Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793

by Charles Brockden Brown

  CHAPTER XXI.

  He whom I had accompanied to the midst of the river; whom I had imaginedthat I saw sink to rise no more, was now before me. Though incapable ofprecluding the groundless belief of preternatural visitations, I wasable to banish the phantom almost at the same instant at which itappeared. Welbeck had escaped from the stream alive; or had, by someinconceivable means, been restored to life.

  The first was the most plausible conclusion. It instantly engendered asuspicion, that his plunging into the water was an artifice, intended toestablish a belief of his death. His own tale had shown him to be versedin frauds, and flexible to evil. But was he not associated with Colvill?and what, but a compact in iniquity, could bind together such men?

  While thus musing, Welbeck's countenance and gesture displayed emotionstoo vehement for speech. The glances that he fixed upon me wereunsteadfast and wild. He walked along the floor, stopping at eachmoment, and darting looks of eagerness upon me. A conflict of passionskept him mute. At length, advancing to the bed, on the side of which Iwas now sitting, he addressed me:--

  "What is this? Are you here? In defiance of pestilence, are you actuatedby some demon to haunt me, like the ghost of my offences, and cover mewith shame? What have I to do with that dauntless yet guiltless front?With that foolishly-confiding and obsequious, yet erect andunconquerable, spirit? Is there no means of evading your pursuit? Must Idip my hands, a second time, in blood; and dig for you a grave by theside of Watson?"

  These words were listened to with calmness. I suspected and pitied theman, but I did not fear him. His words and his looks were indicativeless of cruelty than madness. I looked at him with an air compassionateand wistful. I spoke with mildness and composure:--

  "Mr. Welbeck, you are unfortunate and criminal. Would to God I couldrestore you to happiness and virtue! but, though my desire be strong, Ihave no power to change your habits or rescue you from misery.

  "I believed you to be dead. I rejoice to find myself mistaken. While youlive, there is room to hope that your errors will be cured; and theturmoils and inquietudes that have hitherto beset your guilty progresswill vanish by your reverting into better paths.

  "From me you have nothing to fear. If your welfare will be promoted bymy silence on the subject of your history, my silence shall beinviolate. I deem not lightly of my promises. They are given, and shallnot be recalled.

  "This meeting was casual. Since I believed you to be dead, it could notbe otherwise. You err, if you suppose that any injury will accrue to youfrom my life; but you need not discard that error. Since my death iscoming, I am not averse to your adopting the belief that the event isfortunate to you.

  "Death is the inevitable and universal lot. When or how it comes, is oflittle moment. To stand, when so many thousands are falling around me,is not to be expected. I have acted an humble and obscure part in theworld, and my career has been short; but I murmur not at the decree thatmakes it so.

  "The pestilence is now upon me. The chances of recovery are too slenderto deserve my confidence. I came hither to die unmolested, and at peace.All I ask of you is to consult your own safety by immediate flight; andnot to disappoint my hopes of concealment, by disclosing my condition tothe agents of the hospital."

  Welbeck listened with the deepest attention. The wildness of his airdisappeared, and gave place to perplexity and apprehension.

  "You are sick," said he, in a tremulous tone, in which terror wasmingled with affection. "You know this, and expect not to recover. Nomother, nor sister, nor friend, will be near to administer food, ormedicine, or comfort; yet you can talk calmly; can be thus considerateof others--of me; whose guilt has been so deep, and who has merited solittle at your hands!

  "Wretched coward! Thus miserable as I am and expect to be, I cling tolife. To comply with your heroic counsel, and to fly; to leave you thusdesolate and helpless, is the strongest impulse. Fain would I resist it,but cannot.

  "To desert you would be flagitious and dastardly beyond all former acts;yet to stay with you is to contract the disease, and to perish afteryou.

  "Life, burdened as it is with guilt and ignominy, is still dear--yet youexhort me to go; you dispense with my assistance. Indeed, I could be ofno use; I should injure myself and profit you nothing. I cannot go intothe city and procure a physician or attendant. I must never more appearin the streets of this city. I must leave you, then." He hurried to thedoor. Again, he hesitated. I renewed my entreaties that he would leaveme; and encouraged his belief that his presence might endanger himselfwithout conferring the slightest benefit upon me.

  "Whither should I fly? The wide world contains no asylum for me. I livedbut on one condition. I came hither to find what would save me fromruin,--from death. I find it not. It has vanished. Some audacious andfortunate hand has snatched it from its place, and now my ruin iscomplete. My last hope is extinct.

