University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Since Jurian had undertaken to depend solely upon
his own resources, he led a life of extravagance and
dissipation, which the gaming-table for a time enabled
him to support, but Fortune does not always smile even
upon her greatest favourites. A succession of losses
involved him in almost inextricable difficulties. Young
Morton was his companion in these scenes of dissipation,
and, when successful himself, had repeatedly assisted
his friend in his emergencies, so that the latter stood
indebted to him at this time to a large amount. Morton
had hitherto never asked to be reimbursed, or indeed
alluded to the subject, as the liberality of his father
supplied him with the means of gratifying his
wishes to the extent, and Jurian, being aware of this, did
not feel that anxiety to discharge the debt, that he
would have experienced under different circumstances.
His mind was at ease, as he knew that he was not doing
his friend an injury by consulting his own convenience.
The time, however, had arrived when this belief
was to be dissipated. The day after his removal
to Philadelphia, while patiently listening to a profound
dissertation from the lips of M`Crea on his favourite
theory, the art of prolonging human life, it was announced

that a man at the door wished to see him.
He left the room, and found Jones in waiting, who handed
him a letter and withdrew. Jurian recognised the
superscription to be that of his friend, and on breaking
the seal he read as follows:

This letter gave Jurian sincere concern. He was
not prepared for a demand of that nature, and it was utterly
out of his power to answer it at that time. He
knew that Morton was cautious and calculating, and
conjecture was at a loss to account for the manner in
which he had become involved, and by means too, the
knowledge of which he wished to conceal from his father.
The whole affair was to him inexplicable, but
as his friend demanded payment of the debt he owed,
he resolved to spare no exertion until he should exonerate
himself from the obligation.

During the night after the engagement at Brandywine,
the continental troops retreated to Chester, and
the following day entered Philadelphia, where they remained
until the 15th to recruit their strength and spirits,
after the many hardships and reverses they had
recently encountered. On the 15th, general Washington
recrossed the Schuylkill with his forces, intending
to give sir William Howe battle wherever he might
meet him. Fearful were the presentiments that arose
on that day in many of the brave hearts attached to the
little army, as it dejectedly withdrew from the metropolis
of the new world. The citizens followed it in crowds
for some distance, bewailing their fate, for they felt that
the withdrawal of the army, was virtually the deliverance
of the city into the hands of the enemy.

Jurian, until this period, had been nothing more than
an idle spectator of the grandest drama that has ever
been acted upon the theatre of the world; but now,
either ashamed of remaining inactive, or awakened to a
full sense of the magnitude of the cause in which his
country contended, he made known to captain Swain
his wishes to participate in the struggle. This unlooked
for step, was a matter of rejoicing to the worthy descendant
of the lord of Passaiung, who ordered the fatted
calf to be killed, and celebrated the event as the return
of the prodigal son. Jurian duly received a commission
in captain Swain's company of volunteers, and
his partial commander predicted that in time, the new
recruit would become second only in arms, to him who
had figured so gallantly at the Fort of the Holy Trinity.

M`Crea remained in the city until the day after the
army had recrossed the Schuylkill, having been slightly
indisposed, as he contended, from having neglected to
weigh his food of late with the requisite precision.
Feeling himself sufficiently recruited, he started in company
with the new proselyte, to join the forces. At the
river they found a crowd waiting to cross. The boat

was on the opposite side, landing a number of soldiers
who were following the army. Among those awaiting
the return of the boat, was one whose singularity of
appearance distinguished him from the rest of the
crowd. He was apparently about fifty years of age,
his form meagre and tall. His features were wo-worn,
harsh, and weather-beaten. His long black hair had
become slightly grizzled, and hung in confusion over
his face and shoulders. His beard was suffered to
grow, while his tattered apparel indicated the most
squalid wretchedness. Over his shoulders an Indian
blanket was cast, in which he folded his arms, and
silently watched the movements of those who were engaged
in managing the boat, without paying the slightest
attention to the many inquiries made by those who
surrounded him. After the fruitless attempts of several
to draw him into conversation, he was suffered to enjoy
his meditations without being further molested. The
rubicund face of corporal Drone was seen beaming in
the crowd. He no sooner espied Jurian and his companion
than he hailed them, in a voice that attracted
general attention, and gave them a familiar nod of recognition.
The corporal had made it a rule never to
overlook an acquaintance, and what is more remarkable,
he acted up to it.

