_Scene on Boston Common--George Radcliff--the Rescue--Two Model
Policemen--Innocence protected--the Duel, and the Death--the Unknown._
After Frank Sydney's escape from the Dark Vaults, through the City
Sewers, he did not deem it prudent to remain longer in New York.
Accordingly, accompanied by the Doctor, the dumb boy Clinton, and his
faithful servant Dennis, he left the city, to take up his abode
elsewhere. None of his friends knew the place of his destination; some
supposed that he had gone to Europe; others thought that he had
emigrated to the 'far West'; while many persons imagined that he had
exhausted his fortune, and been obliged to leave by the persecutions of
creditors. Those who had been accustomed to borrow money from him,
regretted his departure; but those who had been afflicted with jealousy
at his good looks and popularity with _la belle sex_, expressed
themselves as 'devilish glad he'd gone.'
But, in truth, Frank had neither gone to Europe, nor to the far West,
neither had he been driven away by creditors; his fortune was still
ample, and adequate to all his wants, present and to come. Where, then,
was our hero flown? impatiently demands the reader. Softly, and you
shall know in good time.
It was a beautiful afternoon, in spring, and Boston Common was thronged
with promenaders of both sexes and all conditions. Here was the portly
speculator of State street, exulting over the success of his last
_shave_; here was the humble laborer, emancipated for a brief season
from the drudgery of his daily toil; here was the blackleg, meditating
on future gains; and here the pickpocket, on the alert for a victim.
Then there were ladies of every degree, from the poor, decent wife of
the respectable mechanic, with her troop of rosy children, down to the
languishing lady of fashion, with her silks, her simperings, and her
look of _hauteur_. Nor was there wanting, to complete the variety, the
brazen-faced courtezan, with her 'nods,' and becks, and wreathed smiles,
tho' to class _her_ with ladies of any grade, would be sacrilege.
The weather was delicious; a soft breeze gently stirred the trees, which
were beginning to assume the fair livery of spring, and the mild rays of
the declining sun shone cheerily over the noble enclosure. In the
principal mall a young lady was slowly walking with an air pensive and
thoughtful.
She could scarce have been over sixteen years of age--a beautiful
blonde, with golden hair and eyes of that deep blue wherein dwells a
world of expression. In complexion she was divinely fair; her cheeks
were suffused with just enough of a rich carnation to redeem her angelic
countenance from an unbecoming paleness. Her figure, _petite_ and
surpassingly graceful, had scarce yet attained the matured fullness of
womanhood; yet it was of exquisite symmetry.--Her dress was elegant
without being gaudy, and tasteful without being ostentatious.
Have you noticed, reader, while perusing this narrative, that nearly all
the characters introduced have been more or less tainted with
crime?--Even Sydney, good, generous and noble as he was, had his faults
and weaknesses. Alas! human excellence is so very scarce, that had we
taken it as the principal ingredient of our book, we should have made a
slim affair of it, indeed.
But you may remember, that in the former portions of our story, we made
a slight allusion to one Sophia Franklin. _She_, excellent young lady!
shall redeem us from the imputation of total depravity. Her virtue and
goodness shall illumine our dark pages with a celestial light--even
though her mother and sister were _murderesses_!
Sophia Franklin it was, then, whom we have introduced as walking on the
Common, with thoughtful and pensive air, on that fine afternoon in early
spring.
But _why_ thoughtful, and _why_ pensive? Surely she must be
happy.--There certainly cannot exist a creature made in God's glorious
image, who would plant the thorn of unhappiness in the pure breast of
that gentle girl?
There is. Her worst enemies are her nearest relatives. Her mother and
sister are plotting to sacrifice her to the lust of a rich villain, for
gold.
Oh, GOLD!--Great dragon that doth feed on human tears, and human honor,
and human blood! Thou art the poor man's phantom--the rich man's curse.
