Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker Read online

  Chapter XXIV.

  My deportment, at an interview so much desired and so wholly unforeseen,was that of a maniac. The petrifying influence of surprise yielded tothe impetuosities of passion. I held him in my arms; I wept upon hisbosom; I sobbed with emotion which, had it not found passage at my eyes,would have burst my heart-strings. Thus I, who had escaped the deathsthat had previously assailed me in so many forms, should have beenreserved to solemnize a scene like this by--_dying for joy_!

  The sterner passions and habitual austerities of my companion exemptedhim from pouring out this testimony of his feelings. His feelings were,indeed, more allied to astonishment and incredulity than mine had been.My person was not instantly recognised. He shrunk from my embrace as ifI were an apparition or impostor. He quickly disengaged himself from myarms, and, withdrawing a few paces, gazed upon me as on one whom he hadnever before seen.

  These repulses were ascribed to the loss of his affection. I was notmindful of the hideous guise in which I stood before him, and by whichhe might justly be misled to imagine me a ruffian or a lunatic. My tearsflowed now on a new account, and I articulated, in a broken and faintvoice, "My master! my friend! Have you forgotten, have you ceased tolove me?"

  The sound of my voice made him start and exclaim, "Am I alive? am Iawake? Speak again, I beseech you, and convince me that I am notdreaming or delirious."

  "Can you need any proof," I answered, "that it is Edgar Huntly, yourpupil, your child, that speaks to you?"

  He now withdrew his eyes from me and fixed them on the floor. After apause he resumed, in emphatic accents:--"Well, I have lived to this agein unbelief. To credit or trust in miraculous agency was foreign to mynature, but now I am no longer skeptical. Call me to any bar, and exactfrom me an oath that you have twice been dead and twice recalled tolife; that you move about invisibly, and change your place by the force,not of muscles, but of thought, and I will give it.

  "How came you hither? Did you penetrate the wall? Did you rise throughthe floor?

  "Yet surely 'tis an error. You could not be he whom twenty witnessesaffirmed to have beheld a lifeless and mangled corpse upon the ground,whom my own eyes saw in that condition.

  "In seeking the spot once more to provide you a grave, you had vanished.Again I met you. You plunged into a rapid stream, from a height fromwhich it was impossible to fall and to live; yet, as if to set thelimits of nature at defiance, to sport with human penetration, you roseupon the surface; you floated; you swam; thirty bullets were aimed atyour head, by marksmen celebrated for the exactness of their sight. Imyself was of the number, and I never missed what I desired to hit.

  "My predictions were confirmed by the event. You ceased to struggle; yousunk to rise no more; and yet, after these accumulated deaths, you lightupon this floor, so far distant from the scene of your catastrophe, overspaces only to be passed, in so short a time as has since elapsed, bythose who have wings.

  "My eyes, my ears, bear testimony to your existence now, as theyformerly convinced me of your death. What am I to think? what proofs amI to credit?" There he stopped.

  Every accent of this speech added to the confusion of my thoughts. Theallusions that my friend had made were not unintelligible. I gained aglimpse of the complicated errors by which we had been mutuallydeceived. I had fainted on the area before Deb's hut. I was found bySarsefield in this condition, and imagined to be dead.

  The man whom I had seen upon the promontory was not an Indian. Hebelonged to a numerous band of pursuers, whom my hostile and precipitatedeportment caused to suspect me for an enemy. They that fired from thesteep were friends. The interposition that screened me from so manybullets was indeed miraculous. No wonder that my voluntary sinking, inorder to elude their shots, was mistaken for death, and that, havingaccomplished the destruction of this foe, they resumed their pursuit ofothers. But how was Sarsefield apprized that it was I who plunged intothe river? No subsequent event was possible to impart to him theincredible truth.

  A pause of mutual silence ensued. At length Sarsefield renewed hisexpressions of amazement at this interview, and besought me to explainwhy I had disappeared by night from my uncle's house, and by what seriesof unheard-of events this interview was brought about. Was it indeedHuntly whom he examined and mourned over at the threshold of Deb's hut.Whom he had sought in every thicket and cave in the ample circuit ofNorwalk and Chetasco? Whom he had seen perish in the current of theDelaware?

