University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

This rumour was of a nature to absorb and suspend
the whole soul. A certain sublimity is connected with
enormous dangers, that imparts to our consternation or our
pity, a tincture of the pleasing. This, at least, may be
experienced by those who are beyond the verge of peril. My
own person was exposed to no hazard. I had leisure to conjure
up terrific images, and to personate the witnesses and
sufferers of this calamity. This employment was not enjoined
upon me by necessity, but was ardently pursued, and must
therefore have been recommended by some nameless charm.

Others were very differently affected. As often as the tale
was embellished with new incidents, or inforced by new testimony,
the hearer grew pale, his breath was stifled by
inquietudes, his blood was chilled and his stomach was
bereaved of its usual energies. A temporary indisposition
was produced in many. Some were haunted by a melancholy
bordering upon madness, and some, in consequence of
sleepless panics, for which no cause could be assigned, and
for which no opiates could be found, were attacked by lingering
or mortal diseases.

Mr. Hadwin was superior to groundless apprehensions.
His daughters, however, partook in all the consternation
which surrounded them. The eldest had, indeed, abundant
reason for her terror. The youth to whom she was betrothed,
resided in the city. A year previous to this, he had left the

house of Mr. Hadwin, who was his uncle, and had removed
to Philadelphia, in pursuit of fortune.

He made himself clerk to a merchant, and by some mercantile
adventures in which he had successfully engaged,
began to flatter himself with being able, in no long time, to
support a family. Meanwhile, a tender and constant correspondence
was maintained between him and his beloved Susan.
This girl was a soft enthusiast, in whose bosom devotion and
love glowed with an ardour that has seldom been exceeded.

The first tidings of the yellow fever, was heard by her with
unspeakable perturbation. Wallace was interrogated, by
letter, respecting its truth. For a time, he treated it as a
vague report. At length, a confession was extorted from
him that there existed a pestilential disease in the city, but,
he added, that it was hitherto confined to one quarter, distant
from the place of his abode.

The most pathetic intreaties, were urged by her that he
would withdraw into the country. He declared his resolution
to comply when the street in which he lived should
become infected, and his stay should be attended with real
danger. He stated how much his interests depended upon
the favour of his present employer, who had used the most
powerful arguments to detain him, but declared that, when
his situation should become, in the least degree, perillous, he
would slight every consideration of gratitude and interest,
and fly to Malverton. Meanwhile, he promised to communicate
tidings of his safety, by every opportunity.

Belding, Mr. Hadwin's next neighbour, though not uninfected
by the general panic, persisted to visit the city daily
with his market-cart. He set out by sun-rise, and usually
returned by noon. By him a letter was punctually received
by Susan. As the hour of Belding's return approached, her
impatience and anxiety increased. The daily epistle was
received and read, in a transport of eagerness. For a while,
her emotion subsided, but returned with augmented vehemence
at noon on the ensuing day.

These agitations were too vehement for a feeble constitution
like her's. She renewed her supplications to Wallace
to quit the city. He repeated his assertions of being,
hitherto, secure, and his promise of coming when the danger
should be imminent. When Belding returned, and, instead
of being accompanied by Wallace, merely brought a letter
from him, the unhappy Susan would sink into fits of lamentation
and weeping, and repel every effort to console her with
an obstinacy that partook of madness. It was, at length,
manifest, that Wallace's delays would be fatally injurious to
the health of his mistress.

Mr. Hadwin had hitherto been passive. He conceived
that the intreaties and remonstraces of his daughter were
more likely to influence the conduct of Wallace, than any
representations which he could make. Now, however, he wrote
the contumacious Wallace a letter, in which he laid his
commands upon him to return in company with Belding, and
declared that by a longer delay, the youth would forfeit his
favour.

The malady had, at this time, made considerable progress.
Belding's interest at length yielded to his fears, and this was
the last journey which he proposed to make. Hence our
impatience for the return of Wallace was augmented; since,
if this opportunity were lost, no suitable conveyance might
again be offered him.

Belding set out, as usual, at the dawn of day. The customary
interval between his departure and return, was spent
by Susan, in a tumult of hopes and fears. As noon approached
her suspense arose to a pitch of wildness and agony. She
could scarcely be restrained from running along the road,
many miles, towards the city; that she might, by meeting
Belding half way, the sooner ascertain the fate of her lover.
She stationed herself at a window which overlooked the road
along which Belding was to pass.

Her sister, and her father, though less impatient, marked,
with painful eagerness, the first sound of the approaching

vehicle. They snatched a look at it as soon as it appeared
in sight. Belding was without a companion.

