs.
Franklin; and I said that I would. '_You must swear it_,' said Miss
Josephine; and getting a Bible, they made me swear a dreadful oath to do
as they bid me. They then told me that there was one thing I must do,
and they would give me as much money as I wanted; they said I must _kill
Mr. Franklin_! On hearing such a horrible request, I almost fainted; and
told them that I never would do such a dreadful thing. But they reminded
me of my oath, and at last threatened and frightened me so, that I
consented to do the awful deed. '_It must be done to-night!_' said Miss
Josephine, and her eyes seemed to flash fire; then she gave me some
brandy to drink, which flew into my brain, and I felt myself able to do
anything, no matter how wicked it might be.--They staid with me until
midnight, and made me drink brandy until I was almost crazy. You must
know, sir, that Mr. Franklin slept in a separate room from my lady, ever
since their disagreement; upon that dreadful night he retired to bed at
about ten o'clock. Well--but oh, my God! how can I tell the dreadful
truth!--yet I must nerve myself to confess the whole matter. At
midnight, Mrs. Franklin brought into the room a small copper cup, which
contained a small quantity of _lead_; this cup she held over the lamp
until the lead was melted as thin as water; and then she handed it to
me, and told me to go softly into her husband's room, and _pour the lead
into his ear_! I DID IT! Yes, as God is my Judge, I did it!--The poor
gentleman was lying on his side, in a sound sleep; with a steady hand I
poured the liquid metal into his ear--_it did not awake him!_ he merely
shuddered once, and died.--The next morning he was found by his servant,
stiff and cold. Some people talked of 'disease of the heart,' others, of
'apoplexy,' many, of 'the visitation of God,' while some shrugged their
shoulders, and said nothing. But _I_ knew the secret of his death! He
was buried with great pomp in the family tomb in St. Paul's churchyard.
My confession is made. After the funeral, my lady and Josephine gave me
plenty of money. 'Go,' said they, 'to some other city, and take up your
abode; you will never the mention the manner in which Mr. Franklin came
to his death, for such a disclosure would bring your own neck to the
halter, without injuring us--_your hand_ alone did the deed!' I went to
Boston, and gave birth to a stillborn child; my money soon went and I
became a common prostitute.--Disease soon overtook me--but why dwell
upon the misfortunes and wanderings of a wretch like me? A week ago, I
found myself again in New York, the inmate of this garret; to-day I felt
myself dying, and sent for a clergyman to hear my dying confession. I am
exhausted; I can say no more--God have mercy on me!'
'One word more,' cried the rector; 'by what name were you known to the
Franklins?'
'Mary Welch,' she replied, faintly.
The wretched creature soon afterwards breathed her last.
The Doctor left a sufficient sum of money with the inmates of the house
to defray the expenses of the woman's funeral, and took his departure
from that scene of wretchedness. As he retraced his steps to his own
dwelling, his thoughts were of the most painful nature; the woman's
confession, implicating Josephine and her mother in the crime of murder,
horrified him, and gave rise to the most terrible reflections. In his
own heart he could not doubt the truth of the wretched woman's
statement, made as it was on her death-bed, and just as she was about to
be ushered into the presence of her Maker.
'My God!' thought the rector, entering his study, and throwing himself
distractedly into a seat--'to what a dreadful disclosure have I
listened--Josephine the murderess of her father! Mrs. Franklin the
murderess of her husband! Can it be possible?--Alas, I cannot doubt it;
for why should that woman, at the awful moment of her dissolution, tell
a falsehood? I remember now the circumstances of Mr. Franklin's death;
it was sudden and unaccountable, and privately spoken of with suspicion,
as to its cause; yet those suspicions never assumed any definite
shape.--The poor gentleman was buried without any post mortem
examination, and the singular circumstances of his death were gradually
forgotten. But now the awful mystery is revealed to me; he met his death
at the hands of that miserable woman, at the instigation of Josephine
and her mother.'
But the Doctor's most painful thoughts arose from the reflection that he
had formed a criminal connection with such a vile, guilty creature as
Josephine. He had learned to tolerate her licentiousness and her
consummate hypocrisy; he had loved her with passionate fervor, while he
had only regarded her as a frail, beautiful woman, who, having become
enamored of him, had enticed him to her arms. But now she stood before
him as a wretch capable of any crime--as the murderess of her own
father; and all his love and admiration for her were turned into a
loathing hate; and while he had no intention of denouncing her and her
mother to the authorities of justice, he determined to have but one more
interview with her, and at that interview to reproach her for her crime,
and cast her off forever.
'But previous to that interview,' thought he, 'I will make assurance
doubly sure; I will find means to enter the vault wherein Mr. Franklin's
body was interred; I will examine the remains, and as my knowledge of
human anatomy is considerable, I shall have no difficulty in discovering
the evidences of foul play, if such evidences exist. Having thus
satisfied myself beyond the shadow of a doubt that Mr. Franklin was
murdered, I can with confidence accuse Josephine and her mother of the
deed; and from that moment, all connection between me and that wicked
woman shall cease forever. I have been infatuated and enslaved by her
seductive beauty and her fascinating favors; but thank God, I am myself
again, and resolved to atone for the past, by leading a life of purity
and virtue for the future.'
That night the Doctor was called on to perform the marriage ceremony at
the house of a friend, at a distant part of the city; and it was late
when he set out to return to his own home.
It was a dismal night, dark and starless; the sky was laden with
impending storm, and the rector shuddered as he looked forward into the
gloom, and contrasted it with the scene of light and gaiety which he had
just left. His heart was oppressed with a heavy weight; for he could not
shake off the dreadful thought that Josephine--beautiful and
accomplished Josephine--whom he had loved with a fervent though unholy
passion--was a _murderess_!
While hurrying on with rapid strides, his mind tortured by such painful
reflections, a tall figure suddenly stood before him, and a voice
whispered--
'Deliver your money, or die!'
The rector perceived that the robber had his arm raised, and that he
held in his hand a large knife, ready to strike in case of resistance or
alarm. Dr. Sinclair was no coward; had there been a single chance in his
favor, he would have grappled with the robber, rather than yield to his
demand; yet he was slender and by no means powerful--he was also
unarmed; and besides, the idea flashed through his mind that the
desperado might be of use to him, and these considerations prompted him
to speak in a conciliatory tone and manner:--
'Friend,' said he, 'unfortunately for you I am but a poor parson, and
have only about me a few dollars, which I have just received as my fee
for uniting a happy couple in the holy bonds of wedlock. What I have you
are welcome to; here is my purse.'
The robber took the purse, and was about to move off, when the rector
called to him and said,--
'Stay, friend; you are the very man I want to assist me in a dangerous
enterprise--one that requires courage, and strength, and skill; if you
engage to aid me, your reward shall be liberal--what say you?'
'You must first tell me what it is you want done,' replied the robber.
'I want to break open a tomb in St. Paul's churchyard, and examine a
dead body; and to do this I shall require an assistant,' said the
Doctor, in a low tone.
'That is all well enough,' rejoined the robber; 'but how do I know that
you are not laying a plan to entrap me into the clutches of the law, for
having robbed you?'
'Pshaw!' exclaimed the Doctor, disdainfully, 'why should I seek to
entrap you? You have only relieved me of a few dollars, and what care I
for that! Draw near, and examine me closely; do I look like a man who
would tell a base lie, even to bring a robber to justice?--have I not
the appearance of a gentleman? I pledge you my sacred word of honor,
that I meditate no treachery against you.'
'Enough--I am satisfied,' said the robber, after having scrutinized the
Doctor as closely as the darkness would admit of--'when is this thing to
be done?'
'To-morrow night will probably be stormy, and suitable for the purpose,'
replied Dr. Sinclair. 'Meet me precisely as the clock strikes the hour
of midnight, at the great gate on the lower extremity of the Park; you
must come provided with such tools as will be necessary to effect an
entrance into the tomb, which is probably secured by a strong padlock;
also bring with you a lantern, and the means of lighting it. My object
in thus disturbing the repose of the dead, is of no consequence to you;
it will be sufficient for you to understand that you are hired to
perform a service, which is to be well paid for when completed--you
comprehend me?'
'I do,' said the robber, 'and shall not fail to meet you at the time and
place appointed; if you have no more to say to me, I will now bid you
good night.'
'Good night,' said the Doctor; 'and pray, my good friend, do not menace
any other belated traveller with that ugly knife of yours.'
The robber laughed, and turning on his heel, strode away in the
darkness, while the rector continued on his way towards his residence.
When he reached his house, and had entered the door, a person emerged
from the darkness, and by the light of a street lamp which was near,
read the name upon the door-plate.--The Doctor had been followed home by
the robber.
'All right,' muttered the latter worthy, as he walked away--'he lives in
that house, and his name is Dr. Sinclair. Men of his class don't
generally play the spy or traitor; so I can safely keep the appointment.
He is not a physician or surgeon; therefore what in the devil's name
should he want to break into a tomb for? No matter; to-morrow night will
explain the mystery.' And the robber's form was lost in the darkness.
As the Doctor had predicted, the night which followed the adventure just
related, was stormy; the snow fell thick and fast, and the darkness was
intense. As the clock struck the hour of midnight, a figure muffled in a
cloak slowly emerged from the lower extremity of the Park, and paused at
the great gate which forms the Southern angle of that vast enclosure. He
had waited there but a few minutes, when he was joined by another
person, who asked him--
'Well, Sir Robber, is it you?'
'All right, sir; you see I am punctual,' replied the robber. The other
person was of course the rector.
Without any further conversation, the two proceeded down Broadway, until
they stood before the magnificent church of St. Paul's. This splendid
edifice, of Grecian architecture, was situated on the border of an
extensive burying ground, which with the church itself, was surrounded
by an iron railing of great height. Finding the front gate secured by a
massive lock, the robber applied himself to the task of picking it, with
an instrument designed for that purpose. This was soon accomplished, and
entering the enclosure, the two passed around the rear of the church,
and stood among the many tomb-stones which marked the last resting place
of the quiet dead.
The rector, being well acquainted with the arrangements of the ground,
had no difficulty in finding the tomb he wished to enter. A plain marble
slab, upon which was sculptured the words 'Franklin Family,' denoted the
spot. It required the united strength of both the men to raise this slab
from the masonry on which it rested. This being done, they stepped into
the aperture, descended a short flight of stone steps, and found their
further progress arrested by an iron door, secured by an immense
padlock.
'It will now be necessary to light my lantern; I can do so with safety,'
said the robber. And igniting a match, he lighted a dark lantern which
he had brought with him. Dr. Sinclair then, for the first time,
distinctly beheld the features of his midnight companion; and he started
with horror--for the most diabolically hideous countenance he had ever
seen or dreamed of in his life, met his gaze. The robber observed the
impression he had made upon his employer, and grinned horribly a ghastly
smile.
'You don't like my looks, master,' said he, gruffly.
'I certainly cannot call you handsome,' replied the Doctor, trying to
smile--'but no matter--you will answer my purpose as well as a comelier
person. Let us proceed with our work; can you break or pick this
padlock?'
The robber made no reply, but drew from his pocket a bunch of skeleton
keys, with which he soon removed the padlock; and the heavy iron door
swung upon its rusty hinges with a loud creaking noise.
'D----n and blast that noise!' growled the robber.
'Silence, fellow!' cried the rector, authoritatively; 'you are standing
in the chamber of the dead, and such profanity is out of place here--no
more of it.'
This reproof was received with a very ill grace by the robber, who
glared savagely upon his reprover, and seemed almost inclined to spring
upon him and strangle him on the spot--no difficult thing for him to do,
for the Doctor was of slender build, while he himself possessed a frame
unusually muscular and powerful.
They entered the vault, and the feeble rays of the lantern shone dimly
on the damp green walls, and on the few coffins which were placed upon
shelves.
An awful odor pervaded the place, so loathsome, so laden with the
effluvia of death and corruption, that the rector hesitated, and was
more than half inclined to abandon the undertaking; but after a moment's
reflection--
'No,' he said, mentally--'having gone thus far, it would ill become me
to retreat when just on the point of solving the terrible mystery; I
will proceed.'
He advanced and examined the coffins, some of which were so much
decayed, that their ghastly inmates were visible through the large holes
in the crumbling wood. At length he found one, in a tolerable state of
preservation, upon which was a gold plate bearing the name of Edgar
Franklin. Satisfied that this was the one he was in search of, he
desired the robber to come forward and assist in removing the lid, which
being done, a fleshless skeleton was revealed to their view.
'Now, fellow,' said the Doctor, 'I am about to make a certain
investigation, of which you must not be a witness; therefore, you will
retire to the outer entrance of the tomb, and wait there until I call
you. Your reward shall be in proportion to your faithful obedience of my
orders.'
Casting a look of malignant hate at the young gentleman, the robber
withdrew from the vault, shutting the iron door behind him; and as he
did so, he muttered a deep and terrible curse.
'Now may Heaven nerve me to the performance of this terrible task!'
exclaimed the rector, solemnly; and bending over the coffin, he held the
lantern in such a position as enabled him to gaze into the interior of
the skull, through the eyeless sockets.
But oh, horrible--within that skull was a mass of live corruption--a
myriad of grave worms banquetting upon the brains of the dead!
The Doctor reeled to the iron door of the vault, threw it open, and
eagerly breathed the fresh air from above. This somewhat revived him,
and he called on his assistant to come down. The robber obeyed, and was
thus addressed by his employer--
'Friend, I have overrated my own powers--perhaps your nerves are
stronger, your heart bolder than mine. Go to that coffin which we
opened, search the interior of the skull, and if you find anything in it
singular, or in the least degree unusual, bring it to me.--Here is a
pocket-book containing money to a large amount; take it and keep it, but
do as I have requested.'
The robber took the pocket-book and went into the vault. Horror could
not sicken _him_; the terrors of death itself had no terror for him.
After the lapse of a few moments, he exclaimed--'I have found
something!' and advancing to the door, he handed to the doctor a small
object, having first wiped it with an old handkerchief.
Overcoming his repugnance by a powerful effort, the doctor walked back
into the vaults towards the lantern, which still remained upon the
coffin-lid.
Upon examining the article which had been taken from the skull, he found
it to be _a piece of lead_, of an irregular shape and weighing nearly
two ounces.
'My belief in the guilt of Josephine and her mother is confirmed,'
thought he. 'Shall I deliver them into the hands of justice? that must
be decided hereafter; at all events, I will accuse them of the crime,
and discontinue all connection with the wretched Josephine forever.'
Having carefully placed the piece of lead in his pocket, he advanced to
the door, with the intent of leaving the robber to fasten on the lid of
the coffin. To his surprise and horror he discovered that the door was
locked! He knocked frantically against it, but was only answered by a
low laugh from the outside.
'Wretch--villain!' he exclaimed. 'What mean you by this trick? Open the
door instantly, I command you!'
'Fool!' cried the robber, contemptuously. 'I obey your commands no
longer. You shall be left in this tomb to rot and die. You spoke to me
with scorn, and shall now feel my vengeance. Think not, that I am
ignorant of your true object in entering this tomb;--there has been a
_murder_ committed, and you sought for evidence of the crime. That
evidence is now in your possession; but the secret is known to me, and I
shall not fail to use it to my advantage. I shall seek out the
Franklins, and inform them of the discovery which places them completely
in my power. Farewell, parson--; I leave you to your agreeable
meditations, and to the enjoyment of a long, sound sleep!'
The miserable rector heard the sound of the ruffian's departing
footsteps; with a wild cry of anguish and despair he threw himself
against the iron door, which yielded not to his feeble efforts, and he
sank exhausted upon the floor, in the awful conviction that he was
buried alive!
Soon the horrors of his situation increased to a ten-fold degree--for he
found himself assailed by a legion of rats. These creatures attacked him
in such numbers that he was obliged to act on the defensive; and all his
exertions were scarce sufficient to keep them from springing upon him,
and tearing his flesh with their sharp teeth.
To his dismay he observed that the light of the lantern was growing dim
and came near to being exhausted; darkness was about to add to the
terrors of the place. Nerved to desperation, though faint and sick with
the awful stench of that death vault, he searched about for some weapon
with which to end his miserable existence. While thus engaged, he
stumbled over a heavy iron crowbar which lay in one corner and seizing
it with a cry of joy, applied it with all his force to the door of his
loathsome prison.
It yielded--he was free! for the slab had not been replaced over the
tomb, owing to the robber's inability to raise it. Falling on his knees,
the rector thanked God for his deliverance; and ascending the steps,
stood in the burial-ground, just as the lamps in the tomb below had
become extinguished.
He was about to make his way out of the grave-yard, when he heard the
sound of approaching footsteps, and low voices; and just as he had
concealed himself behind a tall tomb-stone, he saw, through the thick
darkness, two men approach the uncovered tomb from which he emerged only
a few minutes before.
''Twas fortunate I met you, Ragged Pete,' said one; 'for without your
aid I never could have lifted this stone into its place; and if it were
left in its present position, it would attract attention in the morning,
and that cursed parson might be rescued from the tomb. Take hold, and
let's raise it on.'
'Werry good--but are you sure that the chap is down there still?'
demanded Ragged Pete; 'hadn't we better go down and see if he hasn't
took leg bait?'
'Pshaw, you fool!' rejoined the first speaker, angrily; 'how could he
escape after I had locked him in? There's an iron door, fastened with a
padlock as big as your head; so hold your tongue, and help me raise the
stone to its place.'
This was done with considerable difficulty; and the two men sat down to
rest after their labor.
'The parson won't live over night; if he is not devoured by the rats, he
is sure to be suffocated,' remarked the man who had fastened the doctor
in the tomb.
'Somehow or other,' said Ragged Pete, 'whoever offends you is sure to be
punished in some dreadful and unheard-of manner. By thunder, I must try
and keep in your good graces!'
'You will do well to do so,' rejoined his companion, 'my vengeance is
always sure to overtake those who cross my path. Pete, I have led a
strange life of crime and wickedness, from my very cradle, I may say, up
to the present time. See, the storm is over, and the stars are shining
brightly. It lacks several hours of daybreak; and as I feel somewhat
sociably inclined, suppose I tell you my story? I have a flask of brandy
in my pocket, and while we are moistening our clay, you shall listen to
the history of one whose proudest boast is, he never did a good action,
but has perpetrated every enormity in the dark catalogue of crimes.'
Ragged Pete expressed his desire to hear the story; and even Dr.
Sinclair, in his place of concealment, prepared to listen with
attention. Probably the reader has already guessed that the robber was
no other than the terrible _Dead Man_; such was indeed the case; it was
that same villain, who has occupied so prominent a place in the criminal
portions of our narrative. We shall devote a separate chapter to his
story.