University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE MURDER OF BRAIL.

It was not until Addison awoke to a sense of his entire
indigence that he realized the height of that hope from
which he had been dashed. All that he might have become,
all that he might have done for others—the name
he might have achieved—the renown he might have won—
all came now to his mind, to increase the bitterness of his
grief, to add to the depth of his dejection. The sight of
his loved parents and sister pained him, and the prospect
of a grateful reply to his letter to his friend added to his
misery. Life grew dark and distasteful to him, and it was
only with a great effort, inspired by a sense of duty, that
he shook off the torpor of gloom and resolved not to give
way to desponding inaction.

The rich man, meanwhile, breathed free and deep. His
golden goal was gained, and the prize had not turned to
chaff in his grasp. Relieved from the weight of the one
great fear which had so long and so heavily oppressed him,
his mind was not quick to take cognizance of any other
trouble. His guilt lay lightly upon his seared conscience;
he fully persuaded himself that he had committed no great
enormity, and when, despite his casuistry, his better sense
told him he was a murderer, he grew profuse in sudden
charities, with which he foolishly hoped to expiate his crime.
He kept his word with Brail, who saw himself speedily established,
not in a house of Werter's, for that might excite
remark, but in a fashionable residence, which served him

also for an office. His furniture, his dress, his books, his
single horse and carriage, were all as he had desired, and
all equal to those of the most respectable of his professional
brethren. For some months he remained satisfied with
these things, but his exaltation increased his ambition, and
he soon began to calculate whether something more might
not be attainable from the same source which had supplied
him with so much. He had no scruples of principle to restrain
him, and he resolved to try the thumbscrews of fear
and threats upon his guilty benefactor. He took a fancy
to the house in which he lived, and thinking it best to secure
a title to it, before the time of his power had passed
away, he took an early opportunity of modestly hinting his
wishes to Ralph. The old man was slow to comprehend
him, but when he did so, it was with the greatest alarm—
for he knew that the petition was meant for a command,
and that the first yielding on his part might lead to a sacrifice
of half his estate. But he looked into the face of
his suppliant, which was full of fearful meaning, and he
dared not refuse. He temporized for a while, hoping to
evade the demand, but day after day it was urgently repeated,
not with any direct threats, but with a sense of
power and determination which Werter dared not withstand.
He yielded, the conveyance was duly made, and the dark
and clouded brow of Brail grew calm again.

Vain hope! to satisfy the cravings of a newly-awakened
avarice by temporizing concessions. Brail had gained
much, but he had resolved to be rich, and not many weeks
elapsed before he gave his thumbscrews another turn.
Part of Ralph's real estate lay in one of those then embryo
cities, which now stand vis-a-vis to the metropolis, on opposing
shores, rivalling its splendor, and Brail had set his
heart upon obtaining a tract of land in that quarter.
There was one farm, nominally such, fronting on the river,

which was of vast prospeetive value, and would make him
independent—and he asked the owner for it as coolly as if
it had been an apple.

“Why it is worth a hundred thousand dollars,” exclaimed
Werter, with the greatest amazement and trepidation.

“I know it—that is just the reason I want it.”

“You certainly cannot have it,” replied Ralph, desperately.

“I certainly will,” returned Brail, smilingly.

Ralph expostulated, but Brail was firm.

“You have no power over me,” said Werter, for he could
not pretend to misunderstand his companion's meaning.
“I complied with your former request out of gratitude, not
from fear.”

“Perhaps I have no power over you,” replied Brail,
with a sneering smile; “we shall see. Poisons can be detected
in the human system months after death. Can I
not swear I sold it to you the afternoon of your nephew's
death, and that I was ignorant of the use you intended it
for?”

Ralph trembled. “You said it was not poison,” he replied.

“No matter what I said then—you had better mind
what I say now.”

“But you have been richly repaid already, and you
ought to be satisfied. See how easily you have acquired
your fine house.”

“Not more easily than you have obtained the whole estate—which
you ought to share equally with me. I am
moderate in asking only for the farm, and by —! I will
have it.”

“How do I know that even this would content you, if I
should yield?”

“I will swear it—I never will molest you more. I will
sell it, and quit the country, never more to return.”

“But this is one of the finest pieces of property I have.
I cannot give you this—ask something more reasonable.”

“Nonsense! you have a dozen equally good tracts; it is
not a tenth part of your wealth, and I have some peculiar
reasons for fancying this. I must have it, Werter.”

“Well, come and see me to-morrow about it,” replied
Werter, with a groan. “If I must, I must—but I am not
well to-day.”

“I will come to-morrow; but remember I am not to be
trifled with—nor put off long.”

Werter was in an agony of terror, but mingled with his
fear was a vindictive hatred of the accomplice who had so
suddenly become his tyrant and oppressor, and he heaped
execrations upon his own head for his folly in investing the
otherwise weak and obscure villain with so tremendous a
power over him.