This confirmation of her fears, overwhelmed the unhappy
Susan. She sunk into a fit, from which, for a long time, her
recovery was hopeless. This was succeeded by paroxysms
of a furious insanity, in which she attempted to snatch any
pointed implement which lay within her reach, with a view
to destroy herself. These being carefully removed, or forcibly
wrested from her, she resigned herself to sobs and exclamations.

Having interrogated Belding, he informed us that he
occupied his usual post in the market place; that heretofore,
Wallace had duly sought him out, and exchanged letters;
but, that on this morning, the young man had not made his
appearance; though Belding had been induced, by his wish
to see him, to prolong his stay in the city, much beyond the
usual period.

That some other cause than sickness had occasioned this
omission, was barely possible. There was scarcely room for
the most sanguine temper to indulge an hope. Wallace was
without kindred, and probably without friends, in the city.
The merchant, in whose service he had placed himself, was
connected with him by no consideration but that of interest.
What then must be his situation when seized with a malady
which all believed to be contagious; and the fear of which,
was able to dissolve the strongest ties that bind human beings
together?

I was personally a stranger to this youth. I had seen his
letters, and they bespoke, not indeed any great refinement or
elevation of intelligence, but a frank and generous spirit, to
which I could not refuse my esteem; but his chief claim to
my affection consisted in his consanguinity to Mr. Hadwin,
and his place in the affections of Susan. His welfare was
essential to the happiness of those, whose happiness had
become essential to mine. I witnessed the outrages of despair
in the daughter, and the symptoms of a deep, but less

violent grief, in the sister and parent. Was it not possible
for me to alleviate their pangs? Could not the fate of Wallace
be ascertained?

This disease assailed men with different degrees of malignity.
In its worst form perhaps it was incurable; but in
some of its modes, it was doubtless conquerable by the skill
of physicians, and the fidelity of nurses. In its least formidable
symptoms, negligence and solitude would render it
fatal.

Wallace might, perhaps, experience this pest in its most
lenient degree: but the desertion of all mankind; the want,
not only of medicines, but of food, would irrevocably seal his
doom. My imagination was incessantly pursued by the
image of this youth, perishing alone, and in obscurity; calling
on the name of distant friends, or invoking, ineffectually,
the succour of those who were near.

Hitherto distress had been contemplated at a distance, and
through the medium of a fancy delighting to be startled
by the wonderful, or transported by sublimity. Now the
calamity had entered my own doors, imaginary evils were
supplanted by real, and my heart was the seat of commiseration
and horror.

I found myself unfit for recreation or employment. I
shrouded myself in the gloom of the neighbouring forest, or
lost myself in the maze of rocks and dells. I endeavoured,
in vain, to shut out the phantoms of the dying Wallace, and
to forget the spectacle of domestic woes. At length, it
occurred to me to ask, May not this evil be obviated, and the
felicity of the Hadwins re-established? Wallace is friendless
and succourless; but cannot I supply to him the place of
protector and nurse? Why not hasten to the city, search out
his abode, and ascertain whether he be living or dead? If he
still retain life, may I not, by consolation and attendance,
contribute to the restoration of his health, and conduct him
once more to the bosom of his family?

With what transports will his arrival be hailed? How
amply will their impatience and their sorrow be compensated
by his return! In the spectacle of their joys, how rapturous
and pure will be my delight! Do the benefits which I have
received from the Hadwins demand a less retribution than
this?

It is true, that my own life will be endangered; but my
danger will be proportioned to the duration of my stay in this
seat of infection. The death or the flight of Wallace may
absolve me from the necessity of spending one night in the city.
The rustics who daily frequent the market are, as experience
proves, exempt from this disease; in consequence, perhaps,
of limiting their continuance in the city to a few hours.
May I not, in this respect, conform to their example, and
enjoy a similar exemption?

My stay, however, may be longer than the day. I may be
condemned to share in the common destiny. What then?
Life is dependent on a thousand contingencies, not to be computed
or foreseen. The seeds of an early and lingering death
are sown in my constitution. It is vain to hope to escape the
malady by which my mother and my brothers have died. We
are a race, whose existence some inherent property has
limited to the short space of twenty years. We are exposed,
in common with the rest of mankind, to innumerable casualities;
but if these be shunned, we are unalterably fated to
perish by consumption. Why then should I scruple to lay
down my life in the cause of virtue and humanity? It is
better to die, in the consciousness of having offered an
heroic sacrifice; to die by a speedy stroke, than by the perverseness
of nature, in ignominious inactivity, and lingering
agonies.

