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*
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*


TALEs of TER Rºo R. . .
- \
º o R T H E . . .
MYSTERIES OF MAGIC:
- - - -
A SELECTION OF - -
-
WONDERFUL AND SUPERNATURAL STORIES.
-
-
-
º - - - º
TRANSLÄTED FROM THE CHINESE, TURKISH, AND GERMAN.
t º * , , - - º -
**, * * - * * - -
º compILED BY HENRY ST. CLAIR... .
- - Fº - -
- - - - -
- - - sº - -- -
Two volumes IN one,
---- -
--- - - “I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
2"… . ... Would,harrow up thy,soul; freeze thy young blood,
ſº... "...: Make thy, two eyes, like ºars, start from their spheres; -
- * * “Thy knotted and combined locks to part
“And each particular hair to stand on end,
“Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.”—Shakspeare.
- - -
-
-
-
-
- * B O S T ON : * !
WRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY CHARLES gayPond.
- 1833.


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1833, by
CHARLEs GAYLORD,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
—- - /


w
P R E FA C E.
The Editor of this volume makes no doubt that it
will be an acceptable offering to the Public. There
was time, indeed, when men were burned for witch-
craft, and Quakers were hanged for non-conformity,
that Tales like those which compose this collection
would have been improper for publication. That time
has passed away—old women ride through New-Eng-
land on broomsticks no longer—children are no longer
hushed to rest by threats of the coming of the Devil--
“E’en the last lingering phantom of the brain,
The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again!”
Stories founded on supernatural agency cannot now
mis'éad the young, or terrify the old. At the same
time there are no tales which excite such intense in-
terest, or will bear frequent perusal so well. Witness
the Arabian Nights Entertainment, the Tales of the
Genii, and many other collections of a like nature,
which have been the delight of centuries past, and will
constitute a large portion of the amusement of centu-
ries future. -
These works, however, have become rather hack.
nied. Every one knows the Arabian Tales by rote;
the Tales of the Genii are scarcely less familiar; even
Winter Evenings at Home are not sought with the
same avidity they once were. The Editor has, there-
fore, sought and put together such supernatural tales
as are written with equal power, and are less gene-


IV’ PREFACE.
rally known. He is confident that his stories will have
their day also, and that a long one.
The Editor hopes, that one circumstance, if no other,
will recommend his book to the favorable consideration
of the public. Great care has been taken to admit
'nothing of immoral or irreligious tendency. The sto-
ries are such as will not raise a blush on the cheek of
the most fastidious. Some of them have no particular
end, save the amusement of the reader; others contain
useful allegories, which all may profit by reading. . If
we may be permitted to make any distinction among
them, we would particularly notice that powerfully
written tale, The Magic Dice, in which many and use-
ful lessons may be found. In it, the danger of tamper-
ing with evil, the folly of impertinent curiosity, the
evil consequences of gaming, and the necessity of pru-
dence in the choice of a companion for life, are set
forth in the guise of an allegory, in a light no less vivid
than novel. -
In conclusion we may say, that many may be bene-
fitted, and none can be injured, by the perusal of this
volume.


º
C O N T E N T S .
WOL. I.
The Magic Dice, an Awful Narrative .
The Gored Huntsman - - -
The Nikkur Holl - - - - -
Der Freischutz, or the Magic Balls . .
The Story of Judar • * *
The Boarwolf . -
The Cavern of Death .
The Mysterious Bell .
The Dervise Alfouran . -
Hassan Assar, Caliph of Bagdat .
VOL. II. --
The Astrologer of the N ineteenth Century
The Flying Dutchman •
. The Tiger's Cave . . . . . . . . . . . .
Peter Rugg, the Missing Man - - -
The Haunted Forest . .
The Lonely Man of the Ocean - e
The Hungarian Horse Dealer . . . . . .
The Wreckers of St. Agnes . .
º
- Page.
29
37
75
. 92
105
. . 119
1.59
, 162
171
3
54.
61: .
76
79
97
. . 107
. 111


