RICHARD GIVES ANOTHER ILLUSTRATION OF SLEEP-WALKING.
For six or seven nights following the expedition to the watermelon
patch of Mr. Batterman, Richard Grant did not "walk in his sleep." The
parental solicitude of his father prompted him to set a watch for
several nights; and Mr. Presby, who was still anxious to pursue his
scientific investigations, slept with one eye open, that he might be in
readiness to avail himself of the reappearance of the phenomenon.
The philosopher's hint that sleep-walkers are sensitive to any allusion
to their infirmity, had prevented him and Mr. Grant from informing the
subject of their precautions of the steps they had taken to observe his
movements, and Richard was entirely unconscious that vigilant eyes were
upon him while he slept, or while he ought to sleep.
But Richard was too lame and sore from the effects of his flogging to
indulge again so soon in the luxury of "sleep-walking." He had not been
questioned in regard to the blood upon the seats of the Greyhound, for,
being asleep when the stains were made, of course he would know nothing
about them. Mr. Presby explained his inactivity and want of energy upon
philosophical principles, and every body seemed to be satisfied.
The salve which the sufferer applied to his wounded members healed the
bruises in a few days, and he was again in condition to pursue his
wonted sports and pleasures. After the lapse of a week, as the patient
exhibited no further signs of the malady, the watch was discontinued;
but Mr. Presby was too enthusiastic in the cause of science to abandon
the case so soon. He sat up in his chamber till midnight, with his ears
wide open, to catch the slightest indication of a movement on the part
of his interesting subject.
Every day, Richard and Sandy met; and they never failed to renew the
mutual pledges they had made to be revenged upon "Old Batterbones." The
plan was discussed and amended till no further improvement could be
made; and by this time Richard was so far recovered from his injuries
as to enable him to take the leading part in its execution. The night
was appointed for the purpose, and it was agreed that the boys should
meet at a point just below Whitestone, where Richard was to take Sandy
into the Greyhound, and proceed to the inlet where they had before
landed.
It was a very difficult matter for Richard to get out of the house
without detection. If he could succeed in opening his door, and walk
through the long halls of the mansion without attracting the attention
of any of its numerous inmates, he could hardly expect to unlock any of
the outer doors with safety. After much reflection, he decided that it
would be the better way to go out as he had gone before--over the roof
of the conservatory, and down the trellis.
With the proper tools, therefore, he had removed the nails with which
his father had secured the window of his chamber. He had then skilfully
adjusted them, so that they appeared to be as his father had left them,
though he could easily pull them out. At ten o'clock he retired as
usual, but the hour of meeting was one o'clock, for the young rascals
had come to the conclusion that their purpose could be better executed
in the small hours of the morning, when the farmer and his man would
probably be asleep.
Richard waited impatiently till he heard the clock strike twelve. There
had been no noise in the chamber of Mr. Presby for some time, and he
concluded that the old gentleman must be asleep. He had gone to bed as
usual, in order to remove any suspicion in case he should find it
necessary to act the part of the sleep-walker again. He rose and
dressed himself for the expedition, using the utmost care to avoid
disturbing the slumbers of the troublesome philosopher in the adjoining
room.
Every thing worked to his entire satisfaction, and he was not conscious
that he had made the slightest noise. The nails were removed from the
window; but, though he had taken the precaution to oil the sash where
it slid up and down, it creaked a little, in spite of all the care he
could use. He was satisfied that the noise could not wake Mr. Presby,
and he continued his operations. Leaving the window open, as a
somnambulist would naturally be expected to do, he crept softly over
the roof, and reached the trellis without accident.
As yet there was no appearance of an interruption; but the first bar of
the trellis, upon which he placed his foot, creaked and snapped. As the
noise, so far as he could see, attracted no notice, he resumed his
attempt, and reached the ground without any further impediment, real or
imaginary.
With stealthy step he retreated from the house till there was no longer
any danger of being discovered. Quickening his pace, he soon reached
the pier, and with the skiff boarded the Greyhound. The night was
certainly favorable for the execution of dark deeds. The midnight
assassin, the incendiary, or the burglar would have rejoiced in its
darkness, its dense black clouds, and its fitful winds.
Richard Grant still felt the cowhide of his enemy tingling upon his
legs, and still felt its iron piercing his soul. The injury he had
received a week before, rankled in his bosom as it had the hour after
it had been inflicted. Neither the time that had elapsed, nor the peril
attending his present enterprise, in any degree moderated the spirit of
revenge that burned in his soul.
As soon as he had secured the skiff at the buoy to which the sail boat
was moored, he opened the door of the stern locker, and drew forth a
small bottle. He shook it to satisfy himself that the contents were
safe, and then restored it to the place from which he had taken it. He
then examined his pockets to assure himself that some other article
necessary for his purpose was all right. No mistakes or omissions had
been made, and he proceeded to hoist the mainsail. He then cast off the
moorings, and hoisted the jib. The wind was too fresh to permit the
Greyhound to carry all sail, and even with what he had set, she put her
rail under the water at the first forward impulse.
