University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XI.

Next morning I stored a small bag with meat and bread,
and throwing an axe on my shoulder, set out, without informing
any one of my intentions, for the hill. My passage
was rendered more difficult by these incumbrances, but my
perseverance surmounted every impediment, and I gained,
in a few hours, the foot of the tree, whose trunk was to serve
me for a bridge. In this journey I saw no traces of the
fugitive.

A new survey of the tree confirmed my former conclusions,
and I began my work with diligence. My strokes
were repeated by a thousand echoes, and I paused at first
somewhat startled by reverberations, which made it appear
as if not one, but a score of axes, were employed at the
same time on both sides of the gulf.

Quickly the tree fell, and exactly in the manner which I
expected and desired. The wide spread limbs occupied
and choked up the channel of the torrent, and compelled it
to seek a new outlet and multiplied its murmurs. I dared
not trust myself to cross it in an upright posture, but clung,
with hands and feet, to its rugged bark. Having reached
the opposite cliff I proceeded to examine the spot where
Clithero had disappeared. My fondest hopes were realized,
for a considerable cavity appeared, which, on a former day,
had been concealed from my distant view by the rock.

It was obvious to conclude that this was his present habitation,
or that an avenue, conducting hither and terminating
in the unexplored sides of this pit, was that by which he had
come hither, and by which he had retired. I could not
hesitate long to slide into the pit. I found an entrance
through which I fearlessly penetrated. I was prepared to
encounter obstacles and perils similar to those which I have
already described, but was rescued from them by ascending,
in a few minutes, into a kind of passage, open above, but
walled by a continued rock on both sides. The sides of this
passage conformed with the utmost exactness to each other.
Nature, at some former period, had occasioned the solid
mass to dispart at this place, and had thus afforded access

to the summit of the hill. Loose stones and ragged points
formed the flooring of this passage, which rapidly and circuitously
ascended.

I was now within a few yards of the surface of the rock.
The passage opened into a kind of chamber or pit, the sides
of which were not difficult to climb. I rejoiced at the
prospect of this termination of my journey. Here I paused,
and throwing my weary limbs on the ground, began to examine
the objects around me, and to meditate on the steps
that were next to be taken.

My first glance lighted on the very being of whom I was
in search. Stretched upon a bed of moss, at the distance
of a few feet from my station, I beheld Clithero. He had
not been roused by my approach, though my foot-steps were
perpetually stumbling and sliding. This reflection gave
birth to the fear that he was dead. A nearer inspection
dispelled my apprehensions, and shewed me that he was
merely buried in profound slumber. Those vigils must indeed
have been long which were at last succeeded by a sleep
so oblivious.

This meeting was, in the highest degree, propitious. It
not only assured me of his existence, but proved that his
miseries were capable of being suspended. His slumber enabled
me to pause, to ruminate on the manner by which his
understanding might be most successfully addressed; to collect
and arrange the topics fitted to rectify his gloomy and
disastrous perceptions.

Thou knowest that I am qualified for such tasks neither
by my education nor my genius. The headlong and ferocious
energies of this man could not be repelled or diverted
into better paths by efforts so undisciplined as mine. A
despair so stormy and impetuous would drown my feeble
accents. How should I attempt to reason with him? How
should I outroot prepossessions so inveterate; the fruits of
his earliest education, fostered and matured by the observation
and experience of his whole life. How should I convince
him that since the death of Wiatte was not intended,
the deed was without crime; that, if it had been deliberately
concerted, it was still a virtue, since his own life could, by no
other means, be preserved; that when he pointed a dagger
at the bosom of his mistress he was actuated, not by avarice,

or ambition, or revenge, or malice. He desired to confer
on her the highest and the only benefit of which he believed
her capable. He sought to rescue her from tormenting regrets
and lingering agonies.

These positions were sufficiently just to my own view, but
I was not called upon to reduce them to practice. I had
not to struggle with the consciousness of having been rescued
by some miraculous contingency, from imbruing my hands
in the blood of her whom I adored; of having drawn upon
myself suspicions of ingratitude and murder too deep to be
ever effaced; of having bereft myself of love, and honor,
and friends, and spotless reputation; of having doomed myself
to infamy and detestation, to hopeless exile, penury,
and servile toil. These were the evils which his malignant
destiny had made the unalterable portion of Clithero, and
how should my imperfect eloquence annihilate these evils?
Every man, not himself the victim of irretrievable disasters,
perceives the folly of ruminating on the past, and of fostering
a grief which cannot reverse or recall the decrees of an
immutable necessity; but every man who suffers is unavoidably
shackled by the errors which he censures in his neighbor,
and his efforts to relieve himself are as fruitless as
those with which he attempted the relief of others.