----
~~
-


THE MAGIC DICE,
AN AWFUL NARRATION.
[From the German.] a
For more than one hundred and fifty years had the family of
Schroll been settled at Taubendorf; and generally respected
for knowledge and refinement of manners superior to its station.
Its present representative, the bailiff Elias Schroll, had in his
youth attached himself to literature ; but later in life, from love
to the country, he had returned to his native village, and lived
there in great credit and esteem.
During this whole period of one hundred and fifty years, tra-
dition had recorded only one Schroll as having borne a doubtful
character: he, indeed, as many persons affirmed, had dealt with
the devil. Certain it is that there was still preserved in the
house a scrutoire fixed in the wall, and containing some myste-
rious manuscripts attributed to him; and the date of the year—
1630, which was carved upon the front, tallied with his era.
The key of this scrutoire had been constantly handed down to
the eldest son, through five generations—with a solemn charge
to take care that no other eye or ear should ever become ac-
quainted with its contents. Every precaution had been taken
to guard against accidents or oversights: the lock was so con-
structed that, even with the right key, it could not be opened
without special instructions; and, for still greater security, the
present proprietor had added a padlock of most elaborate work-
manship, which presented a sufficient obstacle before the main
lock could be approached.
In vain did the curiosity of the whole family direct itself to
this scrutoire. Nobody had succeeded in discovering any part
of its contents, except Rudolph, the only son of the bailiff: he
had succeeded: at least, his own belief was, that the old folio,
with gilt edges, and bound in black velvet, which he had one
day surprised his father anxiously reading, belonged to the
mysterious scrutoire. For the door of the scrutoire, though not
open, was unlocked; and Elias had hastily closed the book with
great agitation, at the same time ordering his son out of the room
in no very gentle tone. At the time of this incident, Rudolph
was about twelve years of age.
Since that time, the young man had sustained two great loss-
*


8 THE MAGIC DICE.
es, in the deaths of his excellent mother, and a sister tenderly
beloved. His father also had suffered deeply in health and
spirits under these afflictions. Every day he grew more fretful
and humorsome; and Rudolph, upon his final return home from
school in his eighteenth year, was shocked to find him greatly
altered in mind as well as in person. His flesh had fallen away,
and he seemed to be consumed by some internal strife of thought.
It was evidently his own opinion that he was standing on the
edge of the grave: and he employed himself unceasingly in ar-
ranging his affairs, and in making his successor acquainted withſ
all such arrangements as regarded his more peculiar interests.
One evening, as Rudolph came in suddenly from a neighbor's
house, and happened to pass the scrutoire, he found the door wide
open, and the inside obviously empty. Looking round, he ob-
served his father standing on the hearth close to a great fire, in
the midst of which was consuming the old black book.
Elias entreated his son earnestly to withdraw : but Rudolph
could not command himself; and he exclaimed—“I doubt, sir,
that this is the book which belongs to the scrutoire.”
His father assented with visible confusion.
“Well, then, allow me to say, that I am greatly surprised at
your treating in this way an heir-loom that, for a century and
more, has always been transmitted to the eldest son.”
“You are in the right, my son,” said the father, affectionately
taking him by the hand: “You are partly in the right: it is not
quite defensible, I admit : and I myself have had many scruples,
about the course I have taken. Yet still I feel myself glad,
upon the whole, that I have destroyed this accursed book. He
that wrote it never prospered; all traditions agree in that:—why
then leave to one's descendants a miserable legacy of unhallowed
mysteries? -
This excuse, however, did not satisfy Rudolph. He main-
tained that his father had made an aggression upon his rights
of inheritance; and he argued the point so well, that Elias him-
self began to think his son's complaint was not altogether ground-
less. The whole of the next day they behaved to each other
—not unkindly, but yet with some coolness. At night, Elias
could bear this no longer; and he said, “Dear Rudolph, we have
lived long together in harmony and love; let us not begin to
show an altered countenance to each other during the few days
that I have yet to live.”
Rudolph pressed his father's offered hand with a filial warmth;
and the latter went on to say—“I proposed to communicate to
you by word of mouth the contents of the book which I have
destroyed : I will do this with good faith and without reserve—
unless you yourself can be persuaded to forego your right to
such a communication.”
Elias paused—flattering himself, as it seemed, that his son
f -