All day, and all the long, sleepless night that ensued,
his thoughts were upon the harrowing subject, trying to
devise means to evade the threatened exaction. Morning
came, and his persecutor. There was a baleful glare in
the eye of Werter as he invited his visitor into his office,
which would have frightened a cautious man; but Brail
was too intent on his golden prize to notice it. They entered
into conversation, which was conducted in a nervous,
fitful manner by Ralph, who walked much about the room,
and passed frequently behind the chair in which the physician
sat, and which he had placed for him, before his arrival,
a few feet in front of a dark closet. This door, in the
course of his walks across the room, he opened twice and
looked in—twice he went to the windows and looked out.
Irresolution marked every movement; but at length he sat

down, and looked earnestly at Brail for some minutes, as
if impressed by a new and sudden thought.

“It is useless to hesitate,” said Brail.

“I suppose it is; but there is one thing to be considered.
It would look a little suspicious for me to convey so large
a property suddenly to you, who are generally supposed to
have no means, or very little. We had better seem to bargain
about it for a day or two, and go together and see it,
which will give the affair more plausibility. Besides, I
want to see the land; I have not been on it in a year, and
I want to know what and how much I convey.”

“If you will go to-day—”

“This very afternoon.”

“Be it so, then; I should like to see it again myself.
At what hour shall I call?”

“Say two o'clock—no, I think a little later than that,”
answered Werter, after a moment's pause. “I have an
engagement—say at three, or rather at half-past three o'clock.”

“Will there be time?”

“Oh, plenty. We can go all over it before dark.”

“Very well, I will come.”

Brail departed, and Werter looked after him from the
door, until he was out of sight. Then he returned to his
own room, looked again into the closet, and passed again
to the window, whence he looked out and listened to the
roar of the street, as it ascended to his room, at times
making the very sash to rattle.

“I might have done it,” he muttered.

He passed the interval that elapsed before the hour of
the appointment chiefly alone, and when the time drew near
he made some strange preparations for his jaunt. The
weather was not cold, but he wore a large overcoat, one
pocket of which was protuberant with its contents, and he

took a heavy cane that he had been long unaccustomed to
carry.

“It may be damp before we come back,” he said, in answer
to an inquiring look of Brail; “I must guard against
the rheumatism.”

“Very true.”

Ralph was not quite ready when his visitor came, although
he had named so late an hour, and when at length
he was fully prepared to start, the carriage which was to
take them to the ferry was not in readiness. It was a mistake
of the coachman, he said, and another quarter of an
hour was lost, so that it was past four o'clock when they
drove off.

“There will be plenty of time,” he said.

“Oh, yes, plenty—fortunately I am not afraid either of
cold or wet,” replied the physician, who was in high glee.

They reached the ferry, and Werter sent his carriage
back. It would be wanted by the family before their return,
he said, and they could do very well without it on the
other side. The coachman inquired if he should meet
them on their return. No, the hour would be uncertain,
and it might be late—they would walk home.

Ralph walked slowly, after they had crossed, and it was
considerably past five o'clock when they reached the farm,
which, although fronting for half a mile on the river, was
at a considerable distance from the landing. There was a
tenant's house upon one edge of the tract, fronting on a
street which was laid out but not opened. Here they
called, at Ralph's suggestion, and remained a considerable
time to rest, so that the sun was nearly down when they
started to go over the grounds. They walked along the
river's side for a while and admired, at least Brail did, the
view of the city opposite, and the distant bay. He was in
excessive spirits, and by that singular illusion which so

often misleads the light-hearted, he seemed to fancy that
his companion was as elated as himself. They wandered
on, Werter pointing out from time to time the intended
line of future streets which were to intersect the land, and
descanting upon its great value, a theme of which Brail
did not readily tire. The sun set while they were thus engaged,
and the gray shades of twilight began to envelope
the landscape, but Werter walked on slowly, and now his
steps were directed towards the rear of the tract, which
they had not yet visited. The land was nearly all cleared,
but there remained a considerable grove in that quarter,
which had been purposely left, and which, when thinned
out, Ralph said would be highly ornamental. It was quite
dense now, and as they approached it the voices of its varied
tenants came out in dismal union from its gloomy recesses.
The plaintive call of the whip-poor-will, the hoarse
croaking from the marsh, and the boding cry of the owl,
by turns reached their ears—while flitting bats crossed
their path, and now and then the nimble night-hawk darted
through the dusk, swallow-like in its swiftness, and in the
sinuosities of its course.

Still talking, they went on, almost to the edge of the
wood, when Brail suddenly paused.

“We don't want to go in there,” he said; “there's nothing
to be seen there.”

“It is our nearest way, and it is a very narrow strip.
We shall be through it in a minute—come on.”

Brail went on—he did not know that the wood was many
rods deep—that it was far from any human habitation—
but after a few steps he stopped again and said—

“You are mistaken, Werter; you have certainly lost
your way; the ferry lies in that direction. Come, let us
get away from all these horrid noises.”

