University of Virginia Library

23. CHAPTER XXIII.
A crisis. Sheppard Lee is reduced to great extremities, and takes
refuge in the house of mourning.

I never knew what my uncle Wilkins replied to
the aforesaid speech, the longest I ever heard my
cousin Sammy utter, nor do I know what reception
he gave to the bride. I made but one jump to
the front door, where my horror was consummated.
My departure was greeted by an uproarious cry;
but it proceeded from the street, not the house. I
found myself among the Philistines, whom, an hour
before, I had myself placed there in wait. I had forgotten
the barbarians, which was natural enough, as
they were my creditors; but they had not forgotten
me. They hailed my appearance on the steps
with some such yell of wrath and hunger as that
with which the beasts of a menagerie express their
joy at the appearance of their daily meal.

That cry was the finisher. I leaped from the
steps and took to my heels, not, however, without
leaving in the hands of my tailor one tail of the last
coat he had made me; which was, I believe, the
only payment I ever made him. My hat flew into
the gutter; and that was perhaps recovered by its
maker; in which case, it was doubtless brushed
up and sold over again as a new one. I fled like
the wind; my creditors followed me. The clatter

of our footsteps, and the uproar of their interjections,
threw the street into a tumult. Some persons yelled
“murder!” and others cried “stop thief!” while
the little boys, catching up the cry from a distance,
screamed out “fire!” and ran to the nearest engine-house,
to enjoy their evening amusement.

How long I ran, and whither, it is quite impossible
for me to say. I recollect doubling two
or three times, and diving into alleys, to throw my
pursuers off the track. My efforts were, however,
in vain; I found myself lodged at last in a
vile alley, and hemmed in both on the front and
rear. I made a leap at a garden gate, which I cleared;
then running forward, and perceiving a back
door in a house standing open, I rushed in, scarce
knowing what I did.

I immediately discovered that I was in a sort
of servants' hall, or anteroom to the kitchen, in
which an old woman sat sleeping in an arm-chair.
She was disturbed by the noise of my entrance, and
I dreaded every moment to see her open her eyes,
and by her shrieks draw my pursuers after me. I
was afraid, however, to retreat, for, in the confusion
of my mind, I thought I heard my tormentors
rushing to and fro in the garden.

In this uncertainty, seeing a flight of stairs in one
corner of the room, I darted up them, without reflecting
a moment upon what might be the consequences.
But what evil could happen to me more horrid than
that I was fleeing? I might stumble into a lady's
chamber and throw her into hysterics, or I might

find myself at the bedside of some valiant personage,
sleeping with a brace of pistols under his pillow,
the contents of which he might transfer to my
body. But such catastrophes had now lost their
terrors: it was all one to I. D. Dawkins, as I had
said to my uncle Wilkins. I could receive no addition
to my woes, go whither and do whatsoever
I might.

I rushed up the stairs, therefore, and entered a
chamber, where a tallow candle, burning all on one
side, stood flaring on a little table, among vials,
gallipots, and other furniture of a sick chamber,
throwing a dim and spectral light on a bed near to
which it stood. I cast my eyes upon the bed, and
perceived I had nothing to fear, either from timorous
ladies or nervous gentlemen.