THE MAGIC DICE. 9
would forego his right. But in this he was mistaken: Rudolph
was far too eager for the disclosure; and earnestly pressed his
father to proceed.
Again Elias hesitated and threw a glance of profound love
and pity upon his son—a glance that conjured him to think better
and to wave his claim : but, this being at length obviously
hopeless, he spoke as follows:—“The book relates chiefly to
yourself: it points to you as to the last of our race. You turn
... pale. Surely, Rudolph, it would have been better that you had
resolved to trouble yourself no farther about it?”
“No,” said Rudolph, recovering his self-possession, “No :
for it still remains a question whether this prophecy be true.”
“It does so,-it does, no doubt.” -
“And is this all that the book says in regard to me?”
“No: it is not all: there is something more. But possibly
you will only laugh when you hear it: for at this day nobody
believes in such strange stories. However, be that as it
may, the book goes on to say plainly and positively, that the Evil
One (Heaven protect us!) will make you an offer tending greatly
to your worldly advantage.” -
Rudolph laughed outright; and replied that, judging by the
grave exterior of the book, he had looked to hear of more serious
contents.
“Well, well my son," said the old man, “I know not that
I myself am disposed to place much confidence in these tales of
contracts with the devil. But, true or not, we ought not to laugh
at them. Enough for me that, under any circumstances, I am
satisfied you have so much natural piety, that you would reject
all worldly good fortune that could meet you upon unhallowed
aths.” -
p Here Elias would have broken off; but Rudolph said, “One
thing more I wish to know: What is to be the nature of the good
fortune offered to me? And did the book say whether I should
accept it or not?” -
“Upon the nature of the good fortune the writer has not ex-
plained himself: all that he says is, that, by a discreet use of it,
it is in your power to become a very great man. Whether you
will accept it—but God preserve thee, my child, from any
thought so criminal—upon this question there is a profound
silence. Nay, it seems even as if this trader in black arts had
at that very point been overtaken by death: for he had broken
off in the very middle of a word. The Lord have mercy upon
his soul!” -
Little as Rudolph's faith was in the possibility of such a pro-
posal, yet he was uneasy at his father's communication, and
visibly disturbed; so that the latter said to him—“Had it not
been better, Rudolph, that you had left the mystery to be
buried with me in the grave?” -
-


10 THE MAGIC DICE. -
Rudolph said—“No:” but his restless eye, and his agitated
air, too evidently approved the justice of his father's solicitude.
The deep impression upon Rudolph's mind from this conver-
sation—the last he was ever to hold with his father—was ren-
dered still deeper by the solemn event which followed. About
the middle of that same night, he was awakened suddenly by a
summons to his father's bed-side: his father was dying, and
earnestly asking for him.
“My son!” he exclaimed with an expression of the bitterest
anguish; stretched out both his arms in supplication towards
him; and, in the anguish of the effort, he expired.
The levity of youthful spirits soon dispersed the gloom which
at first hung over Rudolph's mind. Surrounded by jovial com-
panions at the university which he now entered, he found no
room left in his bosom for sorrow or care: and his heaviest af-
fliction was the refusal of his guardian at times to comply with
his too frequent importunities for money.
After a residence of one year at the university, some youth-
ful irregularities in which Rudolph was concerned subjected
him, jointly with three others, to expulsion. Just at that time,
the seven years' war happened to break out: two of the party,
named Theiler and Werl, entered the military service together
with Rudolph; the last very much against the will of a young
woman to whom he was engaged. Charlotte herself, however,
became reconciled to this arrangement, when she saw that her
objections availed nothing against Rudolph's resolution, and
heard her lover describe in the most flattering colors his own
return to her arms in the uniform of an officer: for that his dis-
tinguished courage must carry him in the very first campaign
to the rank of lieutenant was as evident to his own mind as that
he could not possibly fall on the field of battle.
The three friends were fortunate enough to be placed in the
same company. But, in the first battle, Werl and Theiler were
stretched lifeless by Rudolph's side: Werl, by a musket-ball
through his heart, and Theiler by a cannon-shot which took off
his head.
Soon after this event, Rudolph himself returned home: but
how? Not, as he had fondly anticipated, in the brilliant deco-
rations of a distinguished officer; but as a prisoner in close
custody: in a transport of youthful anger he had been guilty, in
company with two others, of insubordination and mutiny.
The court-martial sentenced them to death. The judges,
however, were so favorably impressed by their good conduct,
whilst under confinement; that they would certainly have rec-\
ommended them to the royal mercy, if it had not been deemed
necessary to make an example. However, the sentence was
so far mitigated, that only one of the three was to be shot.
And which was he? That point was reserved in suspense until