  Instead of noticing his questions, my soul was harrowed with anxietyrespecting the fate of my uncle and sisters. Sarsefield couldcommunicate the tidings which would decide on my future lot and set myportion in happiness or misery. Yet I had not breath to speak myinquiries. Hope tottered, and I felt as if a single word would besufficient for its utter subversion. At length I articulated the name ofmy uncle.

  The single word sufficiently imparted my fears, and these fears neededno verbal confirmation. At that dear name my companion's features wereoverspread by sorrow.

  "Your uncle," said he, "is dead."

  "Dead? Merciful Heaven! And my sisters too! Both?"

  "Your sisters are alive and well."

  "Nay," resumed I, in faltering accents, "jest not with my feelings. Benot cruel in your pity. Tell me the truth."

  "I have said the truth. They are well, at Mr. Inglefield's."

  My wishes were eager to assent to the truth of these tidings. The betterpart of me was, then, safe: but how did they escape the fate thatovertook my uncle? How did they evade the destroying hatchet and themidnight conflagration? These doubts were imparted in a tumultuous andobscure manner to my friend. He no sooner fully comprehended them, thanhe looked at me with some inquietude and surprise.

  "Huntly," said he, "are you mad? What has filled you with these hideousprepossessions? Much havoc has indeed been committed in Chetasco and thewilderness, and a log hut has been burnt, by design or by accident, inSolesbury; but that is all. Your house has not been assailed by eitherfirebrand or tomahawk. Every thing is safe and in its ancient order. Themaster indeed is gone, but the old man fell a victim to his own temerityand hardihood. It is thirty years since he retired with three woundsfrom the field of Braddock; but time in no degree abated his adventurousand military spirit. On the first alarm, he summoned his neighbours, andled them in pursuit of the invaders. Alas! he was the first to attackthem, and the only one who fell in the contest."

  These words were uttered in a manner that left me no room to doubt oftheir truth. My uncle had already been lamented, and the discovery ofthe nature of his death, so contrary to my forebodings, and of thesafety of my girls, made the state of my mind partake more of exultationand joy than of grief or regret.

  But how was I deceived? Had not my fusil been found in the hands of anenemy? Whence could he have plundered it but from my own chamber? Ithung against the wall of a closet, from which no stranger could havetaken it except by violence. My perplexities and doubts were not at anend, but those which constituted my chief torment were removed. Ilistened to my friend's entreaties to tell him the cause of myelopement, and the incidents that terminated in the present interview.

  I began with relating my return to consciousness in the bottom of thepit; my efforts to free myself from this abhorred prison; the acts ofhorror to which I was impelled by famine, and their excruciatingconsequences; my gaining the outlet of the cavern, the desperateexpedient by which I removed the impediment to my escape, and thedeliverance of the captive girl; the contest I maintained before Deb'shut; my subsequent wanderings; the banquet which hospitality affordedme; my journey to the river-bank; my meditations on the means ofreaching the road; my motives for hazarding my life by plunging into thestream; and my subsequent perils and fears till I reached the thresholdof this habitation.

  "Thus," continued I, "I have complied with your request. I have told allthat I myself know. What were the incidents between my sinking to restat my uncle's and my awaking in the chambers of the hill; by what meansand by whose contrivance, preternatural or human, this tra
nsition waseffected, I am unable to explain; I cannot even guess.

  "What has eluded my sagacity may not be beyond the reach of another.Your own reflections on my tale, or some facts that have fallen underyour notice, may enable you to furnish a solution. But, meanwhile, howam I to account for your appearance on this spot? This meeting wasunexpected and abrupt to you, but it has not been less so to me. Of allmankind, Sarsefield was the furthest from my thoughts when I saw thesetokens of a traveller and a stranger.