  "Yes, Mervyn! I will stay with you. I will hold your head. I will putwater to your lips. I will watch night and day by your side. When youdie, I will carry you by night to the neighbouring field; will bury you,and water your grave with those tears that are due to your incomparableworth and untimely destiny. Then I will lay myself in your bed, and waitfor the same oblivion."

  Welbeck seemed now no longer to be fluctuating between oppositepurposes. His tempestuous features subsided into calm. He put thecandle, still lighted, on the table, and paced the floor with lessdisorder than at his first entrance.

  His resolution was seen to be the dictate of despair. I hoped that itwould not prove invincible to my remonstrances. I was conscious that hisattendance might preclude, in some degree, my own exertions, andalleviate the pangs of death; but these consolations might be purchasedtoo dear. To receive them at the hazard of his life would be to makethem odious.

  But, if he should remain, what conduct would his companion pursue? Whydid he continue in the study when Welbeck had departed? By what motiveswere those men led hither? I addressed myself to Welbeck:--

  "Your resolution to remain is hasty and rash. By persisting in it, youwill add to the miseries of my condition; you will take away the onlyhope that I cherished. But, however you may act, Colvill or I must bebanished from this roof. What is the league between you? Break it, Iconjure you, before his frauds have involved you in inextricabledestruction."

  Welbeck looked at me with some expression of doubt.

  "I mean," continued I, "the man whose voice I heard above. He is avillain and betrayer. I have manifold proofs of his guilt. Why does helinger behind you? However you may decide, it is fitting that he shouldvanish."

  "Alas!" said Welbeck, "I have no companion, none to partake with me ingood or evil. I came hither alone."

  "How?" exclaimed I. "Whom did I hear in the room above? Some oneanswered my interrogations and entreaties, whom I too certainlyrecognised. Why does he remain?"

  "You heard no one but myself. The design that brought me hither was tobe accomplished without a witness. I desired to escape detection, andrepelled your solicitations for admission in a counterfeited voice.

  "That voice belonged to one from whom I had lately parted. What hismerits or demerits are, I know not. He found me wandering in the forestsof New Jersey. He took me to his home. When seized by a lingeringmalady, he nursed me with fidelity and tenderness. When somewhatrecovered, I speeded hither; but our ignorance of each other's characterand views was mutual and profound.

  "I deemed it useful to assume a voice different from my own. This wasthe last which I had heard, and this arbitrary and casual circumstancedecided my choice."

  This imitation was too perfect, and had influenced my fears toostrongly, to be easily credited. I suspected Welbeck of some newartifice to baffle my conclusions and mislead my judgment. Thissuspicion, however, yielded to his earnest and repeated declarations. IfColvill were not here, where had he made his abode? How came friendshipand intercourse between Welbeck and him? By what miracle escaped theformer from the river, into which I had imagined him forever sunk?

  "I will
answer you," said he, with candour. "You know already too muchfor me to have any interest in concealing any part of my life. You havediscovered my existence, and the causes that rescued me from destructionmay be told without detriment to my person or fame.

  "When I leaped into the river, I intended to perish. I harboured noprevious doubts of my ability to execute my fatal purpose. In thisrespect I was deceived. Suffocation would not come at my bidding. Mymuscles and limbs rebelled against my will. There was a mechanicalrepugnance to the loss of life, which I could not vanquish. My strugglesmight thrust me below the surface, but my lips were spontaneously shut,and excluded the torrent from my lungs. When my breath was exhausted,the efforts that kept me at the bottom were involuntarily remitted, andI rose to the surface.

  "I cursed my own pusillanimity. Thrice I plunged to the bottom, and asoften rose again. My aversion to life swiftly diminished, and at lengthI consented to make use of my skill in swimming, which has seldom beenexceeded, to prolong my existence. I landed in a few minutes on theJersey shore.

  "This scheme being frustrated, I sunk into dreariness and inactivity. Ifelt as if no dependence could be placed upon my courage, as if anyeffort I should make for self-destruction would be fruitless; yetexistence was as void as ever of enjoyment and embellishment. My meansof living were annihilated. I saw no path before me. To shun thepresence of mankind was my sovereign wish. Since I could not die by myown hands, I must be content to crawl upon the surface, till a superiorfate should permit me to perish.

  "I wandered into the centre of the wood. I stretched myself on the mossyverge of a brook, and gazed at the stars till they disappeared. The nextday was spent with little variation. The cravings of hunger were felt,and the sensation was a joyous one, since it afforded me the practicablemeans of death. To refrain from food was easy, since some efforts wouldbe needful to procure it, and these efforts should not be made. Thus wasthe sweet oblivion for which I so earnestly panted placed within myreach.

