Such was Welbeck's tale, listened to by me with an eagerness in which
every faculty was absorbed. How adverse to my dreams were the incidents
that had just been related! The curtain was lifted, and a scene of guilt
and ignominy disclosed where my rash and inexperienced youth had
suspected nothing but loftiness and magnanimity.
For a while the wondrousness of this tale kept me from contemplating the
consequences that awaited us. My unfledged fancy had not hitherto soared
to this pitch. All was astounding by its novelty, or terrific by its
horror. The very scene of these offences partook, to my rustic
apprehension, of fairy splendour and magical abruptness. My
understanding was bemazed, and my senses were taught to distrust their
own testimony.
From this musing state I was recalled by my companion, who said to me,
in solemn accents, "Mervyn! I have but two requests to make. Assist me
to bury these remains, and then accompany me across the river. I have no
power to compel your silence on the acts that you have witnessed. I have
meditated to benefit as well as to injure you; but I do not desire that
your demeanour should conform to any other standard than justice. You
have promised, and to that promise I trust.
"If you choose to fly from this scene, to withdraw yourself from what
you may conceive to be a theatre of guilt or peril, the avenues are
open; retire unmolested and in silence. If you have a manlike spirit, if
you are grateful for the benefits bestowed upon you, if your discernment
enables you to see that compliance with my request will entangle you in
no guilt and betray you into no danger, stay, and aid me in hiding these
remains from human scrutiny.
"Watson is beyond the reach of further injury. I never intended him
harm, though I have torn from him his sister and friend, and have
brought his life to an untimely close. To provide him a grave is a duty
that I owe to the dead and to the living. I shall quickly place myself
beyond the reach of inquisitors and judges, but would willingly rescue
from molestation or suspicion those whom I shall leave behind."
What would have been the fruit of deliberation, if I had had the time or
power to deliberate, I know not. My thoughts flowed with tumult and
rapidity. To shut this spectacle from my view was the first impulse; but
to desert this man, in a time of so much need, appeared a thankless and
dastardly deportment. To remain where I was, to conform implicitly to
his direction, required no effort. Some fear was connected with his
presence, and with that of the dead; but, in the tremulous confusion of
my present thoughts, solitude would conjure up a thousand phantoms.
I made no preparation to depart. I did not verbally assent to his
proposal. He interpreted my silence into acquiescence. He wrapped the
body in the carpet, and then, lifting one end, cast at me a look which
indicated his expectations that I would aid him in lifting this ghastly
burden. During this process, the silence was unbroken.
I knew not whither he intended to convey the corpse. He had talked of
burial, but no receptacle had been provided. How far safety might depend
upon his conduct in this particular, I was unable to estimate. I was in
too heartless a mood to utter my doubts. I followed his example in
raising the corpse from the floor.
He led the way into the passage and down-stairs. Having reached the
first floor, he unbolted a door which led into the cellar. The stairs
and passage were illuminated by lamps that hung from the ceiling and
were accustomed to burn during the night. Now, however, we were entering
darksome and murky recesses.
"Return," said he, in a tone of command, "and fetch the light. I will
wait for you."
I obeyed. As I returned with the light, a suspicion stole into my mind,
that Welbeck had taken this opportunity to fly; and that, on regaining
the foot of the stairs, I should find the spot deserted by all but the
dead. My blood was chilled by this image. The momentary resolution it
inspired was to follow the example of the fugitive, and leave the
persons whom the ensuing day might convene on this spot, to form their
own conjectures as to the cause of this catastrophe.
Meanwhile, I cast anxious eyes forward. Welbeck was discovered in the
same place and posture in which he had been left. Lifting the corpse and
its shroud in his arms, he directed me to follow him. The vaults beneath
were lofty and spacious. He passed from one to the other till we reached
a small and remote cell. Here he cast his burden on the ground. In the
fall, the face of Watson chanced to be disengaged from its covering. Its
closed eyes and sunken muscles were rendered in a tenfold degree ghastly
and rueful by the feeble light which the candle shed upon it.
This object did not escape the attention of Welbeck. He leaned against
the wall, and, folding his arms, resigned himself to reverie. He gazed
upon the countenance of Watson, but his looks denoted his attention to
be elsewhere employed.
As to me, my state will not be easily described. My eye roved fearfully
from one object to another. By turns it was fixed upon the murdered
person and the murderer. The narrow cell in which we stood, its
rudely-fashioned walls and arches, destitute of communication with the
external air, and its palpable dark scarcely penetrated by the rays of a
solitary candle, added to the silence which was deep and universal,
produced an impression on my fancy which no time will obliterate.