  "You were imperfectly acquainted with my wanderings. You saw me on theground before Deb's hut. You saw me plunge into the river. Youendeavoured to destroy me while swimming; and you knew, before mynarrative was heard, that Huntly was the object of your enmity. What wasthe motive of your search in the desert, and how were you apprized of mycondition? These things are not less wonderful that any of those which Ihave already related."

  During my tale the features of Sarsefield betokened the deepestattention. His eye strayed not a moment from my face. All my perils andforebodings were fresh in my remembrance: they had scarcely gone by;their skirts, so to speak, were still visible. No wonder that myeloquence was vivid and pathetic; that I portrayed the past as if itwere the present scene; and that not my tongue only, but every muscleand limb, spoke.

  When I had finished my relation, Sarsefield sank into thoughtfulness.From this, after a time, he recovered, and said, "Your tale, Huntly, istrue; yet, did I not see you before me, were I not acquainted with theartlessness and rectitude of your character, and, above all, had not myown experience, during the last three days, confirmed every incident, Ishould question its truth. You have amply gratified my curiosity, anddeserve that your own should be gratified as fully. Listen to me.

  "Much has happened since we parted, which shall not be now mentioned. Ipromised to inform you of my welfare by letter, and did not fail towrite; but whether my letters were received, or any were written by youin return, or if written were ever transmitted, I cannot tell: none wereever received.

  "Some days since, I arrived, in company with a lady who is my wife, inAmerica. You have never been forgotten by me. I knew your situation tobe little in agreement with your wishes, and one of the benefits whichfortune has lately conferred upon me is the power of snatching you froma life of labour and obscurity, whose goods, scanty as they are, weretransient and precarious, and affording you the suitable leisure andmeans of intellectual gratification and improvement.

  "Your silence made me entertain some doubts concerning your welfare, andeven your existence. To solve these doubts, I hastened to Solesbury.Some delays upon the road hindered me from accomplishing my journey bydaylight. It was night before I entered the Norwalk path; but my ancientrambles with you made me familiar with it, and I was not afraid of beingobstructed or bewildered.

  "Just as I gained the southern outlet, I spied a passenger on foot,coming towards me with a quick pace. The incident was of no moment; andyet the time of night, the seeming expedition of the walker,recollection of the mazes and obstacles which he was going to encounter,and a vague conjecture that perhaps he was unacquainted with thedifficulties that awaited him, made me eye him with attention as hepassed.

  "He came near, and I thought I recognised a friend in this traveller.The form, the gesture, the stature, bore a powerful resemblance to thoseof Edgar Huntly. This resemblance was so strong, that I stopped, and,after he had gone by, called him by your name. That no notice was takenof my call proved that the person was mistaken; but, even though it wereanother, that he should not even hesitate or turn at a summons which hecould not but perceive to be addressed, though erroneously, to him, wasthe source of some surprise. I did not repeat my call, but proceeded onmy way.

  "All had retired to repose in your uncle's dwelling. I did not scrupleto rouse them, and was received with affectionate and joyous greetings.That you allowed your uncle to rise before you was a new topic ofreflection. To my inquiries concerning you, answers were made thataccorded with my wishes. I was told that you were in good health andwere then in bed. That you had not heard and risen at my knocking wasmentioned with surprise; but your uncle accounted for your indolence bysaying that during the last week you had fatigued yourself by rambling,night and day, in search of some maniac or visionary who was supposed tohave retreated into Norwalk.

  "I insisted upon awakening you myself. I anticipated the effect of thissudden and unlooked-for meeting with some emotions of pride as well asof pleasure. To find, in opening your eyes, your old preceptor standingby your bedside and gazing in your face, would place you, I conceived,in an affecting situation.

  "Your chamber-door was open, but your bed was empty. Your uncle andsisters were made acquainted with this circumstance. Their surprise gaveway to conjectures that your restless and romantic spirit had temptedyou from your repose, that you had rambled abroad on some fantasticerrand, and would probably return before the dawn. I willinglyacquiesced in this opinion, and, my feelings being too thoroughlyaroused to allow me to sleep, I took possession of your chamber andpatiently awaited your return.