THE MAGIC DICE. - 11
the day of execution, when it was to be decided by the cast of
the dice. - -
As the fatal day drew near, a tempest of passionate grief as-
sailed the three prisoners. One of them was agitated by the
tears of his father; the second by the sad situation of a sickly
wife and two children; the third, Rudolph, in case the lot fell
upon him, would be summoned to part not only with his life, but
also with a young and blooming bride, that lay nearer to his
heart than any thing else. “Ah!” said he, on the evening
before the day of final decision, “Ah! if but this once I could
secure a lucky throw of the dice!” And scarce was the wish
uttered, when his comrade Werl, whom he had seen fall by his
side in the field of battle, stepped into his cell.
“So, brother Schroll, I suppose you didn't much expect to see
me?” - w
“No, indeed, did I not”—exclaimed Rudolph in consterna-
tion: for in fact, on the day after the battle, he had seen this
very Werl committed to the grave. -
“Ay, ay, its strange enough, I allow: but there are not
many such surgeons as he is that belongs to our regiment: he
had me dug up, and brought me round again, I'll assure you.
One would think the man was a conjurer. Indeed there are
many things he can do which I defy any man to explain; and,
to say the truth, I’m convinced he can execute impossibilities.
“Well, so let him, for aught that I care: all his art will
scarcely do me any good.” -
“Who knows, brother? who knows? The man is in this
town at this very time; and for old friendship's sake I’ve just
spoken to him about you; and he has promised me a lucky throw
of the dice that shall deliver you from all danger.”
“Ah!” said the dejected Rudolph, “but even this would be
of little service to me.”
“Why, how so?” asked the other.
“How so? Why, because—even if there were such dice
(a matter I very much dispute)—yet I could never allow myself
to turn aside, by black arts, any bad luck designed for myself
upon the heads of either of my comrades.”
“Now this, I suppose, is what you call being noble? But
excuse me if I think that in such cases one's first duty is to
oneself.” . .
“Ay, but consider, one of my comrades has an old father
to maintain, the other a sick wife with two children.”
“Schroll, Schroll, if your young bride were to hear you, I
fancy, she wouldn't think herself much flattered. Does poor
Charlotte deserve that you should not bestow a thought on her
and her fate? A dear young creature, that places her whole
happiness in you, has nearer claims (I think) upon your consid-
eration than an old dotard with one foot in the grave, or a wife


12 THE MAGIC DICE.
and two children that are nothing at all to you. Ah! what a deal
of good might you do in the course of a long life with your Char-
lotte! So, then, you really are determined to reject the
course which I point out to you? Take care, Schroll! If you
disdain my offer, and the lot should chance to fall upon you,-
take care lest the thought of a young bride whom you have
betrayed,—take care, I say, lest this thought should add to the
bitterness of death when you come to kneel down on the sand-
hill. However, I've given you advice sufficient, and have
discharged my conscience. Look to it yourself: and farewell!”
“Stay, brother, a word or two;” said Rudolph, who was pow-
erfully impressed by the last speech, and the picture of domes-
tic happiness held up before him, which he had often dallied
with in thought both when alone and in company with Char-
lotte:—“ stay a moment. Undoubtedly, I do not deny that I
wish for life, if I could receive it a gift from Heaven: and that
is not impossible. Only I would not willingly have the guilt
upon my conscience of being the cause of misery to another.
However, if the man you speak of can tell, I should be glad that
you would ask him upon which of us three the lot of death will
fall. Or-stay; don’t ask him,” said Rudolph, sighing deeply.
“I have already asked him,” was the answer. -
- “Ah! have you so? And it is after his reply that you come to
me with this counsel?” -
The foretaste of death overspread the blooming face of Ru-
dolph with a livid paleness: thick drops of sweat gathered upon
his forehead; and the other exclaimed with a sneer—“I’m going:
you take too much time for consideration. May be you will see .
and recognise me at the place of execution: and, if so, I shall
have the dice with me; and it will not be too late even then to
give me a sign: but take notice I can't promise to attend.”
Rudolph raised his forehead from the palm of his hand, in
which he had buried it during the last moments of his pertur-
bation, and would have spoken something in reply: but his coun-
sellor was already gone. He felt glad and yet at the same time
sorry. The more he considered the man and his appearance,
so much the less seemed his resemblance to his friend whom he
had left buried on the field of battle. This friend had been the
very soul of affectionate cordiality—a temper that was altogeth-
er wanting in his present counsellor. No! the scornful and in-
sulting tone with which he treated the unhappy prisoner, and
the unkind manner with which he had left him, convinced Schroll
that he and Werl must be two different persons. Just at this
moment a thought struck him, like a blast of lightning, of the
black book that had perished in the fire and its ominous contents.
A lucky cast of the dice! Ay; that then was the shape in which -
the tempter had presented himself; and heartily glad he felt
that he had not availed himself of his suggestions.