Perhaps my imagination was distempered by terror. The incident which I
am going to relate may appear to have existed only in my fancy. Be that
as it may, I experienced all the effects which the fullest belief is
adapted to produce. Glancing vaguely at the countenance of Watson, my
attention was arrested by a convulsive motion in the eyelids. This
motion increased, till at length the eyes opened, and a glance, languid
but wild, was thrown around. Instantly they closed, and the tremulous
appearance vanished.
I started from my place and was on the point of uttering some
involuntary exclamation. At the same moment, Welbeck seemed to recover
from his reverie.
"How is this?" said he. "Why do we linger here? Every moment is
precious. We cannot dig for him a grave with our hands. Wait here, while
I go in search of a spade."
Saying this, he snatched the candle from my hand, and hasted away. My
eye followed the light as its gleams shifted their place upon the walls
and ceilings, and, gradually vanishing, gave place to unrespited gloom.
This proceeding was so unexpected and abrupt, that I had no time to
remonstrate against it. Before I retrieved the power of reflection, the
light had disappeared and the footsteps were no longer to be heard.
I was not, on ordinary occasions, destitute of equanimity; but perhaps
the imagination of man is naturally abhorrent of death, until tutored
into indifference by habit. Every circumstance combined to fill me with
shuddering and panic. For a while, I was enabled to endure my situation
by the exertions of my reason. That the lifeless remains of a human
being are powerless to injure or benefit, I was thoroughly persuaded. I
summoned this belief to my aid, and was able, if not to subdue, yet to
curb, my fears. I listened to catch the sound of the returning footsteps
of Welbeck, and hoped that every new moment would terminate my solitude.
No signal of his coming was afforded. At length it occurred to me that
Welbeck had gone with no intention to return; that his malice had
seduced me hither to encounter the consequences of his deed. He had fled
and barred every door behind him. This suspicion may well be supposed to
overpower my courage, and to call forth desperate efforts for my
deliverance.
I extended my hands and went forward. I had been too little attentive to
the situation and direction of these vaults and passages, to go forward
with undeviating accuracy. My fears likewise tended to confuse my
perceptions and bewilder my steps. Notwithstanding the danger of
encountering obstructions, I rushed towards the entrance with
precipitation.
My temerity was quickly punished. In a moment, I was repelled by a
jutting angle of the wall, with such force that I staggered backward and
fell. The blow was stunning, and, when I recovered my senses, I
perceived that a torrent of blood was gushing from my nostrils. My
clothes were moistened with this unwelcome effusion, and I could not but
reflect on the hazard which I should incur by being detected in this
recess, covered by these accusing stains.
This reflection once more set me on my feet and incited my exertions. I
now proceeded with greater wariness and caution. I had lost all distinct
notions of my way. My motions were at random. All my labour was to shun
obstructions and to advance whenever the vacuity would permit. By this
means, the entrance was at length found, and, after various efforts, I
arrived, beyond my hopes, at the foot of the staircase.
I ascended, but quickly encountered an insuperable impediment. The door
at the stair-head was closed and barred. My utmost strength was exerted
in vain, to break the lock or the hinges. Thus were my direst
apprehensions fulfilled. Welbeck had left me to sustain the charge of
murder; to obviate suspicions the most atrocious and plausible that the
course of human events is capable of producing.
Here I must remain till the morrow; till some one can be made to
overhear my calls and come to my deliverance. What effects will my
appearance produce on the spectator? Terrified by phantoms and stained
with blood, shall I not exhibit the tokens of a maniac as well as an
assassin?
The corpse of Watson will quickly be discovered. If, previous to this
disclosure, I should change my blood-stained garments and withdraw into
the country, shall I not be pursued by the most vehement suspicions,
and, perhaps, hunted to my obscurest retreat by the ministers of
justice? I am innocent; but my tale, however circumstantial or true,
will scarcely suffice for my vindication. My flight will be construed
into a proof of incontestable guilt.
While harassed by these thoughts, my attention was attracted by a faint
gleam cast upon the bottom of the staircase. It grew stronger, hovered
for a moment in my sight, and then disappeared. That it proceeded from a
lamp or candle, borne by some one along the passages, was no untenable
opinion, but was far less probable than that the effulgence was
meteorous. I confided in the latter supposition, and fortified myself
anew against the dread of preternatural dangers. My thoughts reverted to
the contemplation of the hazards and suspicions which flowed from my
continuance in this spot.
In the midst of my perturbed musing, my attention was again recalled by
an illumination like the former. Instead of hovering and vanishing, it
was permanent. No ray could be more feeble; but the tangible obscurity
to which it succeeded rendered it conspicuous as an electrical flash.