Magic is thy power, thou yellow talisman; thou canst cause men and women
to forget themselves, their neighbors, their God! See yon grey-headed
fool, who hugs gold to his breast as a mother hugs her first born; he
builds houses--he accumulates money--he dabbles in railroads. A great
man, forsooth, is that miserly old wretch, who stoops from manhood to
indulge the dirty promptings of a petty avarice. But is he happy? NO;
how can such a thing be happy, even tho' he possess thousands
accumulated by his detestable meanness--when men spit on him with
contempt; decency kicks him, dishonorable care will kill him, infamy
will rear his monument, and the devil will roast him on the hottest
gridiron in hell--_and he knows it!_
But to resume. Slowly did Sophia pursue her walk to the end of the mall,
and as slowly did she retrace her steps; then, crossing a narrow path,
she approached the venerable old elm, whose antique trunk is a monument
of time. She had scarcely made two circuits around this ancient tree,
when a gentleman who had espied her from a distance, advanced and
greeted her with a familiar air. On seeing him, she became much
agitated, and would have walked rapidly away, had he not caught her by
the arm and forcibly detained her.
This gentleman was a person of distinguished appearance, tall, graceful
figure, and fashionably dressed.--His countenance though eminently
handsome, was darkly tinged with Southern blood, and deeply marked with
the lines of dissipation and care. He wore a jet-black mustache and
imperial and his air was at once noble and commanding. 'My pretty
Sophia,' said the stranger, in a passionate tone--'why do you fly from
me thus? By heavens, I love you to distraction, and have sworn a solemn
oath that you shall be mine, though a legion of fiends oppose me!'
'Pray let me go, Mr. Radcliff,' said the young girl entreatingly--'you
wish me to do wrong, and I cannot consent to it, indeed I cannot. As you
are a gentleman, do not persecute me any more.'
'Persecute you--_never!_' exclaimed the libertine; 'become mine, and you
shall have the devotion of my life-time to repay you for the sacrifice.
Consent, sweet girl.'
'Never!' said Sophia, firmly; 'had you honorably solicited me to become
your wife, I might have loved you; but you seek my ruin, and I despise,
detest you. Let me go, sir, I implore--I command you!'
'Command _me_!' exclaimed the libertine, his eyes sparkling with
rage--'silly child, it is George Radcliff who stands before you; a man
whom none dare presume to command, but whom all are accustomed to
_obey_! I am a monarch among women, and they bow submissive to my
wishes. Listen, Sophia; I have for years plucked the fairest flowers in
the gardens of female beauty, but I am sated with their intoxicating
perfume, and sick of their gaudy hues. Your luxurious mother and fiery
sister were acceptable to me for a time, and I enjoyed their voluptuous
caresses with delight; but the devil! the conquest was too easily
achieved. I soon grew tired of them and was about to withdraw my
patronage, when to retain it, they mentioned _you_, describing you to be
a creature of angelic loveliness; my passions were fired by the
description, and I longed to add so fair and sweet a lily to the
brilliant bouquet of my conquests. They sent for you to New Jersey; you
came, and surpassed my highest anticipations. I paid your mother and
sister a large sum for you, promising to double the amount as soon as
you should become mine. I have so far failed in my efforts; unwilling to
use violence, I have tried to accomplish my object by entreaty.--Now,
since you will not listen to my entreaties, I shall resort to
force.--This very night I have arranged to visit you, and then--and
_then_, sweet one--'
He drew the shrinking girl towards him, and in spite of her resistance,
profaned her pure lips with unholy kisses. During the conversation just
related, day had softly melted into dim twilight, and the loungers on
the Common had mostly taken their departure; very few were in the
vicinity of Radcliff and Sophia--and there was but one person who saw
the scene of kissing and struggling that we have described. That person
was a young and handsome man, well-dressed, and possessing an open,
generous and manly countenance. Observing what was going on between the
pair, and seeing that the young lady was suffering violence from her
companion, he silently approached, nobly resolved to protect the weaker
party, at all hazards.
