RICHARD IS DETERMINED TO BE REVENGED.
Mr. Grant nailed up the window in Richard's room, so that when he
should again walk in his sleep, he might not be exposed to the peril of
breaking his neck by falling off the roof of the conservatory. When
this important work was accomplished, the party retired. Mr. Presby was
a philosopher, and his library had not been a merely ornamental
appendage of his house. He had read a great deal, and thought a great
deal; and mesmerism, biology, psychology, somnambulism, and kindred
subjects, had each in its turn been considered, and a conclusion
reached.
Mr. Presby, therefore, was not disposed to return to his bed when the
excitement had subsided. So splendid an illustration of the phenomenon
of sleepwalking was enough to kindle his enthusiasm. He tried to draw
uncle Obed into a discussion on the topic, but the latter was too
sleepy. Mr. Grant made a home question of the matter, and did not care
to indulge in any philosophical inquiries. One after another the family
retired, till the old gentleman was left alone, and then, in despair,
he resorted to the "authorities" as he termed his books, and read till
the inmates of the hennery began to sound the morning call.
Richard did not come down stairs the next morning till nine o'clock,
when Mr. Grant and uncle Obed had both gone to the city. He was so
stiff that he could hardly walk; but he had washed himself clean, and
thrown aside the soiled garments he had worn on the expedition.
Already the story of Richard's wonderful doings in his sleep had been
circulated all over the estate, and when he limped into the breakfast
room, every body supposed he was suffering from the injuries he had
received during his nocturnal ramble. Mr. Presby, whose researches were
not yet completed, had taken pains to tell the people of the house,
that somnambulists were peculiarly sensitive in regard to their
involuntary rambles, and, very much to the surprise of Richard, no one
even alluded to the events of the night.
There was upon the faces and in the actions of all with whom he came in
contact, an expression of abundant sympathy. He was treated with
increased kindness and consideration by the family and by the servants.
When he had eaten his breakfast, the thought occurred to him that
something which might betray him had been left on the Greyhound, and he
hastened down to the pier to remove any such evidence.
As he passed the boat house he heard the voices of Mr. Presby and Ben
in the building. The former had by no means slept off his enthusiasm in
the cause of science; and as soon as the dew was off the grass, he
commenced exploring the premises, in search of any appearances that
might throw new light upon the conduct of the "poor boy" during his
midnight ramble. He recalled the dirty and foul condition of the
patient when discovered in his room, and he examined all the vile and
filthy places in the neighborhood, for the marks of some terrible
struggle that might have taken place between the sleep-walker, and any
real or imaginary demon.
The patient seeker after the hidden truths of science had been to the
pigsty, to learn whether he had been wrestling with the pigs; he had
looked into the cow yard, the horse stables, and the dog kennels for
information upon the dark subject; he had patiently explored the
cornfield and the potato patch, and every dirty hole he could find; but
not a single fact or hint could he obtain to assist him in solving the
difficult problem.
In the course of his investigations he had reached the department of
Ben, the boatman. He had carefully noted the appearance of the earth on
the banks of the river, and, quite fatigued by his unusual exertions,
he had seated himself in the boat house, where Ben was at work.
"Have you noticed any thing unusual about the boats, Ben?" asked the
old gentleman, after he had given the boatman a full exposition of his
views on somnambulism.
"Yes, sir; I noticed that the Greyhound was in a very dirty, slovenly
condition this morning. She wasn't so last night, when I looked at
her," replied the boatman.
"Ah, indeed!"
"The white seats in the standing room were covered with black mud, and
upon the edges there were stains of blood."
"Blood?" queried the philosopher.
"Yes, sir, blood; I have seen blood in my day, and I know what it looks
like."
"Can it be possible! Blood! What could have happened to the poor boy?"
"I don't know, sir."
"It is really awful. There is no knowing what the poor boy may have
suffered."
"He got back all right, for the boat was made fast, as usual, to her
moorings."
"The poor fellow must have been off somewhere in the boat, in his
sleep."
"May be he did, sir," answered Ben, respectfully.
"O, there can be no doubt about it. Isn't it a wonder that he wasn't
drowned?"
"Mr. Richard, knows how to handle a boat as well as any boy of his
years on the river."
"Yes, but you forget that he was asleep all the time."
"Perhaps he was, sir," said Ben, who did not seem to appreciate Mr.
Presby's philosophy.
"But he did not get all that mud and filth upon him while he was in the
boat."
"No, sir, of course he didn't; for I wash down the boat every time she
is used, and she was as neat as a new pin when I looked into her at
sundown last night."
"Then he must have landed somewhere," added the logical Mr. Presby.
"No doubt of that, sir."
"Where do you suppose he landed?"
"I haven't the least idea."