No topic, therefore, could be properly employed by me
on the present occasion. All that I could do was to offer
him food, and, by pathetic supplications, to prevail on him
to eat. Famine, however obstinate, would scarcely refrain
when bread was placed within sight and reach. When
made to swerve from his resolution in one instance, it
would be less difficult to conquer it a second time. The
magic of sympathy, the perseverance of benevolence, though
silent, might work a gradual and secret revolution, and better
thoughts might insensibly displace those desperate suggestions
which now governed him.

Having revolved these ideas, I placed the food which I
had brought at his right hand, and, seating myself at his feet,
attentively surveyed his countenance. The emotions, which
were visible during wakefulness, had vanished during this
cessation of remembrance and remorse, or were faintly discernible.
They served to dignify and solemnize his features,
and to embellish those immutable lines which betokened

the spirit of his better days. Lineaments were now
observed which could never co-exist with folly, or associate
with obdurate guilt.

I had no inclination to awaken him. This respite was
too sweet to be needlessly abridged. I determined to await
the operation of nature, and to prolong, by silence and by
keeping interruption at a distance, this salutary period of forgetfulness.
This interval permitted new ideas to succeed
in my mind.

Clithero believed his solitude to be unapproachable.
What new expedients to escape inquiry and intrusion might
not my presence suggest! Might he not vanish, as he had
done on the former day, and afford me no time to assail his
constancy and tempt his hunger? If, however, I withdrew
during his sleep, he would awake without disturbance, and
be, unconscious for a time, that his secrecy had been violated.
He would quickly perceive the victuals and would need
no foreign inducements to eat. A provision, so unexpected
and extraordinary, might suggest new thoughts, and
be construed into a kind of heavenly condemnation of his
purpose. He would not readily suspect the motives or
person of his visitant, would take no precaution against the
repetition of my visit, and, at the same time, our interview
would not be attended with so much surprise. The more I
revolved these reflections, the greater force they acquired.
At length, I determined to withdraw, and, leaving the food
where it could scarcely fail of attracting his notice, I returned
by the way that I had come. I had scarcely reached
home, when a messenger from Inglefield arrived, requesting
me to spend the succeeding night at his house, as some engagement
had occurred to draw him to the city.

I readily complied with this request. It was not necessary,
however, to be early in my visit. I deferred going till the
evening was far advanced. My way led under the branches
of the elm which recent events had rendered so memorable.
Hence my reflections reverted to the circumstances
which had lately occurred in connexion with this tree.

I paused, for some time, under its shade. I marked the
spot where Clithero had been discovered digging. It shewed
marks of being unsettled, but the sod which had formerly
covered it and which had lately been removed, was now

carefully replaced. This had not been done by him on
that occasion in which I was a witness of his behaviour.
The earth was then hastily removed and as hastily thrown
again into the hole from which it had been taken.

Some curiosity was naturally excited by this appearance.
Either some other person, or Clithero, on a subsequent
occasion, had been here. I was now likewise led to reflect
on the possible motives that prompted the maniac to turn
up this earth. There is always some significance in the
actions of a sleeper. Somewhat was, perhaps, buried in
this spot, connected with the history of Mrs. Lorimer or of
Clarice. Was it not possible to ascertain the truth in this
respect?

There was but one method. By carefully uncovering
this hole, and digging as deep as Clithero had already dug,
it would quickly appear whether any thing was hidden. To
do this publicly by daylight was evidently indiscreet. Besides,
a moment's delay was superfluous. The night had
now fallen, and before it was past this new undertaking
might be finished. An interview was, if possible, to be
gained with Clithero on the morrow, and for this interview
the discoveries made on this spot might eminently qualify
me. Influenced by these considerations, I resolved to dig.
I was first, however, to converse an hour with the house-keeper,
and then to withdraw to my chamber. When the
family were all retired, and there was no fear of observation
or interruption, I proposed to rise and hasten, with a proper
implement, hither.

