University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

It was now incumbent on me to seek the habitation
of Thetford. To leave this house accessible to every
passenger appeared to be imprudent. I had no key by
which I might lock the principal door. I therefore bolted
it on the infide, and passed through a window, the shutters
of which I closed, though I could not fasten after me. This
led me into a spacious court, at the end of which was a brick
wall, over which I leaped into the street. This was the
means by which I had formerly escaped from the same
precincts.

The streets, as I passed, were desolate and silent. I
The largest computation made the number of fugitives
two-thirds of the whole people; yet, judging by the
universal desolation, it seemed, as if the solitude were
nearly absolute. That so many of the houses were closed,
I was obliged to ascribe to the cessation of traffic,
which made the opening of their windows useless, and
the terror of infection, which made the inhabitants seclude
themselves from the observation of each other.

I proceeded to search out the house to which Estwick had
directed me, as the abode of Thetford. What was my consternation
when I found it to be the same, at the door of
which the conversation took place, of which I had been an
auditor on the last evening.

I recalled the scene, of which a rude sketch had been given
by the bearse-men. If such were the fate of the master of
the family, abounding with money and friends, what could
be hoped for the moneyless and friendless Wallace? The
house appeared to be vacant and silent; but these tokens
might deceive. There was little room for hope; but certainty
was wanting, and might, perhaps, be obtained by entering
the house. In some of the upper rooms a wretched being
might be immured; by whom the information, so earnestly
desired, might be imparted, and to whom my presence might
bring relief; not only from pestilence, but famine. For a
moment, I forgot my own necessitous condition; and reflected
not that abstinence had already undermined my strength.

I proceeded to knock at the door. That my signal was
unnoticed, produced no surprize. The door was unlocked,
and I opened. At this moment my attention was attracted
by the opening of another door near me. I looked, and perceived
a man issuing forth from an house at a small distance.

It now occurred to me, that the information which I sought
might possibly be gained from one of Thetford's neighbours.
This person was aged, but seemed to have lost neither cheerfulness
nor vigour. He had an air of intrepidity and calmness.
It soon appeared that I was the object of his curiosity.
He had, probably, marked my deportment through some
window of his dwelling, and had come forth to make inquiries
into the motives of my conduct.

He courteously saluted me. You seem, said he, to be in
search of some one. If I can afford you the information you
want, you will be welcome to it.

Encouraged by this address, I mentioned the name of Thetford;
and added my fears that he had not escaped the general
calamity.

It is true, said he. Yesterday himself, his wife, and his child
were in an hopeless condition. I saw them in the evening,
and expected not to find them alive this morning. As soon
as it was light, however, I visited the house again; but found

it empty. I suppose they must have died, and been removed
in the night.

Though anxious to ascertain the destiny of Wallace, I
was unwilling to put direct questions. shuddered, while I
longed to know the truth.

Why, said I, falteringly, did he not seasonably withdraw
from the city? Surely he had the means of purchasing an
asylum in the country.

I can scarcely tell you, he answered. Some infatuation
appeared to have seized him. No one was more timorous;
but he seemed to think himself safe, as long as he avoided
contact with infected persons. He was likewise, I believe,
detained by a regard to his interest. His flight would not
have been more injurious to his affairs, than it was to those
of others; but gain was, in his eyes, the supreme good. He
intended ultimately to withdraw; but his escape to-day, gave
him new courage to encounter the perils of to-morrow. He
deferred his departure from day to day, till it ceased to be
practicable.

His family, said I, was numerous. It consisted of more
than his wife and children. Perhaps these retired in sufficient
season.

Yes, said he; his father left the house at an early period.
One or two of the servants likewise forsook him. One
girl, more faithful and heroic than the rest, resisted the
remonstrances of her parents and friends, and resolved to
adhere to him in every fortune. She was anxious that the
family should fly from danger, and would willingly have fled
in their company; but while they stayed, it was her immovable
resolution not to abandon them.

Alas, poor girl! She knew not of what stuff the heart of
Thetford was made. Unhappily, she was the first to become
sick. I question much whether her disease was pestilential.
It was, probably, a slight indisposition; which, in a few days,
would have vanished of itself, or have readily yielded to
suitable treatment.

Thetford was transfixed with terror. Instead of summoning
a physician, to ascertain the nature of her symptoms, he
called a negro and his cart from Bush-hill. In vain the neighbours
interceded for this unhappy victim. In vain she implored
his clemency, and asserted the lightness of her indisposition.
She besought him to allow her to send to her
mother, who resided a few miles in the country, who would
hasten to her succour, and relieve him and his family from
the danger and trouble of nursing her.

