Chapter II.
I had food enough for the longest contemplation. My steps partook, asusual, of the vehemence of my thoughts, and I reached my uncle's gatebefore I believed myself to have lost sight of the elm. I looked up anddiscovered the well-known habitation. I could not endure that myreflections should so speedily be interrupted. I therefore passed thegate, and stopped not till I had reached a neighbouring summit, crownedwith chestnut-oaks and poplars.
Here I more deliberately reviewed the incidents that had just occurred.The inference was just, that the man, half clothed and digging, was asleeper; but what was the cause of this morbid activity? What was themournful vision that dissolved him in tears, and extorted from himtokens of inconsolable distress? What did he seek, or what endeavour toconceal, in this fatal spot? The incapacity of sound sleep denotes amind sorely wounded. It is thus that atrocious criminals denote thepossession of some dreadful secret. The thoughts, which considerationsof safety enable them to suppress or disguise during wakefulness,operate without impediment, and exhibit their genuine effects, when thenotices of sense are partly excluded and they are shut out from aknowledge of their entire condition.
This is the perpetrator of some nefarious deed. What but the murder ofWaldegrave could direct his steps hither? His employment was part ofsome fantastic drama in which his mind was busy. To comprehend itdemands penetration into the recesses of his soul. But one thing issure: an incoherent conception of his concern in that transactionbewitches him hither. This it is that deluges his heart with bitternessand supplies him with ever-flowing tears.
But whence comes he? He does not start from the bosom of the earth, orhide himself in airy distance. He must have a name and a terrestrialhabitation. It cannot be at an immeasurable distance from the hauntedelm. Inglefield's house is the nearest. This may be one of itsinhabitants. I did not recognise his features, but this was owing to thedusky atmosphere and to the singularity of his garb. Inglefield has twoservants, one of whom was a native of this district, simple, guileless,and incapable of any act of violence. He was, moreover, devoutlyattached to his sect. He could not be the criminal.
The other was a person of a very different cast. He was an emigrant fromIreland, and had been six months in the family of my friend. He was apattern of sobriety and gentleness. His mind was superior to hissituation. His natural endowments were strong, and had enjoyed all theadvantage of cultivation. His demeanour was grave, and thoughtful, andcompassionate. He appeared not untinctured with religion; but hisdevotion, though unostentatious, was of a melancholy tenor.
There was nothing in the first view of his character calculated toengender suspicion. The neighbourhood was populous. But, as I connedover the catalogue, I perceived that the only foreigner among us wasClithero. Our scheme was, for the most part, a patriarchal one. Eachfarmer was surrounded by his sons and kinsmen. This was an exception tothe rule. Clithero was a stranger, whose adventures and character,previously to his coming hither, were unknown to us. The elm wassurrounded by his master's domains. An actor there must be, and no onewas equally questionable.
The more I revolved the pensive and reserved deportment of this man, theignorance in which we were placed respecting his former situation, hispossible motives for abandoning his country and choosing a station somuch below the standard of his intellectual attainments, the stronger mysuspicions became. Formerly, when occupied with conjectures relative tothe same topic, the image of this man did not fail to occur; but theseeming harmlessness of his ordinary conduct had raised him to a levelwith others, and placed him equally beyond the reach of suspicion. I didnot, till now, advert to the recentness of his appearance among us, andto the obscurity that hung over his origin and past life. But now theseconsiderations appeared so highly momentous as almost to decide thequestion of his guilt.
But how were these doubts to be changed into absolute certainty?Henceforth this man was to become the subject of my scrutiny. I was togain all the knowledge, respecting him, which those with whom he lived,and were the perpetual witnesses of his actions, could impart. For thisend I was to make minute inquiries, and to put seasonableinterrogatories. From this conduct I promised myself an ultimatesolution of my doubts.
I acquiesced in this view of things with considerable satisfaction. Itseemed as if the maze was no longer inscrutable. It would be quicklydiscovered who were the agents and instigators of the murder of myfriend.
But it suddenly occurred to me, For what purpose shall I prosecute thissearch? What benefit am I to reap from this discovery? How shall Idemean myself when the criminal is detected? I was not insensible, atthat moment, of the impulses of vengeance, but they were transient. Idetested the sanguinary resolutions that I had once formed. Yet I wasfearful of the effects of my hasty rage, and dreaded an encounter inconsequence of which I might rush into evils which no time could repair,nor penitence expiate.
"But why," said I, "should it be impossible to arm myself with firmness?If forbearance be the dictate of wisdom, cannot it be so deeply engravenon my mind as to defy all temptation, and be proof against the mostabrupt surprise? My late experience has been of use to me. It has shownme my weakness and my strength. Having found my ancient fortificationsinsufficient to withstand the enemy, what should I learn from thence butthat it becomes me to strengthen and enlarge them?
