_Servants' Frolics--a Footman in Luck--a Spectre--a Footman out of
Luck--the Torture--the Murder, and Destruction of Franklin House._
We left Franklin House in charge of Simon, the favorite footman of Mrs.
Franklin, who was to take care of the house until it should be sold, and
then join his mistress in Boston.
Now, although Simon was an honorable, faithful fellow enough, he soon
grew intolerably lonesome, and heartily tired of being all alone in that
great mansion. To beguile his time, he often invited other servants of
his acquaintance to come and sup with him; and regardless of the orders
of his mistress, several of his visitors were females. These guests he
would entertain in the most sumptuous manner; and Franklin House became
the scene of reckless dissipation and noisy revels, such as it had
seldom witnessed before.
One evening Simon invited a goodly number of his friends to a 'grand
banquet,' as he pompously termed it; and there assembled in the spacious
parlor about twenty male and female domestics from various houses in the
neighborhood. The males included fat butlers, gouty coachman, lean
footmen and sturdy grooms; and among the females were buxom cooks,
portly laundresses and pretty ladies' maids. Simon had well nigh
emptied the cellar of its choice contents, in order to supply wine to
his guests; and towards midnight the party became uproarious in the
extreme.
We shall not attempt to sketch the toasts that were offered, nor the
speeches that were made; neither shall we enter too minutely into the
particulars of the game of 'hide-and-seek,' in which they indulged--or
tell how our handsome footman chased some black-eyed damsel into a dark
and distant chamber, and there tussled her upon the carpet, or tumbled
her upon the bed, or perpetrated other little pleasantries of a similar
nature. Suffice it to say, all these amusements were gone through with
by the company, until tired of the sport, they reassembled in the
parlor, and gathering around the fire, began to converse on ghosts.
Reader, have you ever, at the solemn hour of midnight, while listening
to the recital of some fearful visitation from the land of spirits, felt
your hair to bristle, and your flesh to creep, and your blood to chill
with horror, as you imagined that some terrible being was at that moment
standing outside the door, ready to glide into the room and stand beside
your chair? Did you not then dread to look behind you as you drew close
to your companions, and became almost breathless with painful interest
in the story?
Solemn feeling prevailed among Simon's guests, as Toby Tunk, the fat
coachman, who had been relating his experience in ghosts uttered the
following words:--
'Well, I was sitting by the coffin, looking at the corpse, when the door
slowly opened, and--'
Toby was fearfully interrupted, for the door of that room DID slowly
open and there entered a being of so terrible an aspect, that all the
assembled guests recoiled from its presence with horror and affright. It
advanced towards the fireplace, seated itself in an unoccupied chair,
and surveyed the company with menacing eyes.
The form of the spectre was tall, and its countenance was ghastly and
awful to behold; it was enveloped in a cloak, and where its right hand
should have been, was a massive piece of iron which joined the wrist.
At length, after an interval, during which all the guests came near
dying with fear, it spoke in a harsh and threatening tone:--
'Those of ye that belong not in this house, depart instantly, on peril
of your lives; and if any there be who _do_ belong here, let them
remain, and stir not!'
All, with the exception of poor Simon, tremblingly left the room and the
house, resolved never again to cross the threshold of a place visited by
such fearful beings. The spectre then turned to the affrightened
footman, and said, with a hideous frown--
'Now, rascal, tell me what has become of your mistress and her
daughter--where have they gone--speak!'
But Simon, imagining that he had to do with a being from the other
world, fell upon his knees and began to mutter a prayer.
'Accursed fool!' cried the supposed spectre, striking him with his iron
hand--'does _that_ feel like the touch of a shadowy ghost? Get up, and
answer me; I am no ghost, but a living man--living, though known as the
Dead Man. Where have the two Franklin ladies gone?'
Now Simon, convinced that his visitor was indeed no ghost, was beginning
to regain his natural shrewdness: and remembering the injunctions of his
mistress, not to reveal where she had gone, with her daughter, he
replied, in accordance with the instructions which he had received--
'The ladies have gone to Philadelphia.'
