University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

These meditations did not enfeeble my resolution,
or slacken my pace. In proportion as I drew near the
city, the tokens of its calamitous condition became more
apparent. Every farm-house was filled with supernumerary
tenants; fugitives from home; and haunting the skirts of
the road, eager to detain every passenger with inquiries after
news. The passengers were numerous; for the tide of emigration
was by no means exhausted. Some were on foot,
bearing in their countenances the tokens of their recent
terror, and filled with mournful reflections on the forlornness
of their state. Few had secured to themselves an
asylum; some were without the means of paying for victuals
or lodging for the coming night; others, who were not
thus destitute, yet knew not whither to apply for entertainment,
every house being already over-stocked with inhabitants,
or barring its inhospitable doors at their approach.

Families of weeping mothers, and dismayed children,
attended with a few pieces of indispensable furniture, were
carried in vehicles of every form. The parent or husband
had perished; and the price of some moveable, or the pittance
handed forth by public charity, had been expended to purchase
the means of retiring from this theatre of disasters;
though uncertain and hopeless of accommodation in the
neighbouring districts.

Between these and the fugitives whom curiosity had led
to the road, dialogues frequently took place, to which I was
suffered to listen. From every mouth the tale of sorrow was
repeated with new aggravations. Pictures of their own distress,
or of that of their neighbours, were exhibited in all the
hues which imagination can annex to pestilence and poverty.

My preconceptions of the evil now appeared to have fallen
short of the truth. The dangers into which I was rushing,
seemed more numerous and imminent than I had previously
imagined. I wavered not in my purpose. A panick crept
to my heart, which more vehement exertions were necessary
to subdue or control; but I harboured not a momentary
doubt that the course which I had taken was prescribed by
duty. There was no difficulty or reluctance in proceeding.
All for which my efforts were demanded, was to walk in this
path without tumult or alarm.

Various circumstances had hindered me from setting out
upon this journey as early as was proper. My frequent pauses
to listen to the narratives of travellers, contributed likewise
to procrastination. The sun had nearly set before I reached
the precincts of the city. I pursued the track which I had
formerly taken, and entered High-street after night-fall.
Instead of equipages and a throng of passengers, the voice of
levity and glee, which I had formerly observed, and which
the mildness of the season would, at other times, have produced,
I found nothing but a dreary solitude.

The market-place, and each side of this magnificent avenue
were illuminated, as before, by lamps; but between the
verge of Schuylkill and the heart of the city, I met not more
than a dozen figures; and these were ghost-like, wrapt in
cloaks, from behind which they cast upon me glances of wonder
and suspicion; and, as I approached, changed their course, to
avoid touching me. Their clothes were sprinkled with vinegar;
and their nostrils defended from contagion by some
powerful perfume.

I cast a look upon the houses, which I recollected to have
formerly been, at this hour, brilliant with lights, resounding
with lively voices, and thronged with busy faces. Now they
were closed, above and below; dark, and without tokens of
being inhabited. From the upper windows of some, a gleam
sometimes fell upon the pavement I was traversing, and
shewed that their tenants had not fled, but were secluded or
disabled.

These tokens were new, and awakened all my panicks.
Death seemed to hover over this scene, and I dreaded that
the floating pestilence had already lighted on my frame. I had
scarcely overcome these tremors, when I approached an house,
the door of which was open, and before which stood a vehicle,
which I presently recognized to be an hearse.

The driver was seated on it. I stood still to mark his
visage, and to observe the course which he proposed to take.
Presently a coffin, borne by two men, issued from the house.
The driver was a negro, but his companions were white. Their
features were marked by ferocious indifference to danger or
pity. One of them as he assisted in thrusting the coffin into
the cavity provided for it, said, I'll be damned if I think the
poor dog was quite dead. It wasn't the fever that ailed him,
but the sight of the girl and her mother on the floor. I wonder
how they all got into that room. What carried them
there?

The other surlily muttered, Their legs to be sure.

But what should they hug together in one room for?

To save us trouble to be sure.

And I thank them with all my heart; but damn it, it
wasn't right to put him in his coffin before the breath was
fairly gone. I thought the last look he gave me, told me to
stay a few minutes.

Pshaw! He could not live. The sooner dead the better
for him; as well as for us. Did you mark how he eyed us,
when we carried away his wife and daughter? I never cried
in my life, since I was knee-high, but curse me if I ever felt

in better tune for the business than just then. Hey! continued
he, looking up, and observing me standing a few paces
distant, and listening to their discourse, What's wanted?
Any body dead?