"No caution, indeed, can hinder the experiment from being hazardous. Isit wise to undertake experiments by which nothing can be gained, andmuch may be lost? Curiosity is vicious, if undisciplined by reason, andinconducive to benefit."
I was not, however, to be diverted from my purpose. Curiosity, likevirtue, is its own reward. Knowledge is of value for its own sake, andpleasure is annexed to the acquisition, without regard to any thingbeyond. It is precious even when disconnected with moral inducements andheartfelt sympathies; but the knowledge which I sought by its union withthese was calculated to excite the most complex and fiery sentiments inmy bosom.
Hours were employed in revolving these thoughts. At length I began to besensible of fatigue, and, returning home, explored the way to my chamberwithout molesting the repose of the family. You know that our doors arealways unfastened, and are accessible at all hours of the night.
My slumbers were imperfect, and I rejoiced when the morning lightpermitted me to resume my meditations. The day glided away, I scarcelyknow how, and, as I had rejoiced at the return of morning, I now hailed,with pleasure, the approach of night.
My uncle and sisters having retired, I betook myself, instead offollowing their example, to the _Chestnut-hill_. Concealed amongits rocks, or gazing at the prospect which stretched so far and so widearound it, my fancy has always been accustomed to derive its highestenjoyment from this spot. I found myself again at leisure to recall thescene which I had witnessed during the last night, to imagine itsconnection with the fate of Waldegrave, and to plan the means ofdiscovering the secret that was hidden under these appearances.
Shortly, I began to feel insupportable disquiet at the thoughts ofpostponing this discovery. Wiles and stratagems were practicable, butthey were tedious, and of dubious success. Why should I proceed like aplotter? Do I intend the injury of this person? A generous purpose willsurely excuse me from descending to artifices. There are two modes ofdrawing forth the secrets of another,--by open and direct means and bycircuitous and indirect. Why scruple to adopt the former mode? Why notdemand a conference, and state my doubts, and demand a solution of them,in a manner worthy of a beneficent purpose? Why not hasten to the spot?He may be, at this moment, mysteriously occupied under this shade. I maynote his behaviour; I may ascertain his person, if not by the featuresthat belong to him, yet by tracing his footsteps when he departs, andpursuing him to his retreats.
I embraced this scheme, which was thus suggested, with eagerness. Ithrew myself with headlong speed down the hill and pursued my way to theelm. As I approached the tree, my palpitations increased, though my paceslackened. I looked forward with an anxious glance. The trunk of thetree was hidden in the deepest
shade. I advanced close up to it. No onewas visible, but I was not discouraged. The hour of his coming was,perhaps, not arrived. I took my station at a small distance, beside afence, on the right hand.
An hour elapsed before my eyes lighted on the object of which they werein search. My previous observation had been roving from one quarter toanother. At last, it dwelt upon the tree. The person whom I beforedescribed was seated on the ground. I had not perceived him before, andthe means by which he placed himself in this situation had escaped mynotice. He seemed like one whom an effort of will, without the exerciseof locomotion, had transported hither, or made visible. His state ofdisarray, and the darkness that shrouded him, prevented me, as before,from distinguishing any peculiarities in his figure or countenance.
I continued watchful and mute. The appearances already described tookplace on this occasion, except the circumstance of digging in the earth.He sat musing for a while, then burst into sighs and lamentations.
These being exhausted, he rose to depart. He stalked away with a solemnand deliberate pace. I resolved to tread, as closely as possible, in hisfootsteps, and not to lose sight of him till the termination of hiscareer.
Contrary to my expectation, he went in a direction opposite to thatwhich led to Inglefield's. Presently, he stopped at bars, which hecautiously removed, and, when he had passed through them, asdeliberately replaced. He then proceeded along an obscure path, whichled across stubble-fields, to a wood. The path continued through thewood, but he quickly struck out of it, and made his way, seemingly atrandom, through a most perplexing undergrowth of bushes and briers.
I was, at first, fearful that the noise which I made behind him, intrampling down the thicket, would alarm him; but he regarded it not. Theway that he had selected was always difficult: sometimes considerableforce was requisite to beat down obstacles; sometimes it led into a deepglen, the sides of which were so steep as scarcely to afford a footing;sometimes into fens, from which some exertions were necessary toextricate the feet, and sometimes through rivulets, of which the waterrose to the middle.
For some time I felt no abatement of my speed or my resolution. Ithought I might proceed, without fear, through brakes and dells which myguide was able to penetrate. He was perpetually changing his direction.I could form no just opinion as to my situation or distance from theplace at which we had set out.
