Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 Read online

  CHAPTER XXX.

  In a short time this gentle girl recovered her senses. She did notwithdraw herself from my sustaining arm, but, leaning on my bosom, sheresigned herself to passionate weeping. I did not endeavour to checkthis effusion, believing that its influence would be salutary.

  I had not forgotten the thrilling sensibility and artless graces of thisgirl. I had not forgotten the scruples which had formerly made me checka passion whose tendency was easily discovered. These new proofs of heraffection were, at once, mournful and delightful. The untimely fate ofher father and my friend pressed with new force upon my heart, and mytears, in spite of my fortitude, mingled with hers.

  The attention of both was presently attracted by a faint scream, whichproceeded from above. Immediately tottering footsteps were heard in thepassage, and a figure rushed into the room, pale, emaciated, haggard,and wild. She cast a piercing glance at me, uttered a feebleexclamation, and sunk upon the floor without signs of life.

  It was not difficult to comprehend this scene. I now conjectured, whatsubsequent inquiry confirmed, that the old man had mistaken me forWallace, and had carried to the elder sister the news of his return.This fatal disappointment of hopes that had nearly been extinct, andwhich were now so powerfully revived, could not be endured by a frameverging to dissolution.

  This object recalled all the energies of Eliza, and engrossed all mysolicitude. I lifted the fallen girl in my arms; and, guided by hersister, carried her to her chamber. I had now leisure to contemplate thechanges which a few months had made in this lovely frame. I turned awayfrom the spectacle with anguish, but my wandering eyes were recalled bysome potent fascination, and fixed in horror upon a form which evincedthe last stage of decay. Eliza knelt on one side, and, leaning her faceupon the bed, endeavoured in vain to smother her sobs. I sat on theother motionless, and holding the passive and withered hand of thesufferer.

  I watched with ineffable solicitude the return of life. It returned atlength, but merely to betray symptoms that it would speedily departforever. For a time my faculties were palsied, and I was made animpotent spectator of the ruin that environed me. This pusillanimityquickly gave way to resolutions and reflections better suited to theexigencies of the time.

  The first impulse was to summon a physician; but it was evident that thepatient had been sinking by slow degrees to this state, and that thelast struggle had begun. Nothing remained but to watch her whileexpiring, and perform for her, when dead, the rites of interment. Thesurvivor was capable of consolation and of succour. I went to her anddrew her gently into another apartment. The old man, tremulous andwonder-struck, seemed anxious to perform some service. I directed him tokindle a fire in Eliza's chamber. Meanwhile I persuaded my gentle friendto remain in this chamber, and resign to me the performance of everyoffice which her sister's condition required. I sat beside the bed ofthe dying till the mortal struggle was past.

  I perceived that the house had no inhabitant besides the two females andthe old man. I went in search of the latter, and found him crouched, asbefore, at the kitchen-fire, smoking his pipe. I placed myself on thesame bench, and entered into conversation with him.

  I gathered from him that he had, for many years, been Mr. Hadwin'sservant. That lately he had cultivated a small farm in thisneighbourhood for his own advantage. Stopping one day in October, at thetavern, he heard that his old master had lately been in the city, hadcaught _the fever_, and after his return had died with it. The moment hebecame sick, his servants fled from the house, and the neighboursrefused to approach it. The task of attending his sick-bed was allottedto his daughters, and it was by their hands that his grave was dug andhis body covered with earth. The same terror of infection existed afterhis death as before, and these hapless females were deserted by allmankind.

  Old Caleb was no sooner informed of these particulars, than he hurriedto the house, and had since continued in their service. His heart waskind, but it was easily seen that his skill extended only to execute thedirections of another. Grief for the death of Wallace and her fatherpreyed upon the health of the eldest daughter. The younger became hernurse, and Caleb was always at hand to execute any orders theperformance of which was on a level with his understanding. Theirneighbours had not withheld their good offices, but they were stillterrified and estranged by the phantoms of pestilence.

  During the last week Susan had been too weak to rise from her bed; yetsuch was the energy communicated by the tidings that Wallace was alive,and had returned, that she leaped upon her feet and rushed down-stairs.How little did that man deserve so strenuous and immortal an affection!

  I would not allow myself to ponder on the sufferings of these women. Iendeavoured to think only of the best expedients for putting an end tothese calamities. After a moment's deliberation I determined to go to ahouse at some miles' distance; the dwelling of one who, though notexempt from the reigning panic, had shown more generosity towards theseunhappy girls than others. During my former abode in this district, Ihad ascertained his character, and found him to be compassionate andliberal.

