University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Early in the morning of a sultry day in August,
he left Mettingen, to go to the city. He had
seldom passed a day from home since his return
from the shores of the Ohio. Some urgent engagements
at this time existed, which would not
admit of further delay. He returned in the evening,
but appeared to be greatly oppressed with fatigue.
His silence and dejection were likewise in
a more than ordinary degree conspicuous. My
mother's brother, whose profession was that of a
surgeon, chanced to spend this night at our house.
It was from him that I have frequently received an
exact account of the mournful catastrophe that
followed.

As the evening advanced, my father's inquietudes
increased. He sat with his family as usual, but
took no part in their conversation. He appeared
fully engrossed by his own reflections. Occasionally
his countenance exhibited tokens of alarm; he
gazed stedfastly and wildly at the ceiling; and the
exertions of his companions were scarcely sufficient
to interrupt his reverie. On recovering from
these fits, he expressed no surprize; but pressing his
hand to his head, complained, in a tremulous and
terrified tone, that his brain was scorched to cinders.
He would then betray marks of insupportable anxiety.

My uncle perceived, by his pulse, that he was indisposed,
but in no alarming degree, and ascribed
appearances chiefly to the workings of his mind.
He exhorted him to recollection and composure, but

in vain. At the hour of repose he readily retired
to his chamber. At the persuasion of my mother
he even undressed and went to bed. Nothing could
abate his restlessness. He checked her tender expostulations
with some sternness. “Be silent,” said
he, “for that which I feel there is but one cure,
and that will shortly come. You can help me nothing.
Look to your own condition, and pray to
God to strengthen you under the calamities that
await you.” “What am I to fear?” she answered.
“What terrible disaster is it that you think
of?” “Peace—as yet I know it not myself, but
come it will, and shortly.” She repeated her inquiries
and doubts; but he suddenly put an end to
the discourse, by a stern command to be silent.

She had never before known him in this mood.
Hitherto all was benign in his deportment. Her
heart was pierced with sorrow at the contemplation
of this change. She was utterly unable to account
for it, or to figure to herself the species of disaster
that was menaced.

Contrary to custom, the lamp, instead of being
placed on the hearth, was left upon the table. Over
it against the wall there hung a small clock, so contrived
as to strike a very hard stroke at the end of
every sixth hour. That which was now approaching
was the signal for retiring to the fane at which he
addressed his devotions. Long habit had occasioned
him to be always awake at this hour, and the
toll was instantly obeyed.

Now frequent and anxious glances were cast at
the clock. Not a single movement of the index
appeared to escape his notice. As the hour verged
towards twelve his anxiety visibly augmented. The
trepidations of my mother kept pace with those of
her husband; but she was intimidated into silence.

All that was left to her was to watch every change
of his features, and give vent to her sympathy in
tears.

At length the hour was spent, and the clock tolled.
The sound appeared to communicate a shock
to every part of my father's frame. He rose immediately,
and threw over himself a loose gown.
Even this office was performed with difficulty, for
his joints trembled, and his teeth chattered with dismay.
At this hour his duty called him to the rock,
and my mother naturally concluded that it was thither
he intended to repair. Yet these incidents
were so uncommon, as to fill her with astonishment
and foreboding. She saw him leave the room,
and heard his steps as they hastily descended the
stairs. She half resolved to rise and pursue him,
but the wildness of the scheme quickly suggested
itself. He was going to a place whither no power
on earth could induce him to suffer an attendant.

The window of her chamber looked toward the
rock. The atmosphere was clear and calm, but
the edifice could not be discovered at that distance
through the dusk. My mother's anxiety would
not allow her to remain where she was. She rose,
and seated herself at the window. She strained her
sight to get a view of the dome, and of the path
that led to it. The first painted itself with sufficient
distinctness on her fancy, but was undistinguishable
by the eye from the rocky mass on which it was
erected. The second could be imperfectly seen;
but her husband had already passed, or had taken
a different direction.

What was it that she feared? Some disaster impended
over her husband or herself. He had predicted
evils, but professed himself ignorant of what
nature they were. When were they to come?

Was this night, or this hour to witness the accomplishment?
She was tortured with impatience, and
uncertainty. All her fears were at present linked
to his person, and she gazed at the clock, with nearly
as much eagerness as my father had done, in expectation
of the next hour.

An half hour passed away in this state of suspence.
Her eyes were fixed upon the rock; suddenly
it was illuminated. A light proceeding from
the edifice, made every part of the scene visible. A
gleam diffused itself over the intermediate space,
and instantly a loud report, like the explosion of a
mine, followed. She uttered an involuntary shriek,
but the new sounds that greeted her ear, quickly
conquered her surprise. They were piercing
shrieks, and uttered without intermission. The
gleams which had diffused themselves far and wide
were in a moment withdrawn, but the interior of
the edifice was filled with rays.