Sophia had partially escaped from the grasp of Radcliff, and he was
about to seize her again, when the young man just mentioned stepped
forward, and said, calmly--
'Come, sir, you have abused that young lady enough; molest her no
further.'
'And who the devil may you be, who presumes thus to interfere with a
gentleman's private amusements?' demanded the libertine, with savage
irony: but the bold eyes of the other quailed not before his fierce
glance.
'It matters not particularly who I am,' replied the young man,
sternly--'suffice it for you to know that I am one who is bound to
protect a lady against the assaults of a ruffian, even if that ruffian
is clad in the garb of a gentleman.'
'Oh, sir,' said Sophia, bursting into tears--'God will reward you for
rescuing me from the power of that bad man.'
Radcliff's eyes literally blazed with fury as he strode towards the
young lady's protector.
'You called me a ruffian,' said he, 'take _that_ for your impudence,'
and he attempted to strike the young man--but the blow was skillfully
warded off, and he found himself extended on the grass in a twinkling.
Two policeman now ran up and demanded the cause of the fracas. The young
man related everything that had occurred, whereupon the officers took
Radcliff into custody.
'Fellow,' said the individual, haughtily addressing his
antagonist,--'you are, I presume, nothing more than a shopman or common
mechanic, beneath my notice; you therefore may hope to escape the just
punishment of your insolence to-night.'
'You are a liar,' calmly responded the other--'I am neither a shopman
nor a mechanic, and if I were, I should be far superior to such a
scoundrel as you. I am a gentleman; your equal in birth and
fortune--your superior in manhood and in honor. If you desire
satisfaction for my conduct to-night, you will find me at the Tremont
House, at any time. My name is Francis Sydney. I shall see this lady in
safety to her residence.'
Radcliff was led away by the two officers. They had proceeded but a
short distance, when he thus addressed them--
'My good fellow, it is scarcely worth while to trouble yourselves to
detain me on account of this trifling affair. Here's five dollars a
piece for you--will that do?'
'Why, sir,' said one of the fellows, pocketing his V, and giving the
other to his companion--'we can't exactly let you go, but if you tip us
over and run for it, perhaps we shan't be able to overtake you.'
'I understand you,' said Radcliff, and he gave each of those _faithful_
officers a slight push, scarce sufficient to disturb the equilibrium of
a feather, whereupon one of them reeled out into the street to a
distance of twenty feet, while the other fell down flat on the sidewalk
in an apparently helpless condition, and the prisoner walked away at a
leisurely pace, without the slightest molestation.
Meanwhile, Frank Sydney escorted Sophia to the door of her residence in
Washington street. The young lady warmly thanked her deliverer, as she
termed him.
'No thanks are due me, miss,' said Frank--'I have but done my duty, in
protecting you from the insults of a villain. I now leave you in safety
with your friends.'
'Friends!' said the fair girl, with a deep sigh--'alas, I have no
friends on earth.'
The tone and manner of these words went to the heart of our hero; he
turned for a moment to conceal a tear--then raised her hand respectfully
to his lips, bade her farewell, and departed.
Sophia entered the house, and found her mother and sister in the parlor.
They greeted her with smiles.
'My darling Soph,' said Mrs. Franklin--'that charming fellow was much
disappointed to find that you had gone out. We told him that you had
probably gone to walk on the Common, and he went in search of you.'
Sophia related all that had occurred to her during her absence. She
complained of the libertine's treatment of her with mingled indignation
and grief.
'Pooh! sis,' exclaimed Josephine,--'you mustn't think so hard of Mr.
Radcliff's attentions. You must encourage him, for he is very rich, and
_we need money_.'
'Must you have money at the expense of my honor?' demanded Sophia, with
unwonted spirit.
'And why not?' asked her mother in a severe tone. 'Must we starve on
account of your silly notions about virtue, and such humbug? Your sister
and I have long since learned to dispose of our persons for pecuniary
benefit, as well as for our sensual gratification--for it is as
pleasurable as profitable; and you must do the same, now that you are
old enough.'