For a while I eyed it without moving from my place, and in momentary
expectation of its disappearance.
Remarking its stability, the propriety of scrutinizing it more nearly,
and of ascertaining the source whence it flowed, was at length
suggested. Hope, as well as curiosity, was the parent of my conduct.
Though utterly at a loss to assign the cause of this appearance, I was
willing to believe some connection between that cause and the means of
my deliverance.
I had scarcely formed the resolution of descending the stair, when my
hope was extinguished by the recollection that the cellar had narrow and
grated windows, through which light from the street might possibly have
found access. A second recollection supplanted this belief, for in my
way to this staircase my attention would have been solicited, and my
steps, in some degree, been guided, by light coming through these
avenues.
Having returned to the bottom of the stair, I perceived every part of
the long-drawn passage illuminated. I threw a glance forward to the
quarter whence the rays seemed to proceed, and beheld, at a considerable
distance, Welbeck in the cell which I had left, turning up the earth
with a spade.
After a pause of astonishment, the nature of the error which I had
committed rushed upon my apprehension. I now perceived that the darkness
had misled me to a different staircase from that which I had originally
descended. It was apparent that Welbeck intended me no evil, but had
really gone in search of the instrument which he had mentioned.
This discovery overwhelmed me with contrition and shame, though it freed
me from the terrors of imprisonment and accusation. To return to the
cell which I had left, and where Welbeck was employed in his disastrous
office, was the expedient which regard to my own safety unavoidably
suggested.
Welbeck paused, at my approach, and betrayed a momentary consternation
at the sight of my ensanguined visage. The blood, by some inexplicable
process of nature, perhaps by the counteracting influence of fear, had
quickly ceased to flow. Whether the cause of my evasion, and of my flux
of blood, was guessed, or whether his attention was withdrawn, by more
momentous objects, from my condition, he proceeded in his task in
silence.
A shallow bed and a slight covering of clay were provided for the
hapless Watson. Welbeck's movements were hurried and tremulous. His
countenance betokened a mind engrossed by a single purpose, in some
degree foreign to the scene before him. An intensity and fixedness of
features were conspicuous, that led me to suspect the subversion of his
reason.
Having finished the task, he threw aside his implement. He then put into
my hand a pocket-book, saying it belonged to Watson, and might contain
something serviceable to the living. I might make what use of it I
thought proper. He then remounted the stairs, and, placing the candle on
a table in the hall, opened the principal door and went forth. I was
driven, by a sort of mechanical impulse, in his footsteps. I followed
him because it was agreeable to him and because I knew not whither else
to direct my steps.
The streets were desolate and silent. The watchman's call, remotely and
faintly heard, added to the general solemnity. I followed my companion
in a state of mind not easily described. I had no spirit even to inquire
whither he was going. It was not till we arrived at the water's edge
that I persuaded myself to break silence. I then began to reflect on the
degree in which his present schemes might endanger Welbeck or myself. I
had acted long enough a servile and mechanical part; and been guided by
blind and foreign impulses. It was time to lay aside my fetters, and
demand to know whither the path tended in which I was importuned to
walk.
Meanwhile I found myself entangled among boats and shipping. I am unable
to describe the spot by any indisputable tokens. I know merely that it
was the termination of one of the principal streets. Here Welbeck
selected a boat and prepared to enter it. For a moment I hesitated to
comply with his apparent invitation. I stammered out an
interrogation:--"Why is this? Why should we cross the river? What
service can I do for you? I ought to know the purpose of my voyage
before I enter it."
He checked himself and surveyed me for a minute in silence. "What do you
fear?" said he. "Have I not explained my wishes? Merely cross the river
with me, for I cannot navigate a boat by myself. Is there any thing
arduous or mysterious in this undertaking? we part on the Jersey shore,
and I shall leave you to your destiny. All I shall ask from you will be
silence, and to hide from mankind what you know concerning me."
He now entered the boat and urged me to follow his example. I
reluctantly complied, I perceived that the boat contained but one oar,
and that was a small one. He seemed startled and thrown into great
perplexity by this discovery. "It will be impossible," said he, in a
tone of panic and vexation, "to procure another at this hour: what is to
be done?"
This impediment was by no means insuperable. I had sinewy arms, and knew
well how to use an oar for the double purpose of oar and rudder. I took
my station at the stern, and quickly extricated the boat from its
neighbours and from the wharves. I was wholly unacquainted with the
river. The bar by which it was encumbered I knew to exist, but in what
direction and to what extent it existed, and how it might be avoided in
the present state of the tide, I knew not. It was probable, therefore,
unknowing as I was of the proper track, that our boat would speedily
have grounded.
