University of Virginia Library

30. CHAPTER XXX.

From the moment when in clear moonlight
I saw a woman's form bending over
the dying man, until her white robes
were stained with blood, a vague shadow
stretches over my life—a vague and awful
shadow, broken only now and then
by gleams of light that resemble a flash
of lightning, the crater of an extinct volcano.

What a strange, horrible existence became
mine! My individuality was lost.
I was a king, an emperor, a savage beast,
a tree blasted in the midst of a blooming
garden; I was my hag-wife, and Eva,
any thing, every thing, but myself.

I knew not where I was, whether in
this world or the next, whether in a
palace or a prison; I only lived in my
dreams, and the last dream that possessed
me, more vivid than any reality I had
ever encountered, clothed and surrounded
me with its own peculiar associations.
As long as that dream lasted I lived in
it, and in it only; when it passed, another
took its place.

Such dreams never before harrowed
an immortal soul! I was buried alive;
they had nailed down the coffin-lid; they
had locked the door of the vault and left
me there; I was living in my coffin, and
it was my judgment that I could not die.
Gnashing my teeth and tearing my flesh
in my efforts to burst the coffin-lid, I
still had no power to kill myself.

Then, I had committed the unpardonable
sin, and was exiled to some distant
corner of the universe, where neither
man, nor angel, nor devil—not even one
ray of God's presence—could visit me,
for I was an outlaw from heaven, earth,
and hell. I was the only occupant of a
blasted planet, whose volcanic mountains
arose into a copper-colored sky. There
was no sun, nor moon, nor tree, nor
flower, nothing but mountains of a leaden
color, lighted by smouldering volcanoes,
and towering away, away, and away, until
their peaks were lost in a copper-colored
sky.

Then I was a spirit returned to earth
again, and forced to occupy the body of
some inferior animal; beaten, starved,
overworked, always endeavoring to speak
and tell the human faces round me that
I was not a beast, but an immortal soul,
and always finding my utterance dying
away in a brutal howl.

This passed, and another dream came.
From the beast I glided into the emperor.
I was Napoleon amid the snows
and cannon-smoke of Austerlitz or by
the glare of the burning Kremlin, or on

the rock of St. Helena. The blood I
shed could not be measured; the corpses
I laid around me, wherever I went, made
all the earth white with the livid faces.
I was happy in carnage, and pursued
murder as a lover his mistress.

From Napoleon on his throne I was
suddenly transformed into my hag-wife,
suspended by the cord, always struggling,
choking, strangling, and never dying.

Then I was Eva in her coffin, with her
dead baby on her breast, and saw my
own self bending over the coffin and
weeping there. Thus, dream succeeded
dream, not like the visions of a fever, but
most strangely and horribly palpable;
and I had no existence of my own.
Whether moments, hours or days passed,
I had not the remotest consciousness.

At last I seemed to awake, and looked
about me with the external eye. I
found myself in a small room, with the
sunlight shining through the grated bars
of a solitary window. I was seated on
a small cot. Near my feet were cords,
which had, to all appearance, but lately
bound my wrists and ankles. I was
clad in a jacket and trowsers of coarse
cotton.

“Madhouse or jail?” I muttered, and
seemed to hear my own voice for the
first time since the night of the murder.

I arose and went to the window. A
summer sun, near its setting, shone over
a garden, a prospect of woods, and fields,
and a distant city, from a calm, clear
sky. O how that calm, happy view, so
full of the spirit of peace, contrasted with
my late dreams!

Turning from the window, I looked
around my cell. The grated door had,
by some chance, been left open. I passed
through the doorway, and found myself
in a long, dimly-lighted and silent corridor.

Without a definite object I wandered
along this corridor until I came to a point
where it connected with another. Here,
from an opened door, a gleam of light
shone out on the dark passage.

I pushed the door wide open, entered,
and found myself in a well-furnished
apartment, with an elegant bed, chairs,
table overspread with books and papers;
evidently the apartment of some official
connected with the place. A mahogany
wardrobe stood between the bed
and the window.

This I opened, and as quietly as
though the event was a matter of course,
proceeded to exchange my coarse cotton
garments for a suit of black cloth,
which happened to fit me, and which I
found in the wardrobe. A pair of boots
stood near the table, a hat and white
cravat stood upon it; these, in a moment,
I assumed. I could not tell how the
dress became me, for there was no mirror
in the room, but after carefully surveying
myself, I sallied forth, resolved
to entrust my adventures to fate or
chance.

I plunged into the second corridor,
dimly lighted like the other, and walked
on (the doors of cells on either hand)
until I came to a large grated door,
which stretched across the passage.

Beyond this an official waited, silent
and demure as a statue.

He unbolted the door without a word,
and suffered me to pass, evidently taking
me for the person whose dress I had assumed.

“This is better than my dreams, any
how!” I muttered, and hurried on.

I soon came to a second door, beyond
whose bars I saw a passage all light and
sunshine.

