The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

  re-assured her with promises of aid and protection before we re-

  paired to our quarters for the night . Now, as the Countess of Windsor

  and I turned down the steep hill that led from the Castle, we saw

  the children, who had just stopped in their caravan, at the inn-door .

  They had passed through Datchet without halting . I dreaded to meet

  them, and to be the bearer of my tragic story, so while they were still

  occupied in the hurry of arrival, I suddenly left them, and through

  the snow and clear moon-light air, hastened along the well known

  road to Datchet .

  Well known indeed it was . Each cottage stood on its accustomed

  site, each tree wore its familiar appearance . Habit had graven un-

  eraseably on my memory, every turn and change of object on the

  road . At a short distance beyond the Little Park, was an elm half

  blown down by a storm, some ten years ago; and still, with leafless

  snow-laden branches, it stretched across the pathway, which wound

  through a meadow, beside a shallow brook, whose brawling was

  silenced by frost—that stile, that white gate, that hollow oak tree,

  which doubtless once belonged to the forest, and which now shewed

  in the moonlight its gaping rent; to whose fanciful appearance,

  tricked out by the dusk into a resemblance of the human form, the

  children had given the name of Falstaff;—all these objects were as

  well known to me as the cold hearth of my deserted home, and every

  moss-grown wall and plot of orchard ground, alike as twin lambs

  are to each other in a stranger’s eye, yet to my accustomed gaze

  bore differences, distinction, and a name . England remained, though

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  England was dead—it was the ghost of merry England that I beheld,

  under those greenwood shade passing generations had sported in

  security and ease . To this painful recognition of familiar places, was

  added a feeling experienced by all, understood by none—a feeling

  as if in some state, less visionary than a dream, in some past real

  existence, I had seen all I saw, with precisely the same feelings as

  I now beheld them—as if all my sensations were a duplex mirror

  of a former revelation . To get rid of this oppressive sense I strove

  to imagine change in this tranquil spot—this augmented my mood,

  by causing me to bestow more attention on the objects which oc-

  casioned me pain .

  I reached Datchet and Lucy’s humble abode—once noisy with

  Saturday night revellers, or trim and neat on Sunday morning it had

  borne testimony to the labours and orderly habits of the housewife .

  The snow lay high about the door, as if it had remained unclosed for

  many days .

  “What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?” I muttered to

  myself as I looked at the dark casements. At first I thought I saw

  a light in one of them, but it proved to be merely the refraction of

  the moon-beams, while the only sound was the crackling branches

  as the breeze whirred the snow flakes from them—the moon sailed

  high and unclouded in the interminable ether, while the shadow of

  the cottage lay black on the garden behind . I entered this by the open

  wicket, and anxiously examined each window . At length I detected

  a ray of light struggling through a closed shutter in one of the upper

  rooms—it was a novel feeling, alas! to look at any house and say

  there dwells its usual inmate—the door of the house was merely

  on the latch: so I entered and ascended the moon-lit staircase . The

  door of the inhabited room was ajar: looking in, I saw Lucy sitting

  as at work at the table on which the light stood; the implements

  of needlework were about her, but her hand had fallen on her lap,

  and her eyes, fixed on the ground, shewed by their vacancy that

  her thoughts wandered . Traces of care and watching had diminished

  her former attractions—but her simple dress and cap, her despond-

  ing attitude, and the single candle that cast its light upon her, gave

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  for a moment a picturesque grouping to the whole . A fearful real-

  ity recalled me from the thought—a figure lay stretched on the bed

  covered by a sheet—her mother was dead, and Lucy, apart from all

  the world, deserted and alone, watched beside the corpse during the

  weary night . I entered the room, and my unexpected appearance at

  first drew a scream from the lone survivor of a dead nation; but she

  recognised me, and recovered herself, with the quick exercise of

  self-control habitual to her . “Did you not expect me?” I asked, in

  that low voice which the presence of the dead makes us as it were

  instinctively assume .

  “You are very good,” replied she, “to have come yourself; I can

  never thank you sufficiently; but it is too late.”

  “Too late,” cried I, “what do you mean? It is not too late to take

  you from this deserted place, and conduct you to—-”

  My own loss, which I had forgotten as I spoke, now made me

  turn away, while choking grief impeded my speech . I threw open the

  window, and looked on the cold, waning, ghastly, misshaped circle

  on high, and the chill white earth beneath—did the spirit of sweet

  Idris sail along the moon-frozen crystal air?—No, no, a more genial

  atmosphere, a lovelier habitation was surely hers!