  Overpowered by fatigue and watching, Eliza was no sooner relieved, by mypresence, of some portion of her cares, than she sunk into profoundslumber. I directed Caleb to watch the house till my return, whichshould be before midnight, and then set out for the dwelling of Mr.Ellis.

  The weather was temperate and moist, and rendered the footing of themeadows extremely difficult. The ground, that had lately been frozen andcovered with snow, was now changed into gullies and pools, and this wasno time to be fastidious in the choice of paths. A brook, swelled by therecent _thaw_, was likewise to be passed. The rail which I had formerlyplaced over it by way of bridge had disappeared, and I was obliged towade through it. At length I approached the house to which I was going.

  At so late an hour, farmers and farmers' servants are usually abed, andtheir threshold is intrusted to their watch-dogs. Two belonged to Mr.Ellis, whose ferocity and vigilance were truly formidable to a stranger;but I hoped that in me they would recognise an old acquaintance, andsuffer me to approach. In this I was not mistaken. Though my personcould not be distinctly seen by starlight, they seemed to scent me fromafar, and met me with a thousand caresses.

  Approaching the house, I perceived that its tenants were retired totheir repose. This I expected, and hastened to awaken Mr. Ellis, byknocking briskly at the door. Presently he looked out of a window above,and, in answer to his inquiries, in which impatience at being sounseasonably disturbed was mingled with anxiety, I told him my name, andentreated him to come down and allow me a few minutes' conversation. Hespeedily dressed himself, and, opening the kitchen door, we seatedourselves before the fire.

  My appearance was sufficiently adapted to excite his wonder; he hadheard of my elopement from the house of Mr. Hadwin, he was a stranger tothe motives that prompted my departure, and to the events that hadbefallen me, and no interview was more distant from his expectationsthan the present. His curiosity was written in his features, but thiswas no time to gratify his curiosity. The end that I now had in view wasto procure accommodation for Eliza Hadwin in this man's house. For thispurpose it was my duty to describe, with simplicity and truth, theinconveniences which at present surrounded her, and to relate all thathad happened since my arrival.

  I perceived that my tale excited his compassion, and I continued withnew zeal to paint to him the helplessness of this girl. The death ofher father and sister left her the property of this farm. Her sex andage disqualified her for superintending the harvest-field and thethreshing-floor; and no expedient was left but to lease the land toanother, and, taking up her abode in the family of some kinsman orfriend, to subsist, as she might easily do, upon the rent. Meanwhile hercontinuance in this house was equally useless and dangerous, and Iinsinuated to my companion the propriety of immediately removing her tohis own.

  Some hesitation and reluctance appeared in him, which I immediatelyascribed to an absurd dread of infection. I endeavoured, by appealing tohis reason as well as to his
pity, to conquer this dread. I pointed outthe true cause of the death of the elder daughter, and assured him theyoungest knew no indisposition but that which arose from distress. Ioffered to save him from any hazard that might attend his approachingthe house, by accompanying her hither myself. All that her safetyrequired was that his doors should not be shut against her when shepresented herself before them.

  Still he was fearful and reluctant; and, at length, mentioned that heruncle resided not more than sixteen miles farther; that he was hernatural protector, and, he dared to say, would find no difficulty inadmitting her into his house. For his part, there might be reason inwhat I said, but he could not bring himself to think but that there wasstill some danger of _the fever_. It was right to assist people indistress, to-be-sure; but to risk his own life he did not think to behis duty. He was no relation of the family, and it was the duty ofrelations to help each other. Her uncle was the proper person to assisther, and no doubt he would be as willing as able.

  The marks of dubiousness and indecision which accompanied these wordsencouraged me in endeavouring to subdue his scruples. The increase ofhis aversion to my scheme kept pace with my remonstrances, and hefinally declared that he would, on no account, consent to it.

  Ellis was by no means hard of heart. His determination did not prove thecoldness of his charity, but merely the strength of his fears. He washimself an object more of compassion than of anger; and he acted likethe man whose fear of death prompts him to push his companion from theplank which saved him from drowning, but which is unable to sustainboth. Finding him invincible to my entreaties, I thought upon theexpedient which he suggested of seeking the protection of her uncle. Itwas true that the loss of parents had rendered her uncle her legalprotector. His knowledge of the world; his house and property andinfluence, would, perhaps, fit him for this office in a more eminentdegree than I was fitted. To seek a different asylum might, indeed, beunjust to both; and, after some reflection, I not only dismissed theregret which Ellis's refusal had given me, but even thanked him for theintelligence and counsel which he had afforded me. I took leave of him,and hastened back to Hadwin's.