The second official, like the first, suffered
me to pass without a word.

The passage into which I now entered
resembled the ward of a hospital—the
ward for convalescents—only that it was
lighter and more cheerful. Numerous
windows on either hand gave entrance
to the rays of the declining sun, and
opened to the gaze a pleasant prospect
of fields and gardens, and a distant village
or city. Up and down this passage
walked, perchance, fifty men, of all ages,
and mostly well-dressed—up and down,
with a quick, nervous motion, and with
a perpetual fire in their restless eyes.
These did not resemble convicts so much
as the better class of patients of an—insane
hospital.

Raising my kerchief to my face, I
passed rapidly through their various
groups, and soon came to the door at
the other extremity of the passage.

The third official, like the others, let
me pass without a word.

I traversed a wide hall, descended a
broad stairway; and, through a lofty
door, emerged into open sunshine.

Still keeping the handkerchief to my

face, I hurried down a broad garden
walk, toward the porter's lodge, which
I saw in the distance. Half-way down,
I encountered a party, composed of ladies
and gentlemen, who had evidently
been visiting the place, for they were
chatting pleasantly about the various
forms of insanity which they had beheld.

As I came up, I heard my own name.
O how like a word from another language
it sounded!

“Yes, he is there,” said another voice,
“but the public are never admitted to
the ward in which he is confined. They
only keep the most hopeless and desperate
there!”

Passing the kerchief rapidly over my
face. I passed through the group, and
heard the whisper as I passed—“That
is Doctor N—, one of the most successful
in the treatment of hopeless
cases.”

I approached the porter's lodge, and
now, for the first time, my heart began
to beat with anxiety. Would the porter
detect the cheat? The sight of sun, of
trees, of flowers, the free atmosphere
which filled my lungs, all conspired to
fill me with new energy, and I hurried
on with a rapid step.

The porter, a middle-aged man, rose
from his chair, approached the gate,
looked at me languidly, and—let me
pass!

I was free! I did not cast a single
backward look upon the massive pile
which had lately imprisoned me, but,
turning my face to the village or city,
hurried on.

A train of cars stood waiting by a depot.
Passing rapidly through the crowd
upon the platform, I entered the first car
that offered, and flung myself on a seat
in a dark corner.

In a moment the train was whirling
away, and I saw the roofs of the Asylum
shine in the sun, far behind me, just
before they were hidden by a grove of
trees. And drawing my hat low over
my brows, I gave myself up to a joy too
deep for words, as I contemplated my
strange escape. Not once perchance in
a million times could such an attempt
have proved successful.

The circumstances which favored my
escape, (as I afterwards learned,) were
these: Dr. N— has a man about my
height, very taciturn, and nearly always
seen with an essenced kerchief lifted to
his face. On the day of my escape, he
had found me in a profound sleep, which
had succeeded a terrible paroxysm, and
been summoned from my cell to a call
not far away, where his services were
more immediately demanded. While he
was in this cell—an hour or more—my
escape had been consummated. And now
I was free!

But was there no danger of detection
in the cars? The conductor came along
to collect the fares—I felt my heart
jump to my throat. What could I do
without money? I, not long ago the
owner of half a million of dollars, now
without even a dollar to pay my railroad
fare.

I put my hand into the pocket of the
black vest which I wore, and drew forth
a pocket-book. To my inexpressible joy
it contained some gold and bank-bills—
about fifty dollars. I paid my fare, and,
sinking back into my seat, I fell into a
pleasant slumber, unbroken by a dream.

When I awoke the cars were in Albany.

I called a coach and directed the coachman
to drive to the — Hotel, the best
in the place, where, entering my name as
“Caleb Jenkins,” I at once hurried to
my room, which was an elegant parlor,
with a bed in an alcove. I directed the
servant to bring light and a newspaper,
which he did at once, and then I found
myself alone.

I had not yet looked into a mirror,
and I was afraid to do it, afraid that
some great change had passed over my
face, which it would appall me to behold.

I was afraid to look upon the newspaper;
afraid, I could not tell why; I knew
that I had not been confined in the Asylum
for a year, and yet I was afraid that
the date of the paper would inform me
that I had been imprisoned many years.
At last, I rose, and took the light, and
looked into the mirror.

“O my God!” was the exclamation
which was forced from my lips.

Changed, indeed! On that fatal night
I had been a young man; the face in the
mirror, colorless and wrinkled with
great hollows underneath the eyes, was
that of a man of middle age. My hair
was cut close; it was thick with gray
hairs. My beard, which seemed the

growth of about three days, was also
sprinkled with gray hairs. How many
years had passed since that accursed
night when I laid the destroyer of my
peace at my feet in his blood? Had I
been tried for the crime? Transferred
from the convict's to the madman's cell?
I seized the newspaper, and you may be
sure that my hands trembled as I held
it to the light.

The fatal night had occurred in the
year 1842—the date of the paper before
me was June 10th, 1847.