'Never--never!' solemnly exclaimed Sophia--'my poor, dead father--'
'What of him?' eagerly demanded both mother and daughter, in the same
breath.
'He seems to look down on me from Heaven, and tell me to commit no sin,'
replied the young girl.
'Nonsense,' cried the mother--'but go now to your chamber, and retire to
bed; to-night at least, you shall rest undisturbed.'
Sophia bade them a mournful good night, and left the room. When the door
closed upon her, Josephine glanced at her mother with a look of
satisfaction.
'Radcliff will be here to-night at twelve,' said she--'according to his
appointment, for he will find no difficulty in procuring his discharge
from custody. Once introduced into Sophia's chamber, he will gain his
object with little trouble; then he will pay us the remaining thousand,
as agreed upon.'
'And which we need most desperately,' rejoined her mother--'how
unfortunate about the burning of our house! It has reduced us almost to
our last penny.'
'The loss is irreparable,' sighed Josephine--'what divine raptures we
used to enjoy in the 'Sanctuary of the Graces!' And there, too, was my
elegant wardrobe and that heavenly French bed!'
These two abandoned women then retired to their respective chambers, to
await the coming of Radcliff. At midnight he came. He was admitted into
the house by Mrs. Franklin, and conducted to the chamber of Sophia,
which he entered by means of a duplicate key furnished him by the
perfidious mother.
The libertine had not observed, on entering the house, that he was
followed by a man at a short distance. He was too intent upon the
accomplishment of his vile desire, to notice the close proximity of one
who was determined to oppose him in its execution. Sydney had expected
that Radcliff would be liberated, and felt assured that he would seek
his victim again that night. He comprehended that the poor girl resided
with those who would not protect her, and he nobly resolved to
constitute himself her friend. He had lingered around the house for
hours, and when he saw the libertine approaching, followed him to the
very door, at which he stationed himself, and listened.
Soon a piercing shriek proceeding from an upper chamber, told him that
the moment for his aid had arrived. The street door was fortunately not
locked, and was only secured by a night latch; this he broke by one
vigorous push, and rushing through the hall, mounted the stairs, and
entered the chamber from which he judged the cry of distress had issued.
Then what a sight presented itself! Sophia, in her night dress, her hair
in wild disorder, struggling in the arms of the villain Radcliff, whose
fine countenance was rendered hideous by rage and passion.
'What!' he exclaimed--'_you_ here? By G----, you shall rue your
interference with my schemes. How is it that you start up before me
just at the very moment when my wishes are about to be crowned with
success?'
'I will not parley with you,' replied Frank--'the chamber of this young
lady is no fitting place for a dispute between us. As you claim to be a
gentleman, follow me hence.'
'Lead on, then,' cried the libertine, foaming with rage. 'I desire
nothing better than an opportunity to punish your presumption.'
As they descended the stairs, Josephine and her mother, alarmed by the
noise of the dispute, issued from their rooms, and when Frank had given
them a hasty explanation, the latter angrily demanded how he dared
intrude into that house, and interfere in a matter with which he had no
business.
'Madam,' replied our hero--'you are, I presume, the mother of that much
abused young lady up stairs. I see that you countenance the ruin of your
daughter. I tell you to beware--for I shall take proper measures to
expose your vileness, and have _her_ placed beyond the reach of your
infernal schemes.'
He then left the house followed by Radcliff. After proceeding a short
distance, the latter paused, and said--
'We can do nothing to-night, for we have no weapons, and to fight
otherwise would scarce comport with the dignity of gentlemen. Meet me
to-morrow morning, at the hour of six, upon this spot; bring with you a
friend, and pistols; we will then repair to some secluded place, and
settle our difficulty in honorable combat.'
'But what assurance have I that you will keep the appointment?' demanded
Sydney; 'how do I know that this is not a mere subterfuge to escape me?'
'Young man, you do not know me,' rejoined Radcliff, and his breast
swelled proudly. 'Do you think I'd resort to a base lie? Do you think
that I _fear_ you? I confess I am a libertine, but I am a man of
honor--and that honor I now pledge you that I will keep the appointment;
for, let me tell you, that I desire this meeting as much as you do.'