These considerations determined me to hasten to the city.
To mention my purpose to the Hadwins would be useless or
pernicious. It would only augment the sum of their present
anxieties. I should meet with a thousand obstacles in the
tenderness and terror of Eliza, and in the prudent affection

of her father. Their arguments I should be condemned to
hear, but should not be able to confute; and should only
load myself with imputations of perverseness and temerity.

But how else should I explain my absence? I had hitherto
preserved my lips untainted by prevarication or falsehood.
Perhaps there was no occasion which would justify an untruth;
but here, at least, it was superfluous or hurtful. My
disappearance, if effected without notice or warning, will give
birth to speculation and conjecture; but my true motives
will never be suspected, and therefore will excite no fears.
My conduct will not be charged with guilt. It will merely
be thought upon with some regret, which will be alleviated
by the opinion of my fafety, and the daily expectation of my
return.

But, since my purpose was to search out Wallace, I must
be previously furnished with directions to the place of his
abode, and a description of his person. Satisfaction on this
head was easily obtained from Mr. Hadwin; who was
prevented from suspecting the motives of my curiosity, by
my questions being put in a manner apparently casual. He
mentioned the street, and the number of the house.

I listened with surprise. It was an house with which I was
already familiar. He resided, it seems, with a merchant. Was
it possible for me to be mistaken?

What, I asked, was the merchant's name?

Thetford.

This was a confirmation of my first conjecture. I recollected
the extraordinary means by which I had gained access
to the house and bed-chamber of this gentleman. I recalled
the person and appearance of the youth by whose artifices
I had been intangled in the snare. These artifices implied
some domestic or confidential connection between Thetford
and my guide. Wallace was a member of the family.
Could it be he by whom I was betrayed?

Suitable questions easily obtained from Hadwin a description
of the person and carriage of his nephew. Every circumstance

evinced the identity of their persons. Wallace,
then, was the engaging and sprightly youth whom I had encountered
at Lesher's; and who, for purposes not hitherto
discoverable, had led me into a situation so romantic and
perilous.

I was far from suspecting that these purposes were criminal.
It was easy to infer that his conduct proceeded from
juvenile wantonness, and a love of sport. My resolution was
unaltered by this disclosure; and having obtained all the information
which I needed, I secretly began my journey.

My reflections, on the way, were sufficiently employed in
tracing the consequences of my project; in computing the
inconveniences and dangers to which I was preparing to subject
myself; in fortifying my courage against the influence
of rueful sights and abrupt transitions; and in imagining
the measures which it would be proper to pursue in every
emergency.

Connected as these views were with the family and character
of Thetford, I could not but sometimes advert to those
incidents which formerly happened. The mercantile alliance
between him and Welbeck was remembered; the allusions
which were made to the condition of the latter in the chamber
conversation, of which I was an unsuspected auditor; and
the relation which these allusions might possess with subsequent
occurrences. Welbeck's property was forfeited. It
had been confided to the care of Thetford's brother. Had
the case of this forfeiture been truly or thoroughly explained?
Might not contraband articles have been admitted through
the management, or under the connivance of the brothers;
and might not the younger Thetford be furnished with the
means of purchasing the captured vessel and her cargo;
which, as usual, would be sold by auction at a fifth or tenth
of its real value?

Welbeck was not alive to profit by the detection of this
artifice, admitting these conclusions to be just. My knowledge
will be useless to the world; for by what motives can

I be influenced to publish the truth; or by whom will my
single testimony be believed, in opposition to that plausible
exterior, and, perhaps, to that general integrity which Thetford
has maintained? To myself it will not be unprofitable.
It is a lesson on the principles of human nature; on the delusiveness
of appearances; on the perviousness of fraud; and
on the power with which nature has invested human beings
over the thoughts and actions of each other.

Thetford and his frauds were dismissed from my thoughts,
to give place to considerations relative to Clemenza Lodi,
and the money which chance had thrown into my possession.
Time had only confirmed my purpose to restore these bills to
the rightful proprietor, and heightened my impatience to
discover her retreat. I reflected, that the means of doing
this were more likely to suggest themselves at the place to
which I was going than elsewhere. I might, indeed, perish
before my views, in this respect, could be accomplished.
Against these evils, I had at present no power to provide.
While I lived, I would bear perpetually about me the volume
and its precious contents. If I died, a superior power must
direct the course of this as of all other events.