'Liar!' cried the Dead Man--'you betray yourself; had you answered with
more hesitation, I might have believed you--the readiness of your reply
proves its falsehood. Now, by hell! tell me correctly where the ladies
have gone, or I'll murder you!'
'Not so fast, old dead face,' cried Simon, who was a brave fellow, and
had by this time recovered all his courage--'perhaps you mightn't find
it so easy to murder me, as you imagine. Once for all, I'll see you
d----d before I will tell you where the ladies have gone.'
The Dead Man smiled grimly as he surveyed the slight form of the
footman; then, in a fierce tone, he demanded--
'Are you mad?--Do you want to rush on headlong to ruin and death? Do you
know me? I am one whose awful presence inspires fear in my friends,
consternation in my foes. Puny wretch, will you give me the required
information, ere I crush you as a worm?'
'No!' replied Simon, decidedly.
'Bah! I shall have work here,' said the other, calmly: then he sprung
upon the footman, who, altogether unprepared for so sudden an attack,
could make but a feeble resistance, especially in the grasp of a man who
possessed more than twice his strength.
The struggle was brief, for the Dead Man handled him as easily as if he
were a child. Soon he was gagged and bound fast to a chair;--then the
miscreant, with a diabolical grin, thrust the poker into the fire, and
when it became red-hot, he drew it forth, saying--
'I have found a way to loosen your tongue, d----n you! When you get
ready to answer my question, nod your head, and the torture shall
cease.'
The monster applied the iron to various parts of his victim's body,
burning through the clothes, and deep into the flesh. Simon winced with
intense torture, yet he did not give the designated sign in token of
submission until the skin was entirely burnt from his face, by the fiery
ordeal.
Then the Dead Man removed the gag from his mouth, and asked--
'Where have the Franklin ladies gone, you infernal, obstinate fool?'
'To Boston,' gasped the miserable young man, and fainted. Ah! Simon, thy
faithfulness to thy worthless mistress was worthy of a better cause!
'Boston, hey?' growled the villain--'then, by G----, I must go to
Boston, too. Ah, I'm not at all surprised at their selecting that city
for their place of refuge--for it is the abode of hypocrisy and lust;
and they no doubt anticipate reaping a rich harvest there. But ere I
depart for that virtuous and Christian city, I must finish my business
here. And first to silence this fool's tongue forever!'
He drew forth his deadly knife, and plunged it up to the hilt in his
victim's throat. With scarce a groan or struggle, poor Simon yielded
his spirit into the hands of his Maker.
The murderer viewed his appalling work with satisfaction. His eyes
seemed to feast upon the purple stream that gushed from the wound, and
stained the carpet. It seemed as if, in the ferocity of his soul, he
could have _drank_ the gory flood!
'Would that the human race had but one single throat, and I could cut it
at a stroke,' he cried, adopting the sentiment of another: then, taking
a lamp, he left the room, with the intention of exploring the house.
One apartment he found carefully locked; and he was obliged to exert all
his strength to break in the door. This room was furnished in a style of
extravagant luxury; it was of great extent, and adorned with a multitude
of paintings and statues, all the size of life.
A silken curtain, suspended across the further end of the room, bore in
large gilt letters, the words 'Sanctuary of the Graces.' And behind the
curtain were collected a large number of figures, exquisitely made of
wax, representing males and females, large as life, and completely nude,
in every imaginable variety of posture, a few classical, others
voluptuous, and many positively obscene.
In this curious apartment--a perfect gallery of amorous
conceptions--Josephine and her mother were in the habit of consummating
those intrigues which they wished to invest with extraordinary _eclat_
and voluptuousness. Here they loved to feed their impure tastes by
contemplating every phase of licentious dalliance; and here they
indulged in extravagant orgies which will admit of no description.