Strange inconsistency of terms!--'A libertine--but a man of _honor_!'
This creed is preached by thousands of honorable adulterers. A seducer
is of necessity a liar and a scoundrel--yet, forsooth, he is a man of
_honor_!
'Very well, sir,' said Sydney--'I have no doubt you will come.' And with
a cool 'good night,' they separated.
The next morning early, at a secluded spot in Roxbury neck, four men
might have been seen, whose operations were peculiar. Two of them were
evidently preparing to settle a dispute by the 'code of honor.' The
other two (the seconds) were engaged in measuring off the distance--ten
paces.
The morning was dark and cloudy, and a drizzling rain was falling. It
was a most unpleasant season to be abroad, especially to execute such
business as those four men had in hand.
Sydney had chosen for his second 'the Doctor'; while Radcliff had
brought with him a tall individual, whose countenance was mostly
concealed by an enormous coat collar and muffler, and a slouched hat.
Two cases of pistols had been brought, and as 'the Doctor' was an
accomplished surgeon, it was deemed unnecessary to have the attendance
of another.
At length all was ready, and the antagonists took their places, with
their deadly weapons in their hands. Both men were cool and collected;
Radcliff was a most accomplished duelist, having been engaged in many
similar encounters; and his countenance was expressive of confidence and
unconcern. Sydney had never before fought a duel, yet, feeling assured
of the justice of his cause, he had no apprehension as to the result. It
may be asked why he so interested himself in a young lady he had never
before seen, as to engage in a bloody encounter for her sake. We answer,
he was prompted so to do by the chivalry of his disposition, and by a
desire to vindicate the purity of his motives, and the sincerity of his
conduct. He wished to let that unprincipled libertine see that he was no
coward, and that he was prepared to defend the rights of a helpless
woman with his life.
The word was given to fire, and both pistols were discharged at once.
Sydney was wounded slightly in the arm; but Radcliff fell, mortally
wounded--his antagonist's ball had pierced his breast.
Sydney bent over the dying man with deep concern; his intention had been
merely to wound him--he had no desire to kill him; and when he saw that
his shot had taken a fatal effect, he was sincerely grieved. He could
not deny to himself that he felt a deep interest in the splendid
libertine, whose princely wealth, prodigal generosity, magnificent
person, and many amours, and rendered him the hero of romance, and the
most celebrated man of the day. He knew that Radcliff's many vices were
in a slight degree palliated by not a few excellent qualities which he
possessed; and he sighed as he thought that such a brilliant intellect
and such a happy combination of rare personal advantages should cease to
exist, ere the possessor could repent of the sins of his past life.
Radcliff's second, the tall man with the shrouded countenance, walked to
a short distance from the melancholy group, with a gloomy and abstracted
air. While the Doctor made vain efforts to alleviate the sufferings of
Radcliff, that unhappy man raised his dying eyes to Sydney's face, and
said, faintly:--
'Young man, my doom is just.--Continue to be kind to Sophia Franklin,
whom I would have wronged but for your timely interference; but beware
of her mother and sister--they are devils in the shape of women. They
would have sold her to me for gold--wretches that they were, and villain
that I was!'
'Can I do anything for you?' asked Frank, gently.
'Nothing--but listen to me; the pains of death are upon me, and my time
is short. You see my second--that tall, mysterious-looking person? I
have known him, for many years--he is a villain of the deepest dye--one
whom I formerly employed to kidnap young girls for my base uses. Last
night I met him for the first time for a long period; I told him that I
was to fight a person named Sydney this morning; he started at the
mention of your name, and eagerly desired to act as my second. I
consented. He is your most inveterate enemy, and thirsts for your blood.
He seeks but an opportunity to kill you. _He fears your second_, and
that prevents him from attacking you at once. Beware of him, for he
is--is--is--the--'
Radcliff could not finish the sentence, for the agonies of death were
upon him. His eyes glazed, his breath grew fainter and fainter; and in a
few moments he expired.
