University of Virginia Library

12. EDGAR HUNTLY;
CHAPTER XII.

I surveyed it with the utmost
attention. All its parts appeared
equally solid and smooth. It could not
be doubted that one of its sides served
the purpose of a lid, and was possible to
be raised. Mere strength could not be
applied to raise it, because there was no
projecture which might be firmly held
by the hand, and by which force could
be exerted. Some spring, therefore,
secretly existed which might forever
elude the senses, but on which the hand,
by being moved over it, in all directions,
might accidentally light.

This process was effectual. A touch,
casually applied at an angle, drove back
a bolt, and a spring, at the same time, was
set in action, by which the lid was raised
above half an inch. No event could be
supposed more fortuitous than this. An
hundred hands might have sought in
vain for this spring. The spot in which
a certain degree of pressure was sufficient
to produce this effect, was of all, the
last likely to attract notice or awaken suspicion.

I opened the trunk with eagerness.
The space within was divided into numerous
compartments, none of which contained
any thing of moment. Tools of
different and curious constructions, and
remnants of minute machinery, were all
that offered themselves to my notice.

My expectations being thus frustrated,
I proceeded to restore things to
their former state. I attempted to close

the lid; but the spring which had raised
it refused to bend. No measure that I
could adopt, enabled me to place the lid
in the same situation in which I had
found it. In my efforts to press down
the lid, which were augmented in proportion
to the resistance that I met with,
the spring was broken. This obstacle
being removed, the lid resumed its proper
place; but no means, within the reach of
my ingenuity to discover, enabled me to
push forward the bolt, and thus to restore
the fastening.

I now perceived that Clithero had
provided not only against the opening
of his cabinet, but likewise against the
possibility of concealing that it had been
opened. This discovery threw me into
some confusion. I had been tempted
thus far, by the belief that my action
was without witnesses, and might be forever

concealed. This opinion was now
confuted. If Clithero should ever reclaim
his property, he would not fail to
detect the violence of which I had been
guilty. Inglefield would disapprove in
another what he had not permitted to
himself, and the unauthorized and clandestine
manner in which I had behaved,
would aggravate, in his eyes, the heinousness
of my offence.

But now there was no remedy. All
that remained was to hinder suspicion
from lighting on the innocent, and to
confess, to my friend, the offence which
I had committed. Meanwhile my first
project was resumed, and, the family
being now wrapt in profound sleep, I left
my chamber, and proceeded to the elm.
The moon was extremely brilliant, but I
hoped that this unfrequented road and
unseasonable hour would hinder me from
being observed. My chamber was above

the kitchen, with which it communicated
by a small stair-case, and the building to
which it belonged was connected with
the dwelling by a gallery. I extinguished
the light, and left it in the kitchen, intending
to relight it, by the embers that
still glowed on the hearth, on my return.

I began to remove the sod, and cast
out the earth, with little confidence in the
success of my project. The issue of my
examination of the box humbled and
disheartened me. For some time I found
nothing that tended to invigorate my
hopes. I determined, however, to descend,
as long as the unsettled condition
of the earth shewed me that some one
had preceded me. Small masses of
stone were occasionally met with, which
served only to perplex me with groundless
expectations. At length my spade
struck upon something which emitted a
very different sound. I quickly drew

it forth, and found it to be wood. Its
regular form, and the crevices which were
faintly discernible, persuaded me that it
was human workmanship, and that there
was a cavity within. The place in which
it was found, easily suggested some connection
between this and the destiny of
Clithero. Covering up the hole with
speed, I hastened with my prize to the
house. The door, by which the kitchen
was entered, was not to be seen from the
road. It opened on a field, the farther
limit of which was a ledge of rocks, which
formed, on this side, the boundary of
Inglefield's estate and the westernmost
barrier of Norwalk.

As I turned the angle of the house,
and came in view of this door, methought
I saw a figure issue from it. I was startled
at this incident, and, stopping, crouched
close to the wall, that I might not be discovered.
As soon as the figure passed

beyond the verge of the shade, it was
easily distinguished to be that of Clithero!
He crossed the field with a rapid
pace, and quickly passed beyond the
reach of my eye.

