University of Virginia Library

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. A 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 least
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 unauthorised 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
staircase, 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 connexion 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, attracted 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 sufficient 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 favor 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 obliged 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 roots 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
endeavoring 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
recross 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 raccoon or opossum; 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
untameable 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 despatching
woodcocks 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 tomahawk. With this I have often
severed an oak branch, and cut the sinews of a catamount,
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
footsteps thus far, and should he pass over, his vigilance
could scarcely fail of detecting my asylum. 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 aroused 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 headlong. 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 hind-legs 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 tomahawk;
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 a 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 labor. 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 neighbors;
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 rumor were true, there still existed
another of these animals, who might harbor 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 tomahawk.

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.