My attention, meanwhile, was fixed upon the oar. My companion sat at the
prow, and was in a considerable degree unnoticed. I cast my eyes
occasionally at the scene which I had left. Its novelty, joined with the
incidents of my condition, threw me into a state of suspense and wonder
which frequently slackened my hand and left the vessel to be driven by
the downward current. Lights were sparingly seen, and these were
perpetually fluctuating, as masts, yards, and hulls were interposed, and
passed before them. In proportion as we receded from the shore, the
clamours seemed to multiply, and the suggestion that the city was
involved in confusion and uproar did not easily give way to maturer
thoughts. _Twelve_ was the hour cried, and this ascended at once from
all quarters, and was mingled with the baying of dogs, so as to produce
trepidation and alarm.
From this state of magnificent and awful feeling I was suddenly called
by the conduct of Welbeck. We had scarcely moved two hundred yards from
the shore, when he plunged into the water. The first conception was that
some implement or part of the boat had fallen over-board. I looked back
and perceived that his seat was vacant. In my first astonishment I
loosened my hold of the oar, and it floated away. The surface was smooth
as glass, and the eddy occasioned by his sinking was scarcely visible. I
had not time to determine whether this was designed or accidental. Its
suddenness deprived me of the power to exert myself for his succour. I
wildly gazed around me, in hopes of seeing him rise. After some time my
attention was drawn, by the sound of agitation in the water, to a
considerable distance.
It was too dark for any thing to be distinctly seen. There was no cry
for help. The noise was like that of one vigorously struggling for a
moment, and then sinking to the bottom. I listened with painful
eagerness, but was unable to distinguish a third signal. He sunk to rise
no more.
I was for a time inattentive to my own situation. The dreadfulness and
unexpectedness of this catastrophe occupied me wholly. The quick motion
of the lights upon the shore showed me that I was borne rapidly along
with the tide. How to help myself, how to impede my course or to regain
either shore, since I had lost the oar, I was unable to tell. I was no
less at a loss to conjecture whither the current, if suffered to control
my vehicle, would finally transport me.
The disappearance of lights and buildings, and the diminution of the
noises, acquainted me that I had passed the town. It was impossible
longer to hesitate. The shore was to be regained by one way only, which
was swimming. To any exploit of this kind, my strength and my skill were
adequate. I threw away my loose gown; put the pocket-book of the
unfortunate Watson in my mouth, to preserve it from being injured by
moisture; and committed myself to the stream.
I landed in a spot incommoded with mud and reeds. I sunk knee-deep into
the former, and was exhausted by the fatigue of extricating myself. At
length I recovered firm ground, and threw myself on the turf to repair
my wasted strength, and to reflect on the measures which my future
welfare enjoined me to pursue.
What condition was ever parallel to mine? The transactions of the last
three days resembled the monstrous creations of delirium. They were
painted with vivid hues on my memory; but so rapid and incongruous were
these transitions, that I almost denied belief to their reality. They
exercised a bewildering and stupefying influence on my mind, from which
the meditations of an hour were scarcely sufficient to relieve me.
Gradually I recovered the power of arranging my ideas and forming
conclusions.
Welbeck was dead. His property was swallowed up, and his creditors left
to wonder at his disappearance. All that was left was the furniture of
his house, to which Mrs. Wentworth would lay claim, in discharge of the
unpaid rent. What now was the destiny that awaited the lost and
friendless Mademoiselle Lodi? Where was she concealed? Welbeck had
dropped no intimation by which I might be led to suspect the place of
her abode. If my power, in other respects, could have contributed aught
to her relief, my ignorance of her asylum had utterly disabled me.
But what of the murdered person? He had suddenly vanished from the face
of the earth. His fate and the place of his interment would probably be
suspected and ascertained. Was I sure to escape from the consequences of
this deed? Watson had relatives and friends. What influence on their
state and happiness his untimely and mysterious fate would possess, it
was obvious to inquire. This idea led me to the recollection of his
pocket-book. Some papers might be there explanatory of his situation.
I resumed my feet. I knew not where to direct my steps. I was dropping
with wet, and shivering with the cold. I was destitute of habitation and
friend. I had neither money nor any valuable thing in my possession. I
moved forward mechanically and at random. Where I landed was at no great
distance from the verge of the town. In a short time I discovered the
glimmering of a distant lamp. To this I directed my steps, and here I
paused to examine the contents of the pocket-book.
I found three bank-notes, each of fifty dollars, enclosed in a piece of
blank paper. Besides these were three letters, apparently written by his
wife, and dated at Baltimore. They were brief, but composed in a strain
of great tenderness, and containing affecting allusions to their child.