This appearance was mysterious.
For what end he should visit this habitation,
could not be guessed. Was the
contingency to be lamented, in consequence
of which an interview had been
avoided? Would it have compelled me
to explain the broken condition of his
trunk? I knew not whether to rejoice
at having avoided this interview, or to
deplore it.

These thoughts did not divert me
from examining the nature of the prize
which I had gained. I relighted my
candle and hied once more to the chamber.
The first object, which, on entering
it, atracted my attention, was the cabinet

broken into twenty fragments, on the
hearth. I had left it on a low table, at
a distant corner of the room.

No conclusion could be formed, but
that Clithero had been here, had discovered
the violence which had been committed
on his property, and, in the first
transport of his indignation, had shattered
it to pieces. I shuddered on reflecting
how near I had been to being detected
by him in the very act, and by how
small an interval I had escaped that
resentment, which, in that case, would
have probably been wreaked upon me.

My attention was withdrawn, at length,
from this object, and fixed upon the
contents of the box which I had dug up.
This was equally inaccessible with the
other. I had not the same motives for
caution and forbearance. I was somewhat
desperate, as the consequences of my
indiscretion could not be aggravated, and

my curiosity was more impetuous, with
regard to the smaller than to the larger
cabinet. I placed it on the ground and
crushed it to pieces with my heel.

Something was within. I brought it
to the light, and, after loosing numerous
folds, at length drew forth a volume.
No object, in the circle of nature, was
more adapted than this, to rouse up all my
faculties. My feelings were anew excited
on observing that it was a manuscript.
I bolted the door, and, drawing near the
light, opened and began to read.

A few pages was sufficent to explain
the nature of the work. Clithero had
mentioned that his lady had composed
a vindication of her conduct towards her
brother, when her intercession in his
favour was solicited and refused. This
performance had never been published,
but had been read by many, and was
preserved by her friends as a precious

monument of her genius and her virtue.
This manuscript was now before me.

That Clithero should preserve this
manuscript, amidst the wreck of his
hopes and fortunes, was apparently conformable
to his temper. That, having
formed the resolution to die, he should
seek to hide this volume from the profane
curiosity of survivors, was a natural proceeding.
To bury it rather than to burn,
or disperse it into fragments, would be
suggested by the wish to conceal, without
committing what his heated fancy would
regard as sacrilege. To bury it beneath
the elm, was dictated by no fortuitous or
inexplicable caprice. This event could
scarcely fail of exercising some influence
on the perturbations of his sleep, and
thus, in addition to other causes, might
his hovering near this trunk, and
throwing up this earth, in the intervals
of slumber, be accounted for. Clithero,

indeed, had not mentioned this proceeding
in the course of his narrative;
but that would have contravened the end
for which he had provided a grave for
this book.

I read this copious tale with unspeakable
eagerness. It essentially agreed
with that which had been told by Clithero.
By drawing forth events into all their
circumstances, more distinct impressions
were produced on the mind, and proofs
of fortitude and equanimity were here
given, to which I had hitherto known no
parallel. No wonder that a soul like
Clithero's, pervaded by these proofs of
inimitable excellence, and thrillingly alive
to the passion of virtuous fame, and the
value of that existence which he had
destroyed, should be overborne by horror
at the view of the past.

The instability of life and happiness
was forcibly illustrated, as well as the

perniciousness of error. Exempt as this
lady was from almost every defect, she
was indebted for her ruin to absurd opinions
of the sacredness of consanguinity,
to her anxiety for the preservation of a
ruffian, because that ruffian was her
brother. The spirit of Clithero was
enlightened and erect, but he weakly
suffered the dictates of eternal justice to
be swallowed up by gratitude. The
dread of unjust upbraiding hurried him
to murder and to suicide, and the imputation
of imaginary guilt, impelled him
to the perpetration of genuine and enormous
crimes.

The perusal of this volume ended
not but with the night. Contrary to my
hopes, the next day was stormy and wet.
This did not deter me from visiting the
mountain. Slippery paths and muddy
torrents were no obstacles to the purposes
which I had adopted. I wrapt myself,

and a bag of provisions, in a cloak of
painted canvass and speeded to the dwelling
of Clithero.