I stayed not to answer or parly, but hurried forward. My
joints trembled, and cold drops stood on my forehead. I was
ashamed of my own infirmity; and by vigorous efforts of
my reason, regained some degree of composure. The evening
had now advanced, and it behoved me to procure accommodation
at some of the inns.

These were easily distinguished by their signs, but many
were without inhabitants. At length, I lighted upon one,
the hall of which was open, and the windows lifted. After
knocking for some time, a young girl appeared, with many
marks of distress. In answer to my question, she answered
that both her parents were sick, and that they could receive
no one. I inquired, in vain, for any other tavern at which
strangers might be accommodated. She knew of none such;
and left me, on some one's calling to her from above, in the
midst of my embarrassment. After a moment's pause, I returned,
discomforted and perplexed, to the street.

I proceeded, in a considerable degree, at random. At
length, I reached a spacious building, in Fourth-street, which
the sign-post shewed me to be an inn. I knocked loudly and
often at the door. At length, a female opened the window
of the second story, and, in a tone of peevishness, demanded
what I wanted? I told her that I wanted lodging.

Go hunt for it somewhere else, said she; you'll find none
here. I began to expostulate; but she shut the window with
quickness, and left me to my own reflections.

I began now to feel some regret at the journey I had
taken. Never, in the depth of caverns or forests, was I
equally conscious of loneliness. I was surrounded by the
habitations of men; but I was destitute of associate or friend.
I had money, but an horse shelter, or a morsel of food,
could not be purchased. I came for the purpose of relieving

others, but stood in the utmost need myself. Even in health
my condition was helpless and forlorn; but what would
become of me, should this fatal malady be contracted. To
hope that an asylum would be afforded to a sick man, which
was denied to one in health, was unreasonable.

The first impulse which flowed from these reflections, was
to hasten back to Malverton; which, with sufficient diligence,
I might hope to regain before the morning light. I
could not, methought, return upon my steps with too much
speed. I was prompted to run, as if the pest was rushing
upon me, and could be eluded only by the most precipitate
flight.

This impulse was quickly counteracted by new ideas. I
thought with indignation and shame on the imbecility of my
proceeding. I called up the images of Susan Hadwin, and
of Wallace. I reviewed the motives which had led me to
the undertaking of this journey. Time had, by no means,
diminished their force. I had, indeed, nearly arrived at the
accomplishment of what I had intended. A few steps would
carry me to Thetford's habitation. This might be the critical
moment, when succour was most needed, and would
be most efficacious.

I had previously concluded to defer going thither till the
enusing morning; but why should I allow myself a moment's
delay? I might at least gain an external view of the house,
and circumstances might arise, which would absolve me from
the obligation of remaining an hour longer in the city. All
for which I came might be performed; the destiny of Wallace
be ascertained; and I be once more safe within the precincts
of Malverton before the return of day.

I immediately directed my steps towards the habitation
of Thetford. Carriages bearing the dead were frequently
discovered. A few passengers likewise occurred, whose
hasty and perturbed steps, denoted their participation in the
common distress. The house, of which I was in quest,

quickly appeared. Light, from an upper window, indicated
that it was still inhabited.

I paused a moment to reflect in what manner it became
me to proceed. To ascertain the existence and condition of
Wallace was the purpose of my journey. He had inhabited
this house; and whether he remained in it, was now to be
known. I felt repugnance to enter, since my safety might,
by entering, be unawares and uselessly endangered. Most of
the neighbouring houses were apparently deserted. In some
there were various tokens of people being within. Might I
not inquire, at one of these, respecting the condition of Thetford's
family? Yet why should I disturb them by inquiries so
impertinent, at this unseasonable hour? To knock at Thetford's
door, and put my questions to him who should obey
the signal, was the obvious method.

I knocked dubiously and lightly. No one came. I knocked
again, and more loudly; I likewise drew the bell. I distinctly
heard its distant peals. If any were within, my signal could
not fail to be noticed. I paused, and listened, but neither
voice nor foot-steps could be heard. The light, though obscured
by window curtains, which seemed to be drawn close,
was still perceptible.

I ruminated on the causes that might hinder my summons
from being obeyed. I figured to myself nothing but the
helplessness of disease, or the insensibility of death. These
images only urged me to persist in endeavouring to obtain
admission. Without weighing the consequences of my act,
I involuntarily lifted the latch. The door yielded to my
hand, and I put my feet within the passage.