  "The morning returned, but Huntly made not his appearance. Your unclebecame somewhat uneasy at this unseasonable absence. Much speculationand inquiry as to the possible reasons of your flight was made. In mysurvey of your chamber, I noted that only part of your clothing remainedbeside your bed. Coat, hat, stockings and shoes lay upon the spot wherethey had probably been thrown when you had disrobed yourself; but thepantaloons, which, according to Mr. Huntly's report, completed yourdress, were nowhere to be found. That you should go forth on so cold anight so slenderly apparelled, was almost incredible. Your reason oryour senses had deserted you, before so rash an action could bemeditated.

  "I now remembered the person I had met in Norwalk. His resemblance toyour figure, his garb, which wanted hat, coat, stockings and shoes, andyour absence from your bed at that hour, were remarkable coincidences:but why did you disregard my call? Your name, uttered by a voice thatcould not be unknown, was surely sufficient to arrest your steps.

  "Each hour added to the impatience of your friends. To theirrecollections and conjectures I listened with a view to extract fromthem some solution of this mystery. At length a story was alluded to ofsome one who, on the preceding night, had been heard walking in the longroom: to this was added the tale of your anxieties and wondersoccasioned by the loss of certain manuscripts.

  "While ruminating upon these incidents, and endeavouring to extract fromthis intelligence a clue explanatory of your present situation, a singleword, casually dropped by your uncle, instantly illuminated my darknessand dispelled my doubts.--'After all,' said the old man, 'ten to one butEdgar himself was the man whom we heard walking, but the lad was asleep,and knew not what he was about.'

  "'Surely,' said I, 'this inference is just. His manuscripts could not beremoved by any hands but his own, since the rest of mankind wereunacquainted not only with the place of their concealment, but withtheir existence. None but a man insane or asleep would wander forth soslightly dressed, and none but a sleeper would have disregarded mycalls.' This conclusion was generally adopted; but it gave birth in mymind to infinite inquietudes. You had roved into Norwalk, a scene ofinequalities, of prominences and pits, among which, thus destitute ofthe guidance of your senses, you could scarcely fail to be destroyed,or, at least, irretrievably bewildered. I painted to myself the dangersto which you were subjected. Your careless feet would bear you into somewhirlpool or to the edge of some precipice; some internal revolution oroutward shock would recall you to consciousness at some perilous moment.Surprise and fear would disable you from taking seasonable or suitableprecautions, and your destruction be made sure.

  "The lapse of every new hour, without bringing tidings of your state,enhanced these fears. At length the propriety of searching for youoccurred; Mr. Huntly and I determined to set out upon this pursuit, aswell as to commission others. A plan was laid by which every accessiblepart of Norwalk, the wilderness beyond the flats of Solesbury, and thevalley of Chetasco, should
be traversed and explored.

  "Scarcely had we equipped ourselves for this expedition, when amessenger arrived, who brought the disastrous news of Indians being seenwithin these precincts, and on the last night a farmer was shot in hisfields, a dwelling in Chetasco was burnt to the ground, and itsinhabitants murdered or made captives. Rumour and inquiry had been busy,and a plausible conjecture had been formed as to the course and numberof the enemies. They were said to be divided into bands, and to amountin the whole to thirty or forty warriors. This messenger had come towarn us of danger which might impend, and to summon us to join in thepursuit and extirpation of these detestable foes.

  "Your uncle, whose alacrity and vigour age had not abated, eagerlyengaged in this scheme. I was not averse to contribute my efforts to anend like this. The road which we had previously designed to take, insearch of my fugitive pupil, was the same by which we must trace orintercept the retreat of the savages. Thus two purposes, equallymomentous, would be answered by the same means.

  "Mr. Huntly armed himself with your fusil; Inglefield supplied me with agun. During our absence the dwelling was closed and locked, and yoursisters placed under the protection of Inglefield, whose age and pacificsentiments unfitted him for arduous and sanguinary enterprises. A troopof rustics was collected, half of whom remained to traverse Solesbury,and the other, whom Mr. Huntly and I accompanied, hastened to Chetasco."