One chamber, in Inglefield's house, was usually reserved
for visitants. In this chamber thy unfortunate brother died,
and here it was that I was to sleep. The image of its last
inhabitant could not fail of being called up, and of banishing
repose; but the scheme which I had meditated was an
additional incitement to watchfulness. Hither I repaired,
at the due season, having previously furnished myself with
candles, since I knew not what might occur to make a light
necessary.

I did not go to bed, but either sat musing by a table or
walked across the room. The bed before me was that on
which my friend breathed his last. To rest my head upon
the same pillow, to lie on that pallet which sustained his

cold and motionless limbs, were provocations to remembrance
and grief that I desired to shun. I endeavored to
fill my mind with more recent incidents, with the disasters
of Clithero, my subterranean adventures, and the probable
issue of the schemes which I now contemplated.

I recalled the conversation which had just ended with
the housekeeper. Clithero had been our theme, but she
had dealt chiefly in repetitions of what had formerly been
related by her or by Inglefield. I inquired what this man
had left behind, and found that it consisted of a square box,
put together by himself with uncommon strength, but of
rugged workmanship. She proceeded to mention that she
had advised her brother, Mr. Inglefield, to break open this
box and ascertain its contents, but this he did not think
himself justified in doing. Clithero was guilty of no known
crime, was responsible to no one for his actions, and might
sometime return to claim his property. This box contained
nothing with which others had a right to meddle. Somewhat
might be found in it, throwing light upon his past or present
situation, but curiosity was not to be gratified by these
means. What Clithero thought proper to conceal, it was
criminal for us to extort from him.

The housekeeper was by no means convinced by these
arguments, and at length, obtained her brother's permission
to try whether any of her own keys would unlock this chest.
The keys were produced, but no lock nor key-hole were
discoverable. The lid was fast, but by what means it was
fastened, the most accurate inspection could not detect.
Hence she was compelled to lay aside her project. This
chest had always stood in the chamber which I now occupied.

These incidents were now remembered, and I felt disposed
to profit by this opportunity of examining this box.
It stood in a corner, and was easily distinguished by its
form. I lifted it and found its weight by no means extraordinary.
Its structure was remarkable. It consisted of
six sides, square and of similar dimensions. These were
joined, not by mortice and tennon; not by nails, not by
hinges, but the junction was accurate. The means by
which they were made to cohere were invisible.

Appearances on every side were uniform, nor were there

any marks by which the lid was distinguishable from its other
surfaces.

During his residence with Inglefield, many specimens of
mechanical ingenuity were given by his servant. This was
the workmanship of his own hands. I looked at it, for some
time, till the desire insensibly arose of opening and examining
its contents.

I had no more right to do this than the Inglefields, perhaps
indeed this curiosity was more absurd, and the gratification
more culpable in me than in them. I was acquainted
with the history of Clithero's past life, and with his present
condition. Respecting these, I had no new intelligence to
gain, and no doubts to solve. What excuse could I make
to the proprietor, should he ever reappear to claim his own,
or to Inglefield for breaking open a receptacle, which all the
maxims of society combine to render sacred.

But could not my end be gained without violence. The
means of opening might present themselves on a patient
scrutiny. The lid might be raised and shut down again
without any tokens of my act; its contents might be examined,
and all things restored to their former condition in a
few minutes.

I intended not a theft. I intended to benefit myself without
inflicting injury on others. Nay, might not the discoveries
I should make, throw light upon the conduct of this extraordinary
man, which his own narrative had withheld?
Was there reason to confide implicitly on the tale which I
had heard.

In spite of the testimony of my own feelings, the miseries
of Clithero appeared in some degree, phantastic and groundless.
A thousand conceivable motives might induce him to
pervert or conceal the truth. If he were thoroughly known,
his character might assume a new appearance, and what is
now so difficult to reconcile to common maxims, might prove
perfectly consistent with them. I desire to restore him to
peace, but a thorough knowledge of his actions is necessary,
both to shew that he is worthy of compassion, and to suggest
the best means of extirpating his errors. It was possible
that this box contained the means of this knowledge.

There were likewise other motives which, as they possessed
some influence, however small, deserve to be mentioned.

Thou knowest that I also am a mechanist. I had
constructed a writing desk and cabinet, in which I had endeavored
to combine the properties of secrecy, security, and
strength, in the highest possible degree. I looked upon
this therefore with the eye of an artist, and was solicitous to
know the principles on which it was formed. I determined
to examine, and if possible to open it.