A CRISIS. SHEPPARD LEE IS REDUCED TO GREAT EXTREMITIES, AND TAKES
REFUGE IN THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.
I never knew what my uncle Wilkins replied to the aforesaid speech,
the longest I ever heard my cousin Sammy utter, nor do I know what
reception he gave to the bride. I made but one jump to the front
door, where my horror was consummated. My departure was greeted by an
uproarious cry; but it proceeded from the street, not the house. I
found myself among the Philistines, whom, an hour before, I had myself
placed there in wait. I had forgotten the barbarians, which was natural
enough, as they were my creditors; but they had not forgotten me. They
hailed my appearance on the steps with some such yell of wrath and
hunger as that with which the beasts of a menagerie express their joy
at the appearance of their daily meal.
That cry was the finisher. I leaped from the steps and took to my
heels, not, however, without leaving in the hands of my tailor one tail
of the last coat he had made me; which was, I believe, the only payment
I ever made him. My hat flew into the gutter; and that was perhaps
recovered by its maker; in which case, it was doubtless brushed up
and sold over again as a new one. I fled like the wind; my creditors
followed me. The clatter of our footsteps, and the uproar of their
interjections, threw the street into a tumult. Some persons yelled
"murder!" and others cried "stop thief!" while the little boys, catching
up the cry from a distance, screamed out "fire!" and ran to the nearest
engine-house, to enjoy their evening amusement.
How long I ran, and whither, it is quite impossible for me to say. I
recollect doubling two or three times, and diving into alleys, to throw
my pursuers off the track. My efforts were, however, in vain; I found
myself lodged at last in a vile alley, and hemmed in both on the front
and rear. I made a leap at a garden gate, which I cleared; then running
forward, and perceiving a back door in a house standing open, I rushed
in, scarce knowing what I did.
I immediately discovered that I was in a sort of servants' hall,
or anteroom to the kitchen, in which an old woman sat sleeping in
an arm-chair. She was disturbed by the noise of my entrance, and I
dreaded every moment to see her open her eyes, and by her shrieks draw
my pursuers after me. I was afraid, however, to retreat, for, in the
confusion of my mind, I thought I heard my tormentors rushing to and
fro in the garden.
In this uncertainty, seeing a flight of stairs in one corner of the
room, I darted up them, without reflecting a moment upon what might be
the consequences. But what evil could happen to me more horrid than
that I was fleeing? I might stumble into a lady's chamber and throw her
into hysterics, or I might find myself at the bedside of some valiant
personage, sleeping with a brace of pistols under his pillow, the
contents of which he might transfer to my body. But such catastrophes
had now lost their terrors: it was all one to I. D. Dawkins, as I had
said to my uncle Wilkins. I could receive no addition to my woes, go
whither and do whatsoever I might.
I rushed up the stairs, therefore, and entered a chamber, where a
tallow candle, burning all on one side, stood flaring on a little
table, among vials, gallipots, and other furniture of a sick chamber,
throwing a dim and spectral light on a bed near to which it stood. I
cast my eyes upon the bed, and perceived I had nothing to fear, either
from timorous ladies or nervous gentlemen.