The man was lunatic with apprehension. He rejected her
intreaties, though urged in a manner that would have subdued
an heart of flint. The girl was innocent, and amiable,
and courageous, but entertained an unconquerable dread of
the hospital. Finding intreaties ineffectual, she exerted all
her strength in opposition to the man who lifted her into the
cart.

Finding that her struggles availed nothing, she resigned
herself to despair. In going to the hospital, she believed herself
led to certain death, and to the sufferance of every evil
which the known inhumanity of its attendents could inflict.
This state of mind, added to exposure to a noon-day sun, in
an open vehicle; moving, for a mile, over a rugged pavement,
was sufficient to destroy her. I was not surprised to
hear that she died the next day.

This proceeding was sufficiently iniquitous; yet it was not
the worst act of this man. The rank and education of the
young woman, might be some apology for negligence; but
his clerk, a youth who seemed to enjoy his confidence, and
to be treated by his family, on the footing of a brother or son,
fell sick on the next night, and was treated in the same
manner.

These tidings struck me to the heart. A burst of indignation
and sorrow filled my eyes. I could scarcely stifle my
emotion sufficiently to ask, Of whom, sir, do you speak? Was
the name of the youth—his name—was—

His name was Wallace. I see that you have some interest
in his fate. He was one whom I loved. I would have given
half my fortune to procure him accommodation under some
hospitable roof. His attack was violent; but still, his recovery,
if he had been suitably attended, was possible. That
he should survive removal to the hospital, and the treatment
he must receive when there, was not to be hoped.

The conduct of Thetford was as absurd as it was wicked.
To imagine this disease to be contagious was the height of
folly; to suppose himself secure, merely by not permitting a
sick man to remain under his roof, was no less stupid; but
Thetford's fears had subverted his understanding. He did
not listen to arguments or supplications. His attention was
incapable of straying from one object. To influence him by
words was equivalent to reasoning with the deaf.

Perhaps the wretch was more to be pitied than hated. The
victims of his implacable caution, could scarcely have endured
agonies greater than those which his pusillanimity inflicted
on himself. Whatever be the amount of his guilt, the retribution
has been adequate. He witnessed the death of his
wife and child, and last night was the close of his own existence.
Their sole attendent was a black woman; whom, by
frequent visits, I endeavoured, with little success, to make
diligent in the performance of her duty.

Such, then, was the catastrophe of Wallace. The end for
which I journeyed hither was accomplished. His destiny was
ascertained; and all that remained was to fulfil the gloomy
predictions of the lovely, but unhappy Susan. To tell them
all the truth, would be needlesly to exasperate her sorrow.
Time, aided by the tenderness and sympathy of friendship,
may banish her despair, and relieve her from all but the
witcheries of melancholy.

Having disengaged my mind from these reflections, I
explained to my companion in general terms, my reasons for
visiting the city, and my curiosity respecting Thetford. He
inquired into the particulars of my journey and, the time of

my arrival. When informed that I had come in the preceding
evening, and had passed the subsequent hours without
sleep or food, he expressed astonishment and compassion.

Your undertaking, said he, has certainly been hazardous.
There is poison in every breath which you draw, but this
hazard has been greatly increased by abstaining from food
and sleep. My advice is to hasten back into the country;
but you must first take some repose and some victuals. If you
pass Schuylkill before night-fall, it will be sufficient.

I mentioned the difficulty of procuring accommodation on
the road. It would be most prudent to set out upon my
journey so as to reach Malverton at night. As to food and
sleep they were not to be purchased in this city.

True, answered my companion, with quickness, they are
not to be bought, but I will furnish you with as much as
you desire of both for nothing. That is my abode, continued
he, pointing to the house, which he had lately left.
I reside with a widow lady and her daughter, who took my
counsel, and fled in due season. I remain to moralize upon
the scene, with only a faithful black, who makes my bed,
prepares my coffee, and bakes my loaf. If I am sick, all that
a physician can do, I will do for myself, and all that a nurse
can perform, I expect to be performed by Austin.

Come with me, drink some coffee, rest a while on my
matrass, and then fly, with my benedictions on your head.

These words were accompanied by features disembarrassed
and benevolent. My temper is alive to social impulses, and
I accepted his invitation, not so much because I wished to
eat or to sleep, but because I felt reluctance to part so soon
with a being, who possessed so much fortitude and virtue.

He was surrounded by neatness and plenty. Austin added
dexterity to submissiveness. My companion, whose name I
now found to be Medlicote, was prone to converse, and commented
on the state of the city like one whose reading had
been extensive and experience large. He combatted an
opinion which I had casually formed, respecting the origin

of this epidemic, and imputed it, not to infected substances
imported from the east or west, but to a morbid constitution
of the atmosphere, owing wholly, or in part to filthy streets,
airless habitations and squalid persons.