  I indulged in this meditation for a moment, and then again ad-

  dressed the mourner, who stood leaning against the bed with that

  expression of resigned despair, of complete misery, and a patient

  sufferance of it, which is far more touching than any of the insane

  ravings or wild gesticulation of untamed sorrow . I desired to draw

  her from this spot; but she opposed my wish . That class of persons

  whose imagination and sensibility have never been taken out of the

  narrow circle immediately in view, if they possess these qualities

  to any extent, are apt to pour their influence into the very realities

  which appear to destroy them, and to cling to these with double

  tenacity from not being able to comprehend any thing beyond .

  Thus Lucy, in desert England, in a dead world, wished to fulfil the

  usual ceremonies of the dead, such as were customary to the English

  country people, when death was a rare visitant, and gave us time to

  receive his dreaded usurpation with pomp and circumstance—going

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  forth in procession to deliver the keys of the tomb into his conquer-

  ing hand . She had already, alone as she was, accomplished some

  of these, and the work on which I found her employed, was her

  mother’s shroud . My heart sickened at such detail of woe, which a

  female can endure, but which is more painful to the masculine spirit

  than deadliest struggle, or throes of unutterable but transient agony .

  This must not be, I told her; and then, as further inducement, I

  communicated to her my recent loss, and gave her the idea that she

  must come with me to take charge of the orphan children, whom the

  death of Idris had deprived of a mother’s care . Lucy never resisted

  the c
all of a duty, so she yielded, and closing the casements and

  doors with care, she accompanied me back to Windsor . As we went

  she communicated to me the occasion of her mother’s death . Either

  by some mischance she had got sight of Lucy’s letter to Idris, or

  she had overheard her conversation with the countryman who bore

  it; however it might be, she obtained a knowledge of the appalling

  situation of herself and her daughter, her aged frame could not sus-

  tain the anxiety and horror this discovery instilled—she concealed

  her knowledge from Lucy, but brooded over it through sleepless

  nights, till fever and delirium, swift forerunners of death, disclosed

  the secret . Her life, which had long been hovering on its extinction,

  now yielded at once to the united effects of misery and sickness, and

  that same morning she had died .

  After the tumultuous emotions of the day, I was glad to find on

  my arrival at the inn that my companions had retired to rest . I gave

  Lucy in charge to the Countess’s attendant, and then sought repose

  from my various struggles and impatient regrets . For a few moments

  the events of the day floated in disastrous pageant through my brain,

  till sleep bathed it in forgetfulness; when morning dawned and I

  awoke, it seemed as if my slumber had endured for years .

  My companions had not shared my oblivion . Clara’s swollen

  eyes shewed that she has passed the night in weeping . The Countess

  looked haggard and wan. Her firm spirit had not found relief in tears,

  and she suffered the more from all the painful retrospect and ago-

  nizing regret that now occupied her . We departed from Windsor, as

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  soon as the burial rites had been performed for Lucy’s mother, and,

  urged on by an impatient desire to change the scene, went forward

  towards Dover with speed, our escort having gone before to provide

  horses; finding them either in the warm stables they instinctively

  sought during the cold weather, or standing shivering in the bleak

  fields ready to surrender their liberty in exchange for offered corn.

  During our ride the Countess recounted to me the extraordinary

  circumstances which had brought her so strangely to my side in the

  chancel of St . George’s chapel . When last she had taken leave of

  Idris, as she looked anxiously on her faded person and pallid coun-

  tenance, she had suddenly been visited by a conviction that she saw

  her for the last time . It was hard to part with her while under the

  dominion of this sentiment, and for the last time she endeavoured to

  persuade her daughter to commit herself to her nursing, permitting

  me to join Adrian . Idris mildly refused, and thus they separated . The

  idea that they should never again meet grew on the Countess’s mind,

  and haunted her perpetually; a thousand times she had resolved to

  turn back and join us, and was again and again restrained by the

  pride and anger of which she was the slave . Proud of heart as she

  was, she bathed her pillow with nightly tears, and through the day

  was subdued by nervous agitation and expectation of the dreaded

  event, which she was wholly incapable of curbing . She confessed

  that at this period her hatred of me knew no bounds, since she con-

  sidered me as the sole obstacle to the fulfilment of her dearest wish,

  that of attending upon her daughter in her last moments . She desired

  to express her fears to her son, and to seek consolation from his

  sympathy with, or courage from his rejection of, her auguries .

  On the first day of her arrival at Dover she walked with him on

  the sea beach, and with the timidity characteristic of passionate and

  exaggerated feeling was by degrees bringing the conversation to the

  desired point, when she could communicate her fears to him, when

  the messenger who bore my letter announcing our temporary return

  to Windsor, came riding down to them . He gave some oral account

  of how he had left us, and added, that notwithstanding the cheerful-

  ness and good courage of Lady Idris, he was afraid that she would

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  hardly reach Windsor alive . “True,” said the Countess, “your fears

  are just, she is about to expire!”