I could gather, from their date and tenor, that they were received
during his absence on his recent voyage; that her condition was
considerably necessitous, and surrounded by wants which their prolonged
separation had increased.
The fourth letter was open, and seemed to have been very lately written.
It was directed to Mrs. Mary Watson. He informed her in it of his
arrival at Philadelphia from St. Domingo; of the loss of his ship and
cargo; and of his intention to hasten home with all possible expedition.
He told her that all was lost but one hundred and fifty dollars, the
greater part of which he should bring with him, to relieve her more
pressing wants. The letter was signed, and folded, and superscribed, but
unsealed.
A little consideration showed me in what manner it became me, on this
occasion, to demean myself. I put the bank-notes in the letter, and
sealed it with a wafer; a few of which were found in the pocket-book. I
hesitated some time whether I should add any thing to the information
which the letter contained, by means of a pencil which offered itself to
my view; but I concluded to forbear. I could select no suitable terms in
which to communicate the mournful truth. I resolved to deposit this
letter at the post-office, where I knew letters could be left at all
hours.
My reflections at length reverted to my own condition. What was the fate
reserved for me? How far my safety might be affected by remaining in the
city, in consequence of the disappearance of Welbeck, and my known
connection with the fugitive, it was impossible to foresee. My fears
readily suggested innumerable embarrassments and inconveniences which
would flow from this source. Besides, on what pretence should I remain?
To whom could I apply for protection or employment? All avenues, even to
subsistence, were shut against me. The country was my sole asylum. Here,
in exchange for my labour, I could at least purchase food, safety, and
repose. But, if my choice pointed to the country, there was no reason
for a moment's delay. It would be prudent to regain the fields, and be
far from this detested city before the rising of the sun.
Meanwhile I was chilled and chafed by the clothes that I wore. To change
them for others was absolutely necessary to my ease. The clothes which I
wore were not my own, and were extremely unsuitable to my new condition.
My rustic and homely garb was deposited in my chamber at Welbeck's.
These thoughts suggested the design of returning thither. I considered
that, probably, the servants had not been alarmed. That the door was
unfastened, and the house was accessible. It would be easy to enter and
retire without notice; and this, not without some waverings and
misgivings, I presently determined to do.
Having deposited my letter at the office, I proceeded to my late abode.
I approached, and lifted the latch with caution. There were no
appearances of any one having been disturbed. I procured a light in the
kitchen, and hied softly and with dubious footsteps to my chamber. There
I disrobed, and resumed my check shirt, and trowsers, and fustian coat.
This change being accomplished, nothing remained but that I should
strike into the country with the utmost expedition.
In a momentary review which I took of the past, the design for which
Welbeck professed to have originally detained me in his service occurred
to my mind. I knew the danger of reasoning loosely on the subject of
property. To any trinket or piece of furniture in this house I did not
allow myself to question the right of Mrs. Wentworth; a right accruing
to her in consequence of Welbeck's failure in the payment of his rent;
but there was one thing which I felt an irresistible desire, and no
scruples which should forbid me, to possess, and that was, the
manuscript to which Welbeck had alluded, as having been written by the
deceased Lodi.
I was well instructed in Latin, and knew the Tuscan language to be
nearly akin to it. I despaired not of being at some time able to
cultivate this language, and believed that the possession of this
manuscript might essentially contribute to this end, as well as to many
others equally beneficial. It was easy to conjecture that the volume was
to be found among his printed books, and it was scarcely less easy to
ascertain the truth of this conjecture. I entered, not without tremulous
sensations, into the apartment which had been the scene of the
disastrous interview between Watson and Welbeck. At every step I almost
dreaded to behold the spectre of the former rise before me.
Numerous and splendid volumes were arranged on mahogany shelves, and
screened by doors of glass. I ran swiftly over their names, and was at
length so fortunate as to light upon the book of which I was in search.
I immediately secured it, and, leaving the candle extinguished on a
table in the parlour, I once more issued forth into the street. With
light steps and palpitating heart I turned my face towards the country.
My necessitous condition I believed would justify me in passing without
payment the Schuylkill bridge, and the eastern sky began to brighten
with the dawn of morning not till I had gained the distance of nine
miles from the city.
Such is the tale which I proposed to relate to you. Such are the
memorable incidents of five days of my life; from which I have gathered
more instruction than from the whole tissue of my previous existence.
Such are the particulars of my knowledge respecting the crimes and
misfortunes of Welbeck; which the insinuations of Wortley, and my desire
to retain your good opinion, have induced me to unfold.