Thus perished George Radcliff--the elegant _roue_--the heartless
libertine--the man of pleasure--brilliant in intellect, beautiful in
person, generous in heart--but how debased in soul!
They laid the corpse down upon the smooth, green sward, and spread a
handkerchief over the pale, ghastly features. Then they turned to look
for the mysterious second; he was seated, at some distance, upon a large
rock, and they beckoned him to approach. He complied, with some
hesitation; and the Doctor said to him--
'Sir, you seem to manifest very little interest in the fate of your
friend; you see he is dead.'
'I care not,' was the reply--'his death causes me no grief, nor
pleasure; he was no enemy of mine, and as for friends, I have none.
Grief and friendship are sentiments which have long since died in my
breast.'
'By heavens!' exclaimed the Doctor--'I know that voice! The right hand
jealously thrust into your breast--your face so carefully concealed--the
dying words of Radcliff--tell me that you are--'
'The Dead Man!' cried the stranger, uncovering his face--'you are
right--I am he! Doctor, I did not expect to find you with Sydney, or I
should not have ventured. I came to execute vengeance--but your presence
restrains me; crippled as I am, I fear you. No matter; other chances
will offer, when you are absent. That escape of yours through the sewers
was done in masterly style. Doctor, you are a brave fellow, and your
courage inspires me with admiration; you are worthy to follow my
reckless fortunes. Let the past be forgotten; abandon this whining,
preaching Sydney, and join me in my desperate career. Give me your hand,
and let us be friends.'
The Doctor hesitated a moment, and, to Sydney's unutterable amazement,
grasped the Dead Man's hand, and said--
'Oh, Captain, I will re-enlist under your banner; I am tired of a life
of inactivity, and long for the excitement and dangers of an outlaw's
career! We are friends, henceforth and forever.'
The Dead Man grinned with delight; but poor Sydney was thunderstruck.
'Good God!' he exclaimed--'is it possible that you, Doctor, will desert
me, after swearing to me an eternal friendship? You, whom I once
benefitted--you, who have since benefitted me--you, whom I thought to be
one of the best, bravest, and most faithful men under the
sun--notwithstanding your former faults--to prove traitor to me now, and
league yourself with my worst enemy? Oh, is there such a thing as
honesty or truth on earth?'
The Doctor was silent; the Dead Man whispered to him--
'Let us kill Sydney--he is no friend to either of us, and why should he
live?'
'No,' said the Doctor, decidedly--'we will harm him not, at least for
the present. At some future time you may do with him as you will. Let us
go.'
And they went, leaving our hero in a frame of mind almost distracted
with remorse and sorrow--remorse, that he had killed a fellow
creature--sorrow, that a man whom he had regarded as a friend, should
prove so perfidious.
He retraced his way to the city, and returned to his hotel. The body of
poor Radcliff was shortly afterwards found by several laborers, who
conveyed it to the city, where an inquest was held over it. A verdict of
_suicide_ was rendered by the jury, who, short-sighted souls,
comprehended not the mysteries of duelling; and the 'rash act' was
attributed by the erudite city newspapers to 'temporary insanity'!
For three or four days after these events, Sydney was confined to his
bed by illness. His wounded arm pained him much, and he had caught a
severe cold upon the wet, drizzly morning of the duel. Clinton, the dumb
boy, attended him with the most assiduous care. This poor youth had
learned the 'dumb alphabet,' or language of signs, to perfection; and as
his master had also learned it, they could converse together with
considerable facility. Sydney was beginning to recover from his
indisposition, when one evening Clinton came into his room, and
communicated to him a piece of information that astounded him. It was,
that Julia, his wife, was then stopping at that very same hotel, as the
wife of an old gentleman named Mr. Hedge--that she was dressed superbly,
glittering with diamonds, appeared to be in the most buoyant spirits,
and looked as beautiful as ever.