“So, ho! boys!” he cried, “on your way to the army.
Right! the camp is the only place for your true man, in
times like the present. You may report corporal Drone
to the general, for I shall be with the liberty boys as
soon as my legs can carry me.”

This speech was made in a loud voice, but called
forth no answer. As the boat approached the shore,
two or three horsemen rode up to the ferry, one of whom
was mounted on a restive animal, and evidently had
much difficulty to manage him. As they were about
to enter the boat, the horse became alarmed, and more
ungovernable, foiling every attempt to get him on board.
The rider spurred him, when he gave a sudden leap,

and darting rapidly forward, passed from one end of the
boat to the other, and plunged into the river with the
rider on his back. A shriek arose from the assemblage
on the shore, which awakened the attention of the squalid
stranger just alluded to. He saw the struggling in
the water, and hastily throwing off his blanket, rushed
to the further extremity of the boat, and leaped into the
stream.

He stood upright upon the horse's back, and laying
hold of the drowning man, raised him in his arms,
and endeavoured to extricate his feet from the stirrups.
The horse made a violent struggle to resist the additional
weight, and after great exertion, sunk beneath
the surface of the water. They disappeared together.
The pause that succeeded was awful. Every eye was
rivetted to the spot where they sunk. A moment afterwards
they rose again, the mendicant still clinging to
the body of the horseman, who was lifeless. The
struggle of the noble animal was terrible. Despair was
in his eye as he gazed towards the spectators. The
boatmen had by this time prepared a noose, which they
cast with the hope of fixing it around the neck of the
horse, and by that means drawing the bodies to the
shore; but as it was thrown, they disappeared a second
time. He who stood at the prow of the flat, with the
noose in his hands, kept his eye steadily fixed upon the
bubbles that arose to the surface, denoting where they
sunk. At length the head of the horse appeared. Expiring
nature mustered all her strength in her last faint
struggle. He leaped above the water. The agonies
of death were on him. The mendicant still maintained
his position. The laso was thrown, the eye of
the boatman was true, and his hand steady. The rope
had no sooner fallen round the neck of the horse, than
it was thrown to the bystanders, and the bodies were
in a few moments drawn to the shore. The feet of the
horseman were entangled in the stirrups, and the arms
of the other were firmly clasped around his body. Both
were lifeless.

The corporal, during this scene, was exceedingly
noisy and officious. He suggested many expedients,
but tried none, and issued countless orders, which no
one attended to. When the bodies were recovered
from the water, he strutted up and down, and modestly
assumed to himself the whole merit of the achievement.
We still occasionally meet with an individual
possessed of the same propensity. The race is by
no means extinct.

M`Crea dismounted, and applied the remedies necessary
to restore animation to the bodies. With the
mendicant he succeeded, but the vital spark of the
horseman was totally extinguished. While bending
over the body of the former, and intently watching his
countenance for signs of returning animation, the surgeon
was observed to shudder, and when the miserable
object opened his eyes, he started up and exclaimed,
“God of heaven! can it be possible!” and would have
fallen to the ground, had not Jurian supported him.

“My dear sir,” inquired Jurian, “what is it that thus
suddenly overcomes you?”

“'Tis past,” replied M`Crea, faintly. “A sudden
weakness—I feared the case was hopeless. Joy for
this unexpected preservation of the life of a fellow being.”

“And yet it would seem the poor fellow is possessed
of nothing that he could so well spare. I question the
mercy of your beneficence. Death doubtless would
have been a blessing,” replied Jurian.

“Still it is an incumbent duty to prolong life while
we may, be our lot wretched or happy.”

“True, we must replenish the fire though it produce
nothing but smoke and ashes,” observed Jurian. “But
how is this, sir?—an army surgeon nervous, whose daily
pastime it is to wrestle with death, and carve and
mangle his fellow mortals.”

M`Crea made no reply, but kept his eyes intently
fixed upon the mendicant, who with the assistance of

Drone and another, arose and stood erect upon his feet.
His tall and emaciated figure, but partially covered
with the most squalid raiment, and from the waist upwards
nearly naked; his matted hair, wet and hanging
about his face and shoulders, his short knotted beard
and his ghastly countenance scarcely half lit up by returning
animation, together presented such a frightful
appearance, that he resembled rather a tenant of a
churchyard than a being of this world. As he stood
in this position, endeavouring to recal his bewildered
senses, M`Crea demanded—

“Who is he? can no one present tell me whence he
came?”

“His name is Corwin,” answered the corporal, “but
for my part, I call him Waterbrain, for his upper story,
as you may see, is in a leaky condition, and the tenant
has been washed away.”