I passed through the cave and reached
the bridge which my own ingenuity had
formed. At that moment, torrents of rain
poured from above, and stronger blasts
thundered amidst these desolate recesses
and profound chasms. Instead of
lamenting the prevalence of this tempest,
I now began to regard it with pleasure.
It conferred new forms of sublimity and
grandeur on this scene.

As I crept with hands and feet, along
my imperfect bridge, a sudden gust had
nearly whirled me into the frightful abyss
below. To preserve myself, I was
oblidged to loose my hold of my burthen
and it fell into the gulf. This incident
disconcerted and distressed me. As soon
as I had effected my dangerous passage, I

screened myself behind a cliff, and gave
myself up to reflection.

The purpose of this arduous journey
was defeated, by the loss of the provisions
I had brought. I despaired of
winning the attention of the fugitive to
supplications, or arguments tending to
smother remorse, or revive his fortitude.
The scope of my efforts was to consist
in vanquishing his aversion to food; but
these efforts would now be useless, since
I had no power to supply his cravings.

This deficiency, however, was easily
supplied. I had only to return home
and supply myself anew. No time was
to be lost in doing this; but I was willing
to remain under this shelter, till the fury
of the tempest had subsided. Besides,
I was not certain that Clithero had again
retreated hither. It was requisite to
explore the summit of this hill, and ascertain
whether it had any inhabitant. I

might likewise discover what had been
the success of my former experiment,
and whether the food, which had been
left here on the former day, was consumed
or neglected.

While occupied with these reflections,
my eyes were fixed upon the opposite
steeps. The tops of the trees, waving
to and fro, in the wildest commotion, and
their trunks, occasionally bending to the
blast, which, in these lofty regions, blew
with a violence unknown in the tracts
below, exhibited an awful spectacle. At
length, my attention was attracted by the
trunk which lay across the gulf, and
which I had converted into a bridge. I
perceived that it had already somewhat
swerved from its original position, that
every blast broke or loosened some of
the fibres by which its root was connected
with the opposite bank, and that, if the

storm did not speedily abate, there was
imminent danger of its being torn from
the rock and precipitated into the chasm.
Thus my retreat would be cut off, and
the evils, from which I was endeavouring
to rescue another, would be experienced
by myself.

I did not just then reflect that Clithero
had found access to this hill by other
means, and that the avenue by which he
came, would be equally commodious
to me. I believed my destiny to hang
upon the expedition with which I should
re-cross this gulf. The moments that
were spent in these deliberations were
critical, and I shuddered to observe that
the trunk was held in its place by one or
two fibres which were already stretched
almost to breaking.

To pass along the trunk, rendered
slippery by the wet, and unsteadfast by
the wind, was eminently dangerous. To

maintain my hold, in passing, in defiance
of the whirlwind, required the most
vigorous exertions. For this end it was
necessary to discommode myself of my
cloak, and of the volume, which I carried
in the pocket of my cloak. I believed
there was no reason to dread their being
destroyed or purloined, if left, for a few
hours or a day, in this recess. If laid
beside a stone, under shelter of this cliff,
they would, no doubt, remain unmolested
till the disappearance of the storm should
permit me to revisit this spot in the afternoon
or on the morrow.

Just as I had disposed of these incumbrances,
and had risen from my seat,
my attention was again called to the
opposite steep, by the most unwelcome
object that, at this time, could possibly
occur. Something was perceived moving
among the bushes and rocks, which, for
a time, I hoped was no more than a

racoon or oppossum; but which presently
appeared to be a panther. His grey
coat, extended claws, fiery eyes, and a
cry which he at that moment uttered, and
which, by its resemblance to the human
voice, is peculiarly terrific, denoted him
to be the most ferocious and untamable
of that detested race [1] .