  "Three days of abstinence, and reverie, and solitude, succeeded. On theevening of the fourth, I was seated on a rock, with my face buried in myhands. Some one laid his hand upon my shoulder. I started and looked up.I beheld a face beaming with compassion and benignity. He endeavoured toextort from me the cause of my solitude and sorrow. I disregarded hisentreaties, and was obstinately silent.

  "Finding me invincible in this respect, he invited me to his cottage,which was hard by. I repelled him at first with impatience and anger,but he was not to be discouraged or intimidated. To elude hispersuasions I was obliged to comply. My strength was gone, and the vitalfabric was crumbling into pieces. A fever raged in my veins, and I wasconsoled by reflecting that my life was at once assailed by famine anddisease.

  "Meanwhile, my gloomy meditations experienced no respite. I incessantlyruminated on the events of my past life. The long series of my crimesarose daily and afresh to my imagination. The image of Lodi wasrecalled, his expiring looks and the directions which were mutuallygiven respecting his sister's and his property.

  "As I perpetually revolved these incidents, they assumed new forms, andwere linked with new associations. The volume written by his father, andtransferred to me by tokens which were now remembered to be moreemphatic than the nature of the composition seemed to justify, waslikewise remembered. It came attended by recollections respecting avolume which I filled, when a youth, with extracts from the Roman andGreek poets. Besides this literary purpose, I likewise used to preservein it the bank-bills with the keeping or carriage of which I chanced tobe entrusted. This image led me back to the leather case containingLodi's property, which was put into my hands at the same time with thevolume.

  "These images now gave birth to a third conception, which darted on mybenighted understanding like an electrical flash. Was it not possiblethat part of Lodi's property might be enclosed within the leaves of thisvolume? In hastily turning it over, I recollected to have noticed leaveswhose edges by accident or design adhered to each other. Lodi, inspeaking of the sale of his father's West-India property, mentioned thatthe sum obtained for it was forty thousand dollars. Half only of thissum had been discovered by me. How had the remainder been appropriated?Surely this volume contained it.

  "The influence of this thought was like the infusion of a new soul intomy frame. From torpid and desperate, from inflexible aversion tomedicine and food, I was changed in a moment into vivacity and hope,into ravenous avidity for whatever could contribute to my restoration tohealth.

  "I was not without pungent regrets and racking fears. That this volumewould be ravished away by creditors or plunderers was possible. Everyhour might be that which decided my fate. The first impulse was to seekmy dwelling and search for this precious deposit.

  "Meanwhile, my perturbations and impatience only exasperated my disease.While chained to my bed, the rumour of pestilence was spread abroad.This event, however, generally calamitous, was propitious to me, and washailed with satisfaction. It multiplied the chances that my house andits furniture would be unmolested.

  "My friend was assiduous and indefatigable in his kindness. Mydeportment, before and subsequent to the revival of my hopes, wasincomprehensible, and argued nothing less than insanity. My thoughtswere carefully concealed from him, and all that he witnessed wascontradictory and unintelligible.

  "At length, my strength was sufficiently restored. I resisted all myprotector's importunities to postpone my departure till the perfectconfirmation of my health. I designed to enter the city at midnight,that prying eyes might be eluded; to bear with me a candle and the meansof lighting it, to explore my way to my ancient study, and to ascertainmy future claim to existence and felicity.

  "I crossed the river this morning. My impatience would not suffer me towait till evening. Considering the desolation of the city, I thought Imight venture to approach thus near, without hazard of detection. Thehouse, at all its avenues, was closed. I stole into the back court. Awindow-shutter proved to be unfastened. I entered, and discoveredclosets and cabinets unfastened and emptied of all their contents. Atthis spectacle my heart sunk. My books, doubtless, had shared the commondestiny. My blood throbbed with painful vehemence as I approached thestudy and opened the door.

  "My hopes, that languished for a moment, were revived by the sight of myshelves, furnished as formerly. I had lighted my candle below, for Idesired not to awaken observation and suspicion by unclosing thewindows. My eye eagerly sought the spot where I remembered to have leftthe volume. Its place was empty. The object of all my hopes had eludedmy grasp, and disappeared forever.

  "To paint my confusion, to repeat my execrations on the infatuationwhich had rendered, during so long a time that it was in my possession,this treasure useless to me, and my curses of the fatal interferencewhich had snatched away the prize, would be only aggravations of mydisappointment and my sorrow. You found me in this state, and know whatfollowed."