One less skilful and courageous than Richard would have been terrified
by the fierce waves and the gloom of the night, especially if bound
upon an errand of evil and crime; but he held the tiller with a steady
hand, and heeded not the spray that broke upon the half-deck of the
Greyhound. A few moments in such a breeze were sufficient to carry him
over the river to the place of rendezvous. The point was as familiar to
him as the pier at Woodville; and as soon as he could obtain a view of
the dark outline of the shore, he ran the boat alongside the point,
with as little difficulty as though it had been broad daylight.
Sandy Brimblecom was not there, and an expression of anger escaped from
the lips of Richard, when he found that the partner of his iniquitous
scheme might possibly fail him. He gave the signal whistle with which
they were in the habit of calling each other; but there was no reply.
The clocks on the churches in Whitestone struck one, and Richard waited
half an hour after he heard them--half an hour, which seemed like half
a day to him.
He was afraid that Sandy's heart had failed him, or that his father had
discovered him; and Richard decided to proceed alone with the
enterprise. Disgusted at the failure of his associate, he pushed off
from the point. As he did so, he discovered another boat a short
distance up the river, moving off from the shore. He watched it for a
moment, till it disappeared in the gloom. It was not a common thing to
see sail boats out at such an hour, and on such a night as this was;
but he concluded that it was some gardener taking his produce to an
early market, and he gave himself no uneasiness.
Just as he lost sight of the boat, he heard the familiar whistle of
Sandy. Putting the Greyhound about, he ran under the lee of the point,
and his friend leaped on board. Richard immediately put off again, and
shaped the course of the boat for the inlet near the garden of "Old
Batterbones."
"You are late, Sandy," said Richard, in reproachful tones.
"Can't help it. I got asleep, and didn't wake up," replied Sandy, with
a long gape.
"Asleep! What did you go to sleep for? I haven't been asleep."
"I didn't mean to, but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it."
"You came pretty near spoiling your share of the fun. I had just cast
off, and was going to put the thing through alone."
"I wish you had," answered Sandy, in a tone which did not please his
companion any better than the words themselves.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a bad scrape we are getting into, and I wish we were well out of
it. If I hadn't promised to go, I wouldn't have any thing to do with
it."
"Old Batterbones licked you as well as me."
"I know that, and I should like to pay him off for it; but I don't
believe it will do to go in quite so steep as we are going."
"You are chicken-hearted, Sandy. I thought you had more grit than
that."
"I think I have got as much as you have, but I don't believe it will
pay to rub your nose on a grindstone. Your nose will get the worst of
it."
"You can back out, if you want to," added Richard, in an indifferent
tone.
"I don't want to back out. I agreed to go, and I am going, if I have to
be hung for it. I only say, it is a bad scrape."
"No scrape at all, Sandy. I don't calculate to get found out."
"You didn't calculate to before, but you did; and Old Batterbones got
more fun out of the scrape than you did. Perhaps he will this time."
"If you are afraid, Sandy, back out, and we will go home again."
"I'm not afraid: don't use that word to me again, Dick. If I had been
afraid, I shouldn't come, of course."
By this time the Greyhound was off the little inlet, near Mr.
Batterman's garden, and, as a matter of prudence, all conversation was
suspended. The boat shot into the inlet, and was made fast to the same
tree as on the former occasion. As the business of these hopeful youths
was not with the melon patch, they took a different road this time.
They had gone but a short distance before the rushing of a boat through
the water was heard. They paused and Richard saw a sail, which he
believed he had seen before that night, pass by the mouth of the inlet.
He caught but a glance of it, as it cut a tangent along the small
circle of his vision.
"I don't like the looks of that boat, Sandy," whispered Richard, as the
sail disappeared in the gloom.
"Why not?"
"What is any one sailing about the river at this time of night for?"
"I don't know," added Sandy, who did not seem to be at all alarmed at
the appearance of the boat.
"I think I have seen her before to-night," continued Richard.
"If you are afraid, we will both back out, and then neither can twit
the other."
"I'm not afraid; come along. I've no notion of backing out." And
Richard moved on, followed by his reluctant associate.
When they had ascended the hill, they carefully walked all over the
grounds to satisfy themselves that the farmer and his man were not
keeping vigil over the melons; but they could neither see nor hear any
thing that betokened the presence of a human being. Satisfied with this
survey of the ground, Richard led the way to the barn, where he had
received his terrible flagellation. The memories of the place were not
pleasant, and they intensified the hatred he bore the owner of the
premises, and fanned the flame of vengeance that was burning in his
soul.
The barn was an old building, and very much out of repair. It contained
the farmer's horses and oxen, his wagons, his hay, and other produce.
On the side nearest to the river, some of the boards had been forced
partly off by the pressure of the hay; and against one of these places
Richard sat down upon the ground.
"Pull out some of the hay, Sandy," whispered Richard, as he drew from
his pocket the bottle which he had taken from the locker of the boat.
Sandy hinted something about backing out again; but a sneer from
Richard silenced him, and he obeyed the order. While he was doing so,
Richard walked round the barn to satisfy himself that no one was near.
They were alone, and the wicked work proceeded.