The industry of our hunters has
nearly banished animals of prey from
these precincts. The fastnesses of
Norwalk, however, could not but afford
refuge to some of them. Of late I had
met them so rarely, that my fears were
seldom alive, and I trod, without caution,
the ruggedest and most solitary
haunts. Still, however, I had seldom
been unfurnished in my rambles with the
means of defence,

My temper never delighted in carnage
and blood. I found no pleasure
in plunging into bogs, wading through
rivulets, and penetrating thickets, for
the sake of dispatching wood-cocks and
squirrels. To watch their gambols and
flittings, and invite them to my hand,
was my darling amusement when loitering
among the woods and the rocks.
It was much otherwise, however, with
regard to rattlesnakes and panthers.
These I thought it no breach of duty
to exterminate wherever they could be
found. These judicious and sanguinary
spoilers were equally the enemies of man
and of the harmless race that sported in
the trees, and many of their skins are
still preserved by me as trophies of my
juvenile prowess.

As hunting was never my trade or
my sport, I never loaded myself with

fowling-piece or rifle. Assiduous exercise
had made me master of a weapon
of much easier carriage, and, within a
moderate distance, more destructive and
unerring. This was the Tom-hawk.
With this I have often severed an oak
branch and cut the sinews of a cato'mountain,
at the distance of sixty feet.

The unfrequency with which I had
lately encountered this foe, and the
incumbrance of provision, made me
neglect, on this occasion, to bring with
me my usual arms. The beast that was
now before me, when stimulated by hunger,
was accustomed to assail whatever
could provide him with a banquet of
blood. He would set upon the man
and the deer with equal and irresistible
ferocity. His sagacity was equal to his
strength, and he seemed able to discover
when his antagonist was armed and
prepared for defence.

My past experience enabled me to
estimate the full extent of my danger.
He sat on the brow of the steep, eyeing
the bridge, and apparently deliberating
whether he should cross it. It was probable
that he had scented my foot-steps
thus far, and should he pass over, his
vigilance could scarcely fail of detecting
my assylum. The pit into which Clithero
had sunk from my view was at some
distance. To reach it was the first impulse
of my fear, but this could not be
done without exciting the observation
and pursuit of this enemy. I deeply
regretted the untoward chance that had
led me, when I first came over, to a different
shelter.

Should he retain his present station,
my danger was scarcely lessened. To
pass over in the face of a famished tyger
was only to rush upon my fate. The
falling of the trunk, which had lately

been so anxiously deprecated, was now,
with no less solicitude, desired. Every
new gust, I hoped, would tear asunder
its remaining bands, and, by cutting off
all communication between the opposite
steeps, place me in security.

My hopes, however, were destined to
be frustrated. The fibres of the prostrate
tree, were obstinately tenacious of their
hold, and presently the animal scrambled
down the rock and proceeded to cross it.

Of all kinds of death, that which now
menaced me was the most abhorred. To
die by disease, or by the hand of a fellow-creature,
was propitious and lenient in
comparison with being rent to pieces by
the fangs of this savage. To perish, in
this obscure retreat, by means so impervious
to the anxious curiosity of my
friends, to lose my portion of existence
by so untoward and ignoble a destiny,
was insupportable. I bitterly deplored

my rashness in coming hither unprovided
for an encounter like this.

The evil of my present circumstances
consisted chiefly in suspense. My death
was unavoidable, but my imagination
had leisure to torment itself by anticipations.
One foot of the savage was slowly
and cautiously moved after the other.
He struck his claws so deeply into the
bark that they were with difficulty withdrawn.
At length he leaped upon the
ground. We were now separated by an
interval of scarcely eight feet. To leave
the spot where I crouched, was impossible.
Behind and beside me, the cliff
rose perpendicularly, and before me was
this grim and terrific visage. I shrunk
still closer to the ground and closed my
eyes.

From this pause of horror I was
roused by the noise occasioned by a
second spring of the animal. He leaped

into the pit, in which I had so deeply
regretted that I had not taken refuge,
and disappeared. My rescue was so sudden,
and so much beyond my belief or
my hope, that I doubted, for a moment,
whether my senses did not deceive me.
This opportunity of escape was not to be
neglected. I left my place, and scrambled
over the trunk with a precipitation
which had liked to have proved fatal.
The tree groaned and shook under me,
the wind blew with unexampled violence,
and I had scarcely reached the opposite
steep when the roots were severed from
the rock and the whole fell thundering
to the bottom of the chasm.