I began at length to be weary. A suspicion, likewise, suggested itselfto my mind, whether my guide did not perceive that he was followed, andthus prolonged his journey in order to fatigue or elude his pursuer. Iwas determined, however, to baffle his design. Though the air wasfrosty, my limbs were bedewed with sweat and my joints were relaxed withtoil, but I was obstinately bent upon proceeding.
At length a new idea occurred to me. On finding me indefatigable inpursuit, this person might resort to more atrocious methods ofconcealment. But what had I to fear? It was sufficient to be upon myguard. Man to man, I needed not to dread his encounter.
We at last arrived at the verge of a considerable precipice. He keptalong the edge. From this height, a dreary vale was discoverable,embarrassed with the leafless stocks of bushes, and encumbered withrugged and pointed rocks. This scene reminded me of my situation. Thedesert tract called Norwalk, which I have often mentioned to you, mycuriosity had formerly induced me to traverse in various directions. Itwas in the highest degree rugged, picturesque, and wild. This vale,though I had never before viewed it by the glimpses of the moon,suggested the belief that I had visited it before. Such a one I knewbelonged to this uncultivated region. If this opinion were true, we wereat no inconsiderable distance from Inglefield's habitation. "Where,"said I, "is this singular career to terminate?"
Though occupied with these reflections, I did not slacken my pursuit.The stranger kept along the verge of the cliff, which gradually declinedtill it terminated in the valley. He then plunged into its deepestthickets. In a quarter of an hour he stopped under a projecture of therock which formed the opposite side of the vale. He then proceeded toremove the stalks, which, as I immediately perceived, concealed themouth of a cavern. He plunged into the darkness, and in a few momentshis steps were heard no more.
Hitherto my courage had supported me, but here it failed. Was thisperson an assassin, who was acquainted with the windings of the grotto,and who would take advantage of the dark to execute his vengeance uponme, who had dared to pursue him to these forlorn retreats? or was hemaniac, or walker in his sleep? Whichever supposition were true, itwould be rash in me to follow him. Besides, he could not long remain inthese darksome recesses, unless some fatal accident should overtake him.
I seated myself at the mouth of the cave, determined patiently to waittill he should think proper to emerge. This opportunity of rest wasexceedingly acceptable after so toilsome a pilgrimage. My pulse began tobeat more slowly, and the moisture that incommoded me ceased to flow.The coolness, which for a little time was delicious, presently increasedto shivering, and I found it necessary to change my posture, in order topreserve my blood from congealing.
After I had formed a path before the cavern's mouth, by the removal ofobstructions, I employed myself in walking to and fro. In this situationI saw the moon gradually decline to the horizon, and, at length,disappear. I marked the deepenings of the shade, and the mutations whichevery object successively underwent. The vale was narrow, and hemmed inon all sides by lofty and precipitous cliffs. The gloom deepened as themoon declined, and the faintness of starlight was all that preserved mysenses from being useless to my own guidance.
I drew nearer the cleft at which this mysterious personage had entered.I stretched my hands before it, determined that he should not emergefrom his den without my notice. His steps would, necessarily,communicate the tidings of his approach. He could not move without anoise which would be echoed to, on all sides, by the abruptness by whichthis valley was surrounded. Here, then, I continued till the day beganto dawn, in momentary expectation of the stranger's reappearance.
My attention was at length excited by a sound that seemed to issue fromthe cave. I imagined that the sleeper was returning, and preparedtherefore to seize him. I blamed myself for neglecting the opportunitiesthat had already been afforded, and was determined that another shouldnot escape. My eyes were fixed upon the entrance. The rustlingincreased, and presently an animal leaped forth, of what kind I wasunable to discover. Heart-struck by this disappointment, but notdiscouraged, I continued to watch, but in vain. The day was advancingapace. At length the sun arose, and its beams glistened on the edges ofthe cliffs above, whose sapless stalks and rugged masses were coveredwith hoarfrost. I began to despair of success, but was unwilling todepart until it was no longer possible to hope for the return of thisextraordinary personage. Whether he had been swallowed up by some of theabysses of this grotto, or lurked near the entrance, waiting mydeparture, or had made his exit at another and distant aperture, wasunknown to me.
Exhausted and discouraged, I prepared, at length, to return. It was easyto find my way out of this wilderness by going forward in one direction,regardless of impediments and cross-paths. My absence I believed to haveoccasioned no alarm to my family, since they knew not of my intention tospend the night abroad. Thus unsatisfactorily terminated this night'sadventures.
Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker Page 2