  Eliza, by Caleb's report, was still asleep. There was no urgentnecessity for awakening her; but something was forthwith to be done withregard to the unhappy girl that was dead. The proceeding incumbent on uswas obvious. All that remained was to dig a grave, and to deposit theremains with as much solemnity and decency as the time would permit.There were two methods of doing this. I might wait till the next day;till a coffin could be made and conveyed hither; till the woman, whosetrade it was to make and put on the habiliments assigned by custom tothe dead, could be sought out and hired to attend; till kindred,friends, and neighbours could be summoned to the obsequies; till acarriage were provided to remove the body to a burying-ground, belongingto a meeting-house, and five miles distant; till those whose trade itwas to dig graves had prepared one, within the sacred enclosure, for herreception; or, neglecting this toilsome, tedious, and expensiveceremonial, I might seek the grave of Hadwin, and lay the daughter bythe side of her parent.

  Perhaps I was strong in my preference of the latter mode. The customs ofburial may, in most cases, be in themselves proper. If the customs beabsurd, yet it may be generally proper to adhere to them; but doubtlessthere are cases in which it is our duty to omit them. I conceived thepresent case to be such a one.

  The season was bleak and inclement. Much time, labour, and expense wouldbe required to go through the customary rites. There was none but myselfto perform these, and I had not the suitable means. The misery of Elizawould only be prolonged by adhering to these forms, and her fortune beneedlessly diminished by the expenses unavoidably to be incurred.

  After musing upon these ideas for some time, I rose from my seat, anddesired Caleb to follow me. We proceeded to an outer shed where farmers'tools used to be kept. I supplied him and myself with a spade, andrequested him to lead me to the spot where Mr. Hadwin was laid.

  He betrayed some hesitation to comply, and appeared struck with somedegree of alarm, as if my purpose had been to molest, instead ofsecuring, the repose of the dead. I removed his doubts by explaining myintentions; but he was scarcely less shocked, on discovering the truth,than he had been alarmed by his first suspicions. He stammered out hisobjections to my scheme. There was but one mode of burial, he thought,that was decent and proper, and he could not be free to assist me inpursuing any other mode.

  Perhaps Caleb's aversion to the scheme might have been easily overcome;but I reflected that a mind like his was at once flexible and obstinate.He might yield to arguments and entreaties, and act by their immediateimpulse; but the impulse passed away in a moment, old and habitualconvictions were resumed, and his deviation from the beaten track wouldbe merely productive of compunction. His aid, on the present occasion,though of some use, was by no means indispensable. I forbore to solicithis concurrence, or even to vanquish the scruples he entertained againstdirecting me to the grave of Hadwin. It was a groundless superstitionthat made one spot more suitable for this purpose than another. Idesired Caleb, in a mild tone, to return to the kitchen, and leave me toact as I thought proper. I then proceeded to the orchard.

  One corner of this field was somewhat above the level of the rest. Thetallest tree of the group grew there, and there I had formerly placed abench, and made it my retreat at periods of leisure. It had beenrecommended by its sequestered situation, its luxuriant verdure, andprofound quiet. On one side was a potato-field, on the other a_melon-patch_; and before me, in rows, some hundreds of apple-trees.Here I was accustomed to seek the benefits of contemplation and studythe manuscripts of Lodi. A few months had passed since I had lastvisited this spot. What revolutions had since occurred, and how gloomilycontrasted was my present purpose with what had formerly led me hither!

  In this spot I had hastily determined to dig the grave of Susan. Thegrave was dug. All that I desired was a cavity of sufficient dimensionsto receive her. This being made, I returned to the house, lifted thecorpse in my arms, and bore it without delay to the spot. Caleb, seatedin the kitchen, and Eliza, asleep in her chamber, were wholly unapprizedof my motions. The grave was covered, the spade reposited under theshed, and my seat by the kitchen-fire resumed in a time apparently tooshort for so solemn and momentous a transaction.

  I look back upon this incident with emotions not easily described. Itseems as if I acted with too much precipitation; as if insensibility,and not reason, had occasioned that clearness of conceptions, andbestowed that firmness of muscles, which I then experienced. I neithertrembled nor wavered in my purpose. I bore in my arms the being whom Ihad known and loved, through the whistling gale and intense darkness ofa winter's night; I heaped earth upon her limbs, and covered them fromhuman observation, without fluctuations or tremors, though not withoutfeelings that were awful and sublime.

  Perhaps some part of my steadfastness was owing to my late experience,and some minds may be more easily inured to perilous emergencies thanothers. If reason acquires strength only by the diminution ofsensibility, perhaps it is just for sensibility to be diminished.