THE MAGIC DICE. • 13
But this temper of mind was speedily changed by his young
bride, who hurried in, soon after, sobbing, and flung her arms
about his neck. He told her of the proposal which had been
made to him; and she was shocked that he had not immediately
accepted it.
With a bleeding heart, Rudolph objected that so charming
and lovely a creature could not miss of a happy fate, even if he
should be forced to quit her. But she protested vehemently
that he or nobody should enjoy her love. -
The clergyman, who visited the prisoner immediately after
her departure, restored some composure to his mind, which had
been altogether banished by the presence of his bride. “Bles-
sed are they who die in the Lord!” said the gray-haired divine;
and with so much earnestness and devotion, that this single
speech had the happiest effect upon the prisoner's mind.
On the morning after this night of agitation—the morning of
the fatal day—the three criminals saw each other for the first
time since their arrest. Community of fate, and long separation
from each other, contributed to draw still closer the bond of
friendship that had been first knit on the field of battle. Each
of the three testified a lively abhorrence for the wretched ne-
cessity of throwing death to some one of his comrades, by any
cast of the dice which should bring life to himself. Dear as
their several friends were to all, yet at this moment the brother-
ly league, which had been tried and proved in the furnace of
battle, was triumphant over all opposing considerations. Each
would have preferred death himself, rather than escape it at the
expense of his comrade. -
The worthy clergyman, who possessed their entire confidence,
found them loudly giving utterance to this heroic determination.
Shaking his head, he pointed their attention to those who had
claims upon them whilst living, and for whom it was their duty
to wish to live as long as possible. “Place your trust in God!”
said he: “ resign yourselves to him! He it is that will bring
about the decision through your hands; and think not of ascrib-
ing that power to yourselves, or to his lifeless instruments—the
dice. He, without whose permission no sparrow falls to the
ground, and who has numbered every hair upon your head—He
it is that knows best what is good for you; and he only.
The prisoners assented by squeezing his hand, embraced
each other, and received the sacrament in the best disposition
of mind. After this ceremony they breakfasted together, in as
resigned,—nay, almost in as joyous a mood as if the gloomy and
bloody morning which lay before them were ushering in some
gladsome festival. -
hen, however, the procession was marshalled from the outer,
gate, and their beloved friends were admitted to utter their last
2


14 THE MAGIC DICE.
farewells, then again the sternness of their courage sank beneath
the burden of their melancholy fate. “Rudolph!” whispered
amongst the rest his despairing bride, “Rudolph! why did you
reject the help that was offered to you?” He adjured her not
to add to the bitterness of parting; and she in turn adjured him,
a little before the word of command was given to march—which
robbed her of all consciousness—to make a sign to the stranger
who had volunteered his offer of deliverance, provided he should
anywhere observe him in the crowd. - -
The streets and the windows were lined with spectators.
Vainly did each of the criminals seek, by accompanying the
clergyman in his prayers, to shelter himself from the thought,
that all return, perhaps, was cut off from him. The large house
of his bride's father reminded Schroll of a happiness that was now
lost to him forever, if any faith were to be put in the words of
his yesterday's monitor; and a very remarkable faintness came
over him. The clergyman, who was acquainted with the cir-
cumstances of his case, and, therefore, guessed the occasion of
his sudden agitation, laid hold of his arm—and said, with a
'powerful voice, that he who trusted in God would assuredly see
all his righteous hopes accomplished—in this world, if it were
God’s pleasure; but, if not, in a better.
These were words of comfort: but their effect lasted only for a
few moments. Outside the city-gate his eyes were met by the
sand-hill already thrown up—a spectacle which renewed his
earthly hopes and fears. He threw a hurried glance about him;
but nowhere could he see his last night's visiter.
Every moment the decision came nearer and nearer. It has
begun. One of the three has already shaken the box: the die
is cast: he has thrown a six. This throw was now registered
amidst the solemn silence of the crowd. The by-standers, re-
garded him with silent congratulations in their eyes. For this
man and Rudolph were the two special objects of the general
compassion: this man as the husband and father; Rudolph as
the youngest and handsomest, and because some report had
gone abroad of his superior education and attainments.
Rudolph was youngest in a double sense—youngest in years,
and youngest in the service: for both reasons he was to throw
last. It may be supposed, therefore, how much all present
trembled for the poor delinquent, when the second of his com-
rades likewise flung a six. -
Prostrated in spirit, Rudolph stared at the unpropitious die.
Then a second time he threw a hurried glance around him—and
that so full of despair, that from horrid sympathy a violent shud-
dering ran through the by-standers. “Here is no deliverer,”,
thought Rudolph, “none to see me, or to hear me! And if
there were, it is now too late: for no change of the die is any


THE MAGIC DICE. 15
a
longer possible.” So saying, he seized the fatal die; convul-
sively his hand clutches it; and before the throw is made he feels
that the die is broken in two.
During the universal thrill of astonishment which succeeded
to this strange accident, he looked round again. A sudden shock,
and a sudden joy, fled through his countenance. Not far from
him, in the dress of a pedlar, stands Theiler without a wound—the
comrade whose head had been carried off on the field of battle
by a cannon ball. Rudolph made an under sign to him with his
eye. For, clear as it now was to his mind with whom he was
dealing, yet the dreadful trial of the moment overpowered his
better resolutions