Once more I paused. The passage was of considerable
extent, and at the end of it I perceived light as from a lamp
or candle. This impelled me to go forward, till I reached
the foot of a stair-case. A candle stood upon the lowest step.

This was a new proof that the house was not deserted. I
struck my heel against the floor with some violence; but this,
like my former signals, was unnoticed. Having proceeded

thus far, it would have been absurd to retire with my purpose
uneffected. Taking the candle in my hand, I opened
a door that was near. It led into a spacious parlour, furnished
with profusion and splendour. I walked to and fro, gazing
at the objects which presented themselves; and involved in
perplexity, I knocked with my heel louder than ever; but
no less ineffectually.

Notwithstanding the lights which I had seen, it was possible
that the house was uninhabited. This I was resolved
to ascertain, by proceeding to the chamber which I had
observed, from without, to be illuminated. This chamber,
as far as the comparison of circumstances would permit me
to decide, I believed to be the same in which I had passed the
first night of my late abode in the city. Now was I, a second
time, in almostequal ignorance of my situation, and of the consequences
which impended exploring my way to the same
recess.

I mounted the stair. As I approached the door of which
I was in search, a vapour, infectious and deadly, assailed my
senses. It resembled nothing of which I had ever before
been sensible. Many odours had been met with, even since
my arrival in the city, less supportable than this. I seemed
not so much to smell as to taste the element that now encompassed
me. I felt as if I had inhaled a poisonous and subtle
fluid, whose power instantly bereft my stomach of all vigour.
Some fatal influence appeared to seize upon my vitals; and
the work of corrosion and decomposition to be busily begun.

For a moment, I doubted whether imagination had not
some share in producing my sensation; but I had not been
previously panick-struck; and even now I attended to my
own sensations without mental discomposure. That I had
imbibed this disease was not to be questioned. So far the
chances in my favour were annihilated. The lot of sickness
was drawn.

Whether my case would be lenient or malignant; whether
I should recover or perish, was to be left to the decision

of the future. This incident, instead of appalling me, tended
rather to invigorate my courage. The danger which I feared
had come. I might enter with indifference, on this theatre
of pestilence. I might execute without faultering, the duties
that my circumstances might create. My state was no longer
hazardous; and my destiny would be totally uninfluenced by
my future conduct.

The pang with which I was first seized, and the momentary
inclination to vomit, which it produced, presently subsided.
My wholesome feelings, indeed, did not revisit me, but
strength to proceed was restored to me. The effluvia became
more sensible as I approached the door of the chamber. The
door was ajar; and the light within was perceived. My
belief, that those within were dead, was presently confuted
by a sound, which I first supposed to be that of steps moving
quickly and timorously across the floor. This ceased, and
was succeeded by sounds of different, but inexplicable
import.

Having entered the apartment, I saw a candle on the
hearth. A table was covered with vials and other apparatus
of a sick chamber. A bed stood on one side, the curtain of
which was dropped at the foot, so as to conceal any one
within. I fixed my eyes upon this object. There were sufficient
tokens that some one lay upon the bed. Breath, drawn
at long intervals; mutterings scarcely audible; and a tremulous
motion in the bedstead, were fearful and intelligible
indications.

If my heart faultered, it must not be supposed that my
trepidations arose from any selfish considerations. Wallace
only, the object of my search, was present to my fancy.
Pervaded with remembrance of the Hadwin's; of the agonies
which they had already endured; of the despair which would
overwhelm the unhappy Susan, when the death of her lover
should be ascertained; observant of the lonely condition of
this house, whence I could only infer that the sick had been
denied suitable attendance; and reminded by the symptoms

that appeared, that this being was struggling with the agonies
of death; a sickness of the heart, more insupportable than
that which I had just experienced stole upon me.

My fancy readily depicted the progress and completion of
this tragedy. Wallace was the first of the family on whom
the pestilence had seized. Thetford had fled from his habitation.
Perhaps, as a father and husband, to shun the danger
attending his stay, was the injunction of his duty. It was
questionless the conduct which selfish regards would dictate.
Wallace was left to perish alone; or, perhaps, which indeed
was a supposition somewhat justified by appearances, he had
been left to the tendence of mercenary wretches; by whom,
at this desperate moment he had been abandoned.

I was not mindless of the possibility that these forebodings,
specious as they were, might be false. The dying person
might be some other than Wallace. The whispers of my
hope were, indeed, faint; but they, at least, prompted me to
snatch a look at the expiring man. For this purpose, I advanced
and thrust my head within the curtain.