My trepidations were not speedily
quieted. I looked back with wonder on
my hair-breadth escape, and on that
singular concurrence of events, which
had placed me, in so short a period, in
absolute security. Had the trunk fallen

a moment earlier, I should have been
imprisoned on the hill or thrown head-long.
Had its fall been delayed another
moment I should have been pursued; for
the beast now issued from his den, and
testified his surprise and disappointment
by tokens the sight of which made my
blood run cold.

He saw me, and hastened to the verge
of the chasm. He squatted on his hindlegs
and assumed the attitude of one
preparing to leap. My consternation was
excited afresh by these appearances. It
seemed at first as if the rift was too wide
for any power of muscles to carry him
in safety over; but I knew the unparalleled
agility of this animal, and that his
experience had made him a better judge
of the practicability of this exploit than
I was.

Still there was hope that he would
relinquish this design as desperate. This

hope was quickly at an end. He sprung,
and his fore-legs touched the verge of
the rock on which I stood. In spite of
vehement exertions, however, the surface
was too smooth and too hard to allow
him to make good his hold. He fell, and
a piercing cry, uttered below, shewed that
nothing had obstructed his descent to the
bottom.

Thus was I again rescued from
death. Nothing but the pressure of
famine could have prompted this savage
to so audacious and hazardous an effort;
but, by yeilding to this impulse, he had
made my future visits to this spot exempt
from peril. Clithero was, likewise,
relieved from a danger that was imminent
and unforeseen. Prowling over
these grounds the panther could scarcely
have failed to meet with this solitary
fugitive.

Had the animal lived, my first duty
would have been to have sought him
out, and assailed him with my Tomhawk;
but no undertaking would have
been more hazardous. Lurking in the
grass, or in the branches of a tree, his
eye might have descried my approach,
he might leap upon me unperceived, and
my weapon would be useless.

With an heart beating with unwonted
rapidity, I once more descended the
cliff, entered the cavern, and arrived at
Huntly farm, drenched with rain, and
exhausted by fatigue.

By night the storm was dispelled;
but my exhausted strength would not
allow me to return to the mountain.
At the customary hour I retired to my
chamber. I incessantly ruminated on
the adventures of the last day, and

inquired into the conduct which I was
next to pursue.

The bridge being destroyed, my customary
access was cut off. There was no
possibility of restoring this bridge. My
strength would not suffice to drag a fallen
tree from a distance, and there was none
whose position would abridge or supersede
that labour. Some other expedient
must, therefore, be discovered to pass
this chasm.

I reviewed the circumstances of my
subterranean journey. The cavern was
imperfectly explored. Its branches might
be numerous. That which I had hitherto
pursued, terminated in an opening at a
considerable distance from the bottom.
Other branches might exist, some of
which might lead to the foot of the
precipice, and thence a communication
might be found with the summit of the
interior hill.

The danger of wandering into dark
and untried paths, and the commodiousness
of that road which had at first
been taken, were sufficient reasons for
having hitherto suspended my examination
of the different branches of this
labyrinth. Now my customary road was
no longer practicable, and another was
to be carefully explored. For this end,
on my next journey to the mountain, I
determined to take with me a lamp, and
unravel this darksome maze: This project
I resolved to execute the next day.

I now recollected what, if it had more
seasonably occurred, would have taught
me caution. Some months before this a
farmer, living in the skirts of Norwalk,
discovered two marauders in his field,
whom he imagined to be a male and
female panther. They had destroyed
some sheep, and had been hunted by the
farmer, with long and fruitless diligence.

Sheep had likewise been destroyed in
different quarters; but the owners had
fixed the imputation of the crime upon
dogs, many of whom had atoned for
their supposed offences by their death.
He who had mentioned his discovery of
panthers, received little credit from his
neighbours; because a long time had
elapsed since these animals were supposed
to have been exiled from this
district, and because no other person
had seen them. The truth of this
seemed now to be confirmed by the testimony
of my own senses; but, if the
rumour were true, there still existed
another of these animals, who might
harbour in the obscurities of this desert,
and against whom it was necessary to
employ some precaution. Henceforth
I resolved never to traverse the wilderness
unfurnished with my tom-hawk.

These images, mingled with those
which the contemplation of futurity suggested,
floated, for a time, in my brain;
but at length gave place to sleep.