"Do you suppose you could find out by sailing up and down the river,
and examining the shore?"
"Well, sir, if you could tell which way the wind is by looking into the
ship's coppers, perhaps you might."
"I feel a very deep interest in the poor boy's welfare," added Mr.
Presby, who did not admire Ben's coldness on the subject; "and if you
could obtain any information that would throw light on this singular
affair, you might confer a great favor on the youth."
"I'll do any thing I can, sir, to find out about it; and if you want to
go up and down the river and examine the shore, I'll pull the boat for
you."
Mr. Presby accepted this offer, and Richard kept behind the boat house
till they had embarked. The roguish author of all these scientific
inquiries listened to the old gentleman's remarks on sleep-walking in
general, and the phenomena of his own case in particular, till the boat
disappeared in the cove above the pier. He then jumped into his skiff,
and pulled off to the Greyhound.
Ben had carefully removed all the stains of dirt and blood, and the
boat now bore no testimony against him. Whatever the boatman might have
thought, he certainly said nothing, and was even willing to countenance
Mr. Presby's theory in explanation of the absence of the boat, and of
her dirty appearance.
Though Richard had every reason to be satisfied with the success which
had attended his representation of the character of a somnambulist, he
could not banish the doubts and fears that haunted him. Some unlucky
mischance might betray him; "Old Batterbones" or Bates might tell the
story; Sandy might be entrapped into an exposure of the affair; indeed,
there were so many ways by which the secret might come out, that he was
far from satisfied with the prospect before him.
He was a high-spirited young man, and prided himself upon his healthy
body and well-developed muscle, and the idea of being pitied as a
person having an infirmity upon him was far from grateful to his
sensibilities. He did not much admire Mr. Presby's inquiring mind, and
thought he was an "old fool" to trouble himself about what did not
concern him. He did not care to be the subject of his meditations.
Being watched, pitied, and made the object of a physiological study,
were almost as bad as being caught in the act of stealing melons.
But above all considerations of his own safety or his own comfort was
the reflection that he had been whipped--unjustly and cruelly
whipped--by such a person as "Old Batterbones." All the bad boys hated
and despised him, and he felt that Woodville had been outraged in the
person of its male heir. These thoughts rankled in his soul, and he was
thirsting for revenge. He was determined to have satisfaction for the
injuries that had been heaped upon him. Already the dim outline of a
purpose whose execution would secure him ample vengeance was presented
to his mind.
While these dark thoughts were passing through his brain, he discovered
the boat, with Mr. Presby and Ben, returning to the pier. Not caring to
encounter the scrutiny, or answer the questions of the philosopher, he
hoisted the sails, and cast off the moorings of the Greyhound. He was
anxious to see Sandy Brimblecom, and ascertain whether he had been
discovered when he went home. Sailing over to Whitestone, he found
Sandy on the wharf, and took him into the boat.
"Did you get into the house all right?" asked Richard as the Greyhound
receded from the wharf.
"I did, but I got caught for all that. My mother had missed me, and
about one o'clock, after I had got into bed, the old man came up to my
chamber to see if I was there."
"Of course you pretended to be sound asleep."
"I did; but it wouldn't go down. The old man asked me where I had been.
I told him I had been over to see you."
"Did you, indeed?" sneered Richard. "And the next thing he will do will
be to go to my father, and ask him if you were at our house. My folks
know I went to bed before nine o'clock. You have got me into a pretty
scrape."
"No, I haven't. The old man won't ask any more questions; but he was
mad as thunder with me for staying out so late. It's all right now,
Dick; you needn't give yourself any trouble about it."
"I shall not do that, whatever happens."
Richard then described the happy "dodge" by which he had thrown dust in
the eyes of all the inmates of Woodville. Sandy was much amused at the
account, and expressed a decided admiration for the wonderful genius of
his companion, and even went so far as to request the loan of the
remarkable work which had suggested the expedient. He would like to
read that book, though he was not in the habit of doing such things.
"See there, Sandy," said Richard, as he pulled up his pants, and
exhibited to his friend the wales and broken skin upon his legs.
"That's hard," replied Sandy, as he shook his head. "The old villain
laid it on well."
"He did, and he shall pay dearly for it," added Richard, as he
compressed his lips and ground his teeth. "I'll be revenged upon him if
it costs me my life."
"I'm with you there, Dick."
"It shall be the worst night's work for Old Batterbones that ever he
did."
"What are you going to do, Dick?"
"Will you stand by me, Sandy?" demanded Richard, earnestly.
"Certainly; to be sure I will. But, Dick, we mustn't burn our own
fingers," said his prudent companion. "What are you going to do?"
In low tones, Richard detailed the scheme into which his outline of a
purpose had grown, and when they parted at noon, the arrangements were
all completed.