So saying, he led the way rapidly in the direction he

had pointed, and the old man was compelled to follow.
Reluctantly and slowly he did so, talking but little, and
when they came near the tenant's house, he insisted on
again stopping in. They staid until it was quite dark, for
the sky was partly overcast, and there were some dense
masses of clouds skirting the western horizon, fragments
of which became detached at intervals, and rose slowly toward
the zenith. Werter looked out from time to time—
the sable curtain was spreading in every direction—the
stars one by one were put out.

“It is time to go,” said Brail.

“Yes,” answered a voice so hoarse that the first speaker
turned in amazement to see whence it proceeded.

The rich man's tenant proposed to accompany them to
the ferry, but Ralph declined the offer without thanks.
They knew the way, he said, and could go very well.

The night proved to be even blacker than they had anticipated.
An Egyptian darkness, almost tangible, overspread
the land, and when they were out of doors they
stood a moment quite bewildered.

“Why, Werter, we never can find our way,” said Brail.

“Yes, yes, we can, very well—wait a moment until our
eyes get used to it—come on, I know the way. We'll take
a short cut across the fields.”

“Across the fields such a night as this! Why you are
crazy, man—we should pitch into a dozen bog-holes, provided
we were fortunate enough to get out of the first
eleven. You are quite too sparing of your friends. I say
the man shall go with us with a lantern.”

“Stop, Doctor—I insist; it is quite unnecessary—I begin
to see very well.”

“Never you mind, I'll satisfy him; I'll pay him myself.”

So saying, Brail darted back into the house, and soon

after re-appeared, accompanied by the tenant, bearing a
lantern.

“I knew you would need me—you might as well have
accepted my offer at first,” said the man.

“We don't need you,” replied Werter; “give me the
lantern, and you may return.”

“No, I have been paid for going,” replied the man,
laughing; “and I must earn my money. I don't mind it.”

Further remonstrance was useless, and the party proceeded
to the ferry, which they were still nearly half an
hour in gaining.

There was a boat in the slip, and the bell struck the
first signal for departure as they reached the gate, where
Brail dismissed the attendant and then hurried forward.
Werter followed with quick step, the bell struck again, and
they were barely on board when the boat shoved off. Ralph
stopped at the end of the vessel, just inside the chain, which
had been put up, and which they had to take down to admit
of their passing. He did not replace it, but stood leaning
against the stanchion to which it was fastened.

“Let us go inside,” said Brail.

“Wait a minute—I am tired, and the air is refreshing.”

Brail was close by the old man's side, and they stood
talking for a minute, while the boat shot rapidly forward.
The water, the shore, and the sky, were all of the same
pitchy hue—no line of demarcation was visible—the plash
of the wheels and the closing in of the waves in their wake,
alone told what element they were in. There were few
passengers, and all but themselves had gladly gone inside.

“Your farm is about in this direction, Brail,” said
Werter, in the same unnatural voice which has before been
noticed, “off where you see that light.”

“Where? I see no light.”

“Stand where I do, and you'll see it. There!”

Ralph stepped aside, and his companion took his place
by the stanchion, about two feet from the extreme end of
the boat, and peered eagerly forward through the darkness
to catch sight of the beacon which designated his coveted
land.

A child's strength could have done it, but there was the
gathered desperation of two long days in the thrust which
came upon the doomed man. There was an oath, a shriek,
a plunge, and the dark waters closed over their victim.
The murderer held on by the rail, and peered over into the
gloom and listened!—but no sound came up from the murky
waves. The boat was going rapidly—the tide, more rapid,
was rushing seaward, and if there had been any hope for
a strong swimmer, a minute's delay of help would have
frustrated it.

Ralph waited that minute, and yet another—and then
he rushed into the cabin and gave the alarm of “a man
overboard.”

All rushed out, but it was some seconds before any one
had presence of mind enough to give notice to the pilot,
and then the boat went thrice her length before she could
be stopped. After much delay, a small boat was lowered
with lights, but with scarcely the shadow of a hope of rescue,
although the accident was supposed to have been coincident
with the alarm.

“Who was it? Was he a friend of yours?” asked several
of Ralph, around whom a crowd was gathered, and
who, without feigning it, was much agitated.

“Yes, it was Dr. Brail, an eminent physician of Broadway.

Many questions were asked, and many fictitious particulars
of the supposed accident were given by Werter, exciting
scarcely less sympathy for the seemingly distressed
friend than for the victim himself. Others were watching

the dancing lights of the small boat, and listening to hear
some sound of hope and cheer from its rowers, but they
looked and listened in vain. After ten minutes' useless
quest, it returned, and the steamboat proceeded onward to
her dock, bearing with her many a saddened heart, but
none so miserable as the man who had succeeded in his
most earnest wish, and who boasted to himself of his safety
secured, and a hundred thousand dollars saved.