As I talked with this man, the sense of danger was obliterated,
I felt confidence revive in my heart, and energy revisit
my stomach. Though far from my wonted health, my sen
sation grew less comfortless, and I found myself to stand in
no need of repose.

Breakfast being finished, my friend pleaded his daily
engagements as reasons for leaving me. He counselled me
to strive for some repose, but I was conscious of incapacity
to sleep. I was desirous of escaping, as soon as possible,
from this tainted atmosphere and reflected whether any thing
remained to be done respecting Wallace.

It now occurred to me that this youth must have left some
clothes and papers, and, perhaps, books. The property of
these was now vested in the Hadwins. I might deem myself,
without presumtion, their representative or agent.
Might I not take some measures for obtaining possession,
or at least, for the security of these articles?

The house and its furniture was tenantless and unprotected.
It was liable to be ransacked and pillaged by those desperate
ruffians, of whom many were said to be hunting for spoil,
even at a time like this. If these should overlook this dwelling,
Thetford's unknown successor or heir might appropriate
the whole. Numberless accidents might happen to occasion
the destruction or embezzlement of what belonged to Wallace,
which might be prevented by the conduct which I
should now pursue.

Immersed in these perplexities, I remained bewildered
and motionless. I was at length roused by some one knocking
at the door. Austin obeyed the signal, and instantly
returned, leading in—Mr. Hadwin!

I know not whether this unlooked-for interview excited on
my part, most grief or surprize. The motive of his coming

was easily divined. His journey was on two accounts superfluous.
He whom he sought was dead. The duty of ascertaining
his condition, I had assigned to myself.

I now perceived and deplored the error of which I had been
guilty, in concealing my intended journey from my patron.
Ignorant of the part I had acted, he had rushed into the jaws
of this pest, and endangered a life unspeakably valuable to
his children and friends. I should doubtless have obtained his
grateful consent to the project which I had conceived; but
my wretched policy had led me into this clandestine path.
Secrecy may seldom be a crime. A virtuous intention may
produce it; but surely it is always erroneous and pernicious.

My friend's astonishment at the sight of me, was not inferior
to my own. The causes which led to this unexpected
interview were mutually explained. To soothe the agonies
of his child, he consented to approach the city, and endeavour
to procure intelligence of Wallace. When he left his
house, he intended to stop in the environs, and hire some emisary,
whom an ample reward might tempt to enter the city,
and procure the information which was needed.

No one could be prevailed upon to execute so dangerous a
service. Averse to return without performing his commission,
he concluded to examine for himself. Thetford's
removal to this street was known to him; but, being ignorant
of my purpose, he had not mentioned this circumstance to
me, during our last conversation.

I was sensible of the danger which Hadwin had incurred
by entering the city. Perhaps, my knowledge or the inexpressible
importance of his life, to the happiness of his daughters,
made me agravate his danger. I knew that the longer
he lingered in this tainted air, the hazard was increased.
A moment's delay was unnecessary. Neither Wallace nor
myself were capable of being benefitted by his presence.

I mentioned the death of his nephew, as a reason for hastening
his departure. I urged him in the most vehement
terms to remount his horse and to fly; I endeavoured to preclude

all inquiries respecting myself or Wallace; promising
to follow him immediately, and answer all his questions at
Malverton. My importunities were inforced by his own fears,
and after a moment's hesitation, he rode away.

The emotions produced by this incident, were, in the present
critical state of my frame, eminently hurtful. My
morbid indications suddenly returned. I had reason to ascribe
my condition to my visit to the chamber of Maravegli, but
this, and its consequences, to myself, as well as the journey
of Hadwin, were the fruits of my unhappy secrecy.

I had always been accustomed to perform my journeys on
foot. This, on ordinary occasions, was the preferable method,
but now I ought to have adopted the easiest and swiftest
means. If Hadwin had been acquainted with my purpose
he would not only have approved, but would have allowed
me the use of an horse. These reflections were rendered
less pungent by the recollection that my motives were benevolent,
and that I had endeavoured the benefit of others by
means, which appeared to me most suitable.

Meanwhile, how was I to proceed? What hindered me from
pursuing the foot-steps of Hadwin with all the expedition
which my uneasiness, of brain and stomach would allow? I conceived
that to leave any thing undone, with regard to Wallace,
would be absurd. His property might be put under the care of
my new friend. But how was it to be distinguished from the
property of others? It was, probably, contained in trunks,
which was designated by some label or mark. I was unacquainted
with his chamber, but, by passing from one to the
other, I might finally discover it. Some token, directing
my foot-steps, might occur, though at present unforeseen.

Actuated by these considerations. I once more entered
Thetford's habitation. I regretted that I had not procured
the counsel or attendence of my new friend, but some engagements,
the nature of which he did not explain, occasioned
him to leave me as soon as breakfast was finished.