“Whence came he?” demanded the other.

“I know not, but from the south, I judge,” replied
the corporal.

“Why from the south?”

“We are told that the wind is tempered to the shorn
lamb; and if so, he must belong to a warmer climate.
His fleece is not yet grown.”

The corporal would have his joke, though the misfortune
of another was the subject of it. He was not
singular in this particular, and in spite of all that has
been said to the contrary, that world must be a merry
world indeed, in which grief affords amusement.
M`Crea appealed to Jurian for information in relation
to the mendicant.

“I have seen him but seldom,” was the reply, “and
for the first time, about a month ago, strolling along
the highway, in the same condition as at present.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“He asked charity, and when I bestowed an alms,
he demanded my name, in order, as he said, that he
might not forget me in his prayers.”

“You gave your name?”

“I did. He repeated it over and over. Invoked a
blessing on me, wept and passed on.”

“He wept, say you?”

“He did, long and earnestly. But why should that
move your wonder? A smile or a tear may spring
from the same source, as the whim governs those
who are thus afflicted.”

“True, true, it may be so. They smile without joy,
and possibly they weep without pain.” A hollow voice
re-echoed—

“Possibly they weep without pain.” M`Crea turned
at the sound, and beheld a ghastly smile on the countenance
of the mendicant, who perceiving that he had
attracted the attention of the surgeon, added with a
sigh—

“At least I smile without joy.”

“Poor creature!” exclaimed Jurian, “if this be one
of the unalterable conditions upon which we accept of
life, what has man to boast of!”

“Death, nothing but death!” replied Corwin, in a
tone scarcely audible.

“Let us begone,” cried the surgeon, in evident agitation.

“What ails you?”

“I have been for years endeavouring to discover the
means of prolonging life, and imagined that I had perfected
my theory. But in the presence of such a commentary
upon its futility, the mighty fabric falls to the
ground.” They prepared to pursue their journey.

“Go not yet,” cried Corwin, addressing Jurian—

“What would you?”

The mendicant fixed his eyes steadily upon his
countenance, and after a pause solemnly pronounced—

“Hear the voice of one of another world. He is
not of this, for all its ties are broken. There is a drop
of poison in thy heart, young man, that will corrupt thy
nature. The fatal wound is given that must corrode to
death. There is no cure, unless you have the courage

to prefer the benediction of the good to shame and
execration.”

Jurian was confused by the solemn manner in which
Corwin addressed him, and his confusion was increased
as he was conscious that all eyes were on him. He
turned to M`Crea, and said in a careless manner—

“You have heard the prophecy, will it be fulfilled?
Though some of the prophets of old have been styled
inspired madmen, it does not follow that all madmen
are prophetic.”

“It does not follow,” said M`Crea, gravely, still
keeping his eyes fixed upon Corwin.

“If all the visions of old Waterbrain, were to be
realized,” said the corporal, “we should soon live in a
world of dreams.”

“And is it not, after all, a world of dreams?” said
Jurian to M`Crea.

“So it has been styled, but the dream to some is an
eternal nightmare, rendered more terrible from a full
consciousness of what is passing around,” replied
M`Crea.

“Thy dream is over!” said Corwin, approaching the
dead body. “Thy dream is over, would that mine
were too!”

The boatman cried out that the boat was ready, upon
which M`Crea and Jurian entered it, the former having
first handed a purse to the corporal directing him to
procure such comforts as would expedite the recovery
of Corwin.

“I will be your almoner,” said the corporal, pompously,
at the same time pocketing the purse. It is
not unusual for charity to find a channel similar to that
selected by M`Crea. When the boat had reached the
middle of the stream, the corporal called in a loud voice
to the boatman to hold on to his oars; the progress of
the boat was arrested, and on being asked what he
wanted, he called out to M`Crea not to neglect to
report him at head-quarters, as he should, without fail,

be in the American camp in a day or two at farthest.
These important instructions being received,
the boat again moved forward, while Corwin, who still
bent over the body of the drowned man, chaunted in a
low hurried voice the following verses:

A litter was prepared, upon which the dead body was
placed and carried to the city. Corwin followed in the
train, supported by the corporal, and thus terminated
the brief career of Monsieur de Coudray in the cause
of freedom. How uncertain is all human calculation!
Instead of the brilliant page in history, which doubtless
in his ardour he aspired to merit, his melancholy fate
is recorded in a single line, seldom read, and his name,
already, is scarcely remembered. And this is fame!