In these two words let me shroud a tale of horror. Harriet was my
victim! Ask not how. _I_ triumphed! _She_ fell! An angel might
have fallen as she did, and lost no purity. But her stainless heart was
too proud in virtue to palter and equivocate with circumstances. She
never rose from what she deemed her bridal bed. And ere twenty summers
had fanned her cheek, the grave-worm banqueted upon its loveliness.
This was my _first_ crime. The recollection of it is engraven upon
my memory by an awful catastrophe. The night wind that sung _her_
funeral dirge, howled with dismal fury through the burning ruins of my
paternal mansion. Yes! that very night, as if it were in mercy to them,
my father and my mother both perished in the flames which reduced
the house itself to cinders. They were seen at the windows of their
bedchamber, shrieking for aid; but before any could be procured, the
flooring gave way, and they sunk at once into the yawning furnace that
roared beneath. Their remains, when afterwards dug out, were a few
shovelsfull of blackened ashes; except my father's right hand, which was
found clasped in that of my mother, and both unconsumed. I followed
these sad relics to the sepulchre. But with the tears I shed, there was
blended a feeble consolation at the thought they had died before they
knew the fate of Harriet; and a frightful joy, that another pang was
added to the wretchedness of my uncle.
I can well remember what a feeling of loneliness and desolation now took
possession of me. Time, however, rolled on; and I grew callous, if not
reconciled. I could not disguise from myself that the more select
circles of society were closed against me; or, if I found my way into
them, some blushing whisper was quickly circulated, which created a
solitude around me.
It was during this period, and while I was squandering thousands to
achieve the conquest of shadows, that I succeeded in fixing an intimacy
with a family equal to my own in station, and superior to it in fortune.
The eldest daughter was an heiress of large expectations, and my
proposals of marriage were favourably received. I might almost say that
Matilda was mine; when one day I received a letter from her father,
peremptorily forbidding my visits. I was thunderstruck. I hastened to
the house, and demanded an explanation. It was given in few words. _I
was referred to my uncle for any information I required_.
This blow struck me down. I had run through my patrimonial estate; but
hoped, by my marriage with Matilda, to repair my shattered fortune.
Three weeks after it was known that the match was broken off, I was
a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench! I breathed no curses upon
the cause of this sudden reverse of fortune, but--I swore revenge, in
silence; and I kept my oath. I languished away six months, a captive
debtor; and then, taking the benefit of the act, I walked forth a
beggar, to prey upon the world at large! I had studied, during that
time, in an admirable school, where I found professors in every art by
which fools are gulled, and knaves foiled with their own weapons. I was
an apt scholar, and returned to the bosom of society, an adept in the
science of _polished depredation_. Translate this into the language
of the Old Bailey, and I became a swindler by profession. Like the
eagle, however, I was a bird of prey that soared into the highest
regions, and rarely stooped to strike the meaner tribes of my species. I
had not lost, with the trappings of my birth, the manners and address of
the sphere in which I had moved; and these were now my stock in trade
for carrying on my new vocation.
Among the children of misfortune with whom I associated in prison, was
Charles Fitzroy; a bankrupt in every thing but exhaustless invention,
and unconquerable perseverance. Give him the free use of his limbs, and
with matchless dexterity he would make the contributions of the morning
furnish out the riotous expenses of the evening. It was his boast, that
he would breakfast with an empty pocket, and dine with a purse that
should defray the carouse of a dozen friends. And I have known him
fulfil his boast, with a heart as light, too, as became a man who thus
made the credulous fools of the world his bankers.
I was needy, desperate, and an outcast; and I linked my destiny with
Fitzroy's. He had my confidence; such confidence as confederates in
knavery can bestow. When he obtained his liberty, which he did shortly
after my own was accomplished, he introduced me to his companions; men
who, like himself, lived by plundering the unwary, and who looked up to
him as their _Magnus Apollo_. I was soon initiated in all their
mysteries; and played my part to admiration at the gaming-table, on the
race course, and in the ring.