The first suggestion was that a pistol was discharged,
and that the structure was on fire. She
did not allow herself time to meditate a second
thought, but rushed into the entry and knocked
loudly at the door of her brother's chamber. My
uncle had been previously roused by the noise, and
instantly flew to the window. He also imagined
what he saw to be fire. The loud and vehement
shrieks which succeeded the first explosion, seemed
to be an invocation of succour. The incident was
inexplicable; but he could not fail to perceive the
propriety of hastening to the spot. He was unbolting
the door, when his sister's voice was heard
on the outside conjuring him to come forth.

He obeyed the summons with all the speed in his
power. He stopped not to question her, but hurried
down stairs and across the meadow which lay

between the house and the rock. The shrieks
were no longer to be heard; but a blazing light was
clearly discernible between the columns of the
temple. Irregular steps, hewn in the stone, led him
to the summit. On three sides, this edifice touched
the very verge of the cliff. On the fourth side, which
might be regarded as the front, there was an area
of small extent, to which the rude staircase conducted
you. My uncle speedily gained this spot.
His strength was for a moment exhausted by his
haste. He paused to rest himself. Meanwhile he
bent the most vigilant attention towards the object
before him.

Within the columns he beheld what he could no
better describe, than by saying that it resembled a
cloud impregnated with light. It had the brightness
of flame, but was without its upward motion.
It did not occupy the whole area, and rose but a
few feet above the floor. No part of the building
was on fire. This appearance was astonishing.
He approached the temple. As he went forward
the light retired, and, when he put his feet within
the apartment, utterly vanished. The suddenness of
this transition increased the darkness that succeeded
in a tenfold degree. Fear and wonder rendered him
powerless. An occurrence like this, in a place
assigned to devotion, was adapted to intimidate the
stoutest heart.

His wandering thoughts were recalled by the
groans of one near him. His sight gradually recovered
its power, and he was able to discern my
father stretched on the floor. At that moment, my
mother and servants arrived with a lanthorn, and
enabled my uncle to examine more closely this
scene. My father, when he left the house, besides
a loose upper vest and slippers, wore a shirt and

drawers. Now he was naked, his skin throughout
the greater part of his body was scorched and
bruised. His right arm exhibited marks as of having
been struck by some heavy body. His clothes had
been removed, and it was not immediately perceived
that they were reduced to ashes. His slippers and
his hair were untouched.

He was removed to his chamber, and the requisite
attention paid to his wounds, which gradually
became more painful. A mortification speedily
shewed itself in the arm, which had been most
hurt. Soon after, the other wounded parts exhibited
the like appearance.

Immediately subsequent to this disaster, my father
seemed nearly in a state of insensibility. He was
passive under every operation. He scarcely opened
his eyes, and was with difficulty prevailed upon to
answer the questions that were put to him. By
his imperfect account, it appeared, that while engaged
in silent orisons, with thoughts full of confusion
and anxiety, a faint gleam suddenly shot
athwart the apartment. His fancy immediately
pictured to itself, a person bearing a lamp. It
seemed to come from behind. He was in the act
of turning to examine the visitant, when his right
arm received a blow from a heavy club. At the
same instant, a very bright spark was seen to light
upon his clothes. In a moment, the whole was
reduced to ashes. This was the sum of the information
which he chose to give. There was somewhat
in his manner that indicated an imperfect
tale. My uncle was inclined to believe that half
the truth had been suppressed.

Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated,
betrayed more terrible symptoms. Fever and
delirium terminated in lethargic slumber, which,

in the course of two hours, gave place to death.
Yet not till insupportable exhalations and crawling
putrefaction had driven from his chamber and the
house every one whom their duty did not detain.

Such was the end of my father. None surely
was ever more mysterious. When we recollect his
gloomy anticipations and unconquerable anxiety;
the security from human malice which his character,
the place, and the condition of the times, might
be supposed to confer; the purity and cloudlessness
of the atmosphere, which rended it impossible
that lightning was the cause; what are the conclusions
that we must form?

The prelusive gleam, the blow upon his arm,
the fatal spark, the explosion heard so far, the
fiery cloud that environed him, without detriment
to the structure, though composed of combustible
materials, the sudden vanishing of this
cloud at my uncle's approach—what is the inference
to be drawn from these facts? Their truth
cannot be doubted. My uncle's testimony is peculiarly
worthy of credit, because no man's temper
is more sceptical, and his belief is unalterably attached
to natural causes.

I was at this time a child of fix years of age.
The impressions that were then made upon me,
can never be effaced. I was ill qualified to judge
respecting what was then passing; but as I advanced
in age, and became more fully acquainted with
these facts, they oftener became the subject of my
thoughts. Their resemblance to recent events revived
them with new force in my memory, and
made me more anxious to explain them. Was this
the penalty of disobedience? this the stroke of a
vindictive and invisible hand? Is it a fresh proof
that the Divine Ruler interferes in human affairs,

meditates an end, selects, and commissions his
agents, and enforces, by unequivocal sanctions,
submission to his will? Or, was it merely the irregular
expansion of the fluid that imparts warmth
to our heart and our blood, caused by the fatigue
of the preceding day, or flowing, by established
laws, from the condition of his thoughts? [1]