  As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on a tomblike hollow of the

  cliff, and she saw, she averred the same to me with solemnity, Idris

  pacing slowly towards this cave . She was turned from her, her head

  was bent down, her white dress was such as she was accustomed to

  wear, except that a thin crape-like veil covered her golden tresses,

  and concealed her as a dim transparent mist . She looked dejected,

  as docilely yielding to a commanding power; she submissively en-

  tered, and was lost in the dark recess .

  “Were I subject to visionary moods,” said the venerable lady, as

  she continued her narrative, “I might doubt my eyes, and condemn

  my credulity; but reality is the world I live in, and what I saw I

  doubt not had existence beyond myself . From that moment I could

  not rest; it was worth my existence to see her once again before she

  died; I knew that I should not accomplish this, yet I must endeavour .

  I immediately departed for Windsor; and, though I was assured that

  we travelled speedily, it seemed to me that our progress was snail-

  like, and that delays were created solely for my annoyance . Still I

  accused you, and heaped on your head the fiery ashes of my burning

  impatience . It was no disappointment, though an agonizing pang,

  when you pointed to her last abode; and words would ill express

  the abhorrence I that moment felt towards you, the triumphant im-

  pediment to my dearest wishes . I saw her, and anger, and hate, and

  injustice died at her bier, giving place at their departure to a remorse

  (Great God, that I should feel it!) which must last while memory and

  feeling endure .”

  To medicine such remorse, to prevent awakening love and new-

  born mildness from producing the same bitter fruit that hate and

  harshness had done, I devoted all my endeavours to soothe the vener-

  able penitent . Our party was a melancholy one; each was possessed

  by regret for what was remediless; for the absence of his mother

  shadowed even the infant gaiety of Evelyn . Added to this was the

  prospect of the uncertain future. Before the final accomplishment

  of any great voluntary change the mind vacillates, now soothing

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  itself by fervent expectation, now recoiling from obstacles which

  seem never to have presented themselves before with so frightful an

  aspect . An involuntary tremor ran through me when I thought that in

  another day we might have crossed the watery barrier, and have set

  forward on that hopeless, interminable, sad wandering, which but

  a short time before I regarded as the only relief to sorrow that our

  situation afforded .

  Our approach to Dover was announced by the loud roarings of the

  wintry sea . They were borne miles inland by the sound-laden blast,

  and by their unaccustomed uproar, imparted a feeling of insecur
ity

  and peril to our stable abode. At first we hardly permitted ourselves

  to think that any unusual eruption of nature caused this tremendous

  war of air and water, but rather fancied that we merely listened to

  what we had heard a thousand times before, when we had watched

  the flocks of fleece-crowned waves, driven by the winds, come to

  lament and die on the barren sands and pointed rocks . But we found

  upon advancing farther, that Dover was overflowed— many of the

  houses were overthrown by the surges which filled the streets, and

  with hideous brawlings sometimes retreated leaving the pavement

  of the town bare, till again hurried forward by the influx of ocean,

  they returned with thunder-sound to their usurped station .

  Hardly less disturbed than the tempestuous world of waters was

  the assembly of human beings, that from the cliff fearfully watched

  its ravings . On the morning of the arrival of the emigrants under the

  conduct of Adrian, the sea had been serene and glassy, the slight

  ripples refracted the sunbeams, which shed their radiance through

  the clear blue frosty air . This placid appearance of nature was hailed

  as a good augury for the voyage, and the chief immediately repaired

  to the harbour to examine two steamboats which were moored there .

  On the following midnight, when all were at rest, a frightful storm

  of wind and clattering rain and hail first disturbed them, and the

  voice of one shrieking in the streets, that the sleepers must awake or

  they would be drowned; and when they rushed out, half clothed, to

  discover the meaning of this alarm, they found that the tide, rising

  above every mark, was rushing into the town . They ascended the

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  cliff, but the darkness permitted only the white crest of waves to be

  seen, while the roaring wind mingled its howlings in dire accord with

  the wild surges . The awful hour of night, the utter inexperience of

  many who had never seen the sea before, the wailing of women and

  cries of children added to the horror of the tumult . All the following

  day the same scene continued . When the tide ebbed, the town was

  left dry; but on its flow, it rose even higher than on the preceding

  night . The vast ships that lay rotting in the roads were whirled from

  their anchorage, and driven and jammed against the cliff, the vessels