Fitzroy was master of the secret that festered near my heart; the
increased and increasing hatred towards my uncle. I regarded him as
my evil genius; for not only had he thwarted me in two of the dearest
objects of my life; but his prediction of my boyhood had clung to me
like a poisoned garment. I could not shake it off; and now, more than
ever, it seemed accomplishing itself with rapid strides. It made me mad
when I reflected upon the polluted channels through which _my_
precarious means flowed, and thought of the luxurious enjoyments which
_his_ opulence commanded. It was true, I had dashed his cup with
bitterness; but it was no less true, that it still flowed with sweets,
while mine was brimming with gall. Fitzroy would often talk to me upon
this subject, and devise schemes for a successful inroad upon his purse.
At length a plan was matured between us, in which I could not appear,
but which Fitzroy, and a picked few of our associates, undertook to
execute.
My uncle had always been passionately fond of the course, and prided
himself upon his stud of racers. He betted largely, and was generally
fortunate, probably because he selected his men with a wary eye.
The race course, then, was the arena chosen for the enterprise; but
admirable as were the projected plans, and skilfully as they were
executed, such was his luck, or so profound were his calculations, that
they failed _five_ successive seasons. Fitzroy, however, was one of
those men who, when satisfied that what they engage in ought to succeed,
according to the means employed, only derive fresh vigour from every
fresh defeat. He played his game a _sixth_ time, and won. The same
day that saw my uncle rise with thousands, saw him seek his pillow at
night, a frantic beggar! He was too proud a man, too honourable, I will
add, not to throw down his last guinea, in satisfaction of such demands.
He never suspected villany in the business. He paid his losses,
therefore; and in less than a week afterwards, an inquest sat upon his
body, which was found at the bottom of his own fish pond.
I had my share of this infernal plunder; but so ravenous had been
my appetite for revenge, that not one pang of remorse disturbed the
riotous enjoyments in which it was lavished. On the contrary, the very
consciousness that it _was_ my uncle's money I squandered, gave a
zest to every excess, and seemed to appease the gnawing passions which
had so long tormented me. In two or three years, however, boundless
extravagance, and the gaming-table, stripped me of my last shilling.
It was in one of the frenzied moments of this profligate reverse of
fortune, that I committed the crime for which, if to-morrow dawned
upon me, I should be publicly arraigned.
Fitzroy had been fortunate the whole night. I had thrown with constant
bad luck. He had pocketed some hundreds; I had lost more than I could
pay. I asked him for a temporary loan of fifty pounds, to make good what
I owed, and stake the small remaining sum for the chance of retrieving
all. He refused me. It was the first time he had ever done so. But he
not _only_ refused me, he taunted me with sarcastic reproofs for my
folly, and muttered something about the uselessness of assisting a man
who, if he had thousands, would scatter them like dust. He should have
chosen a fitter moment to exhort me, than when I was galled by my
losses, and by his denial of my request. I was heated with wine too; and
half mad with despair, half mad with drink, I sprang upon him, tore him
to the earth, and before the by-standers could interfere to separate us,
I had buried a knife, which I snatched from a table near me, up to the
handle in his heart! He screamed--convulsively grappled me by the
throat---and expired! His death-gripe was so fierce and powerful, that I
believe had we been alone, his murderer would have been found strangled
by his side. It was with difficulty that the horror-struck witnesses of
this bloody scene could force open his clenched hands time enough to let
me breathe.
I have done! I remember, as if it were but yesterday, the silent
response which my heart made, when my uncle pronounced that withering
sentence on me. "No!" was my indignant exclamation; "I may deserve a
hundred public deaths; but if I know myself, I would never undergo
one!--NOR WILL I." When that which I have written shall be read--other
hopes and fears--other punishments, perchance, than man can awaken or
inflict--will await me. My _first_ crime--my _first_ revenge,
and my _last_, I have recorded; my _last_ crime others must
tell, when they speak of the murderer and SUICIDE,