The intruder into this singular scene noticed a small iron apparatus
attached to the wall; a sudden idea struck him--advancing, he touched a
spring, and instantly every wax figure was in motion, imitating the
movements of real life with wonderful fidelity! A closet in one corner
contained the machinery of these automatons; and the whole affair was
the invention of an ingenious German, whose talents had been misapplied
to its creation. It had formerly constituted a private exhibition; but,
after the murder of her husband, Mrs. Franklin had purchased it at a
large cost.
'By Satan!' cried the Dead Man--'those Franklins are ladies after my own
heart; lecherous, murderous and abandoned, they are meet companions for
me. What a splendid contrivance! It needs but the additions of myself
and the superb Josephine, to render it complete!'
He left the room, and entered an elegant bed-chamber which adjoined it.
It was the chamber of Josephine; and her full-length portrait hung upon
the wall; there was her proud brow, her wanton eyes, her magnificent
bust, uncovered, and seeming to swell with lascivious emotions.
Everything was sumptuous, yet everything lacked that beautiful propriety
which is so charming a characteristic of the arrangements of a virtuous
woman--one whose purity of soul is mirrored in all that surrounds her.
The bed, gorgeous though it was, seemed, in its shameless disorder, to
have been a nest of riotous harlotry. Costly garments lay trampled under
foot; a bird in a golden-wired prison, was gasping and dying for want of
nourishment; splendidly-bound books, with obscene contents, were
scattered here and there, and a delicate white slipper, which Cinderella
might have envied, was stuffed full with letters. The Dead Man examined
the documents; and among them was a paper, in the handwriting of
Josephine, which we shall take the liberty of transcribing:--
'PRIVATE JOURNAL.--'Monday. Passed last evening with Signor
Pacci, the handsome Italian Opera singer. Was rather
disappointed in my expectations; he is impetuous, but * * * *.'
'Tuesday. Have just made an appointment with ---- the actor;
he came to my box last night, between the acts, and made a
thousand tender pretensions. _Mem._--must try and get rid of
Tom the coachman--am tired of him; besides it is _outre_ to
permit liberties to a menial.'
'Thursday. Am bored to death with the persecutions of Rev. Mr.
----. I cannot endure him, he is so ugly. _Mem._--His son is a
charming youth of sixteen; must try and get him.'
'Saturday. Dreadfully provoked with mother for her disgraceful
_liaison_ with her new coachman. She promised to discharge the
fellow--did not perceive my drift. _Mem._--Am to admit him
to-night to my chamber.'
'Sunday. Heard Mr. ---- preach; he visits me to-night.'
Having perused this precious _morceau_, the Dead Man thrust it into his
pocket, and then, after a moment's reflection, deliberately applied the
flame of the lamp to the curtains of the bed; and having waited to see
the fire fairly started, he ran rapidly down stairs, and escaped from
the house.
Within a quarter of an hour afterwards, Franklin House was entirely
enveloped in flames; and notwithstanding every effort was made to save
the building, it was completely destroyed. In one short hour that
magnificent and stately pile was reduced to a heap of smoking ruins.
The destruction of this house and the property contained in it, brought
Mrs. Franklin and her daughter to absolute poverty. When the news of the
event reached them in Boston they were far from supposing that it was
caused by the hideous ruffian whom they had so much reason to fear; they
attributed the conflagration to the carelessness of Simon, and knew
nothing of his having been murdered, but thought that, being
intoxicated, he had perished in the flames.
The mother and daughter held a long consultation as to the best means of
retrieving their ruined fortunes; and the result was, they determined to
send for Sophia, in order to make use of her in a damnable plot, which,
while it would supply them abundantly with cash, would forever ruin the
peace and happiness of that innocent and pure-minded girl.
In answer to the summons, Sophia left the home of her relative in New
Jersey, and joined her mother and sister in Boston. They received her
with every demonstration of affection; and little did she suspect that
an infamous scheme had been concocted between them, to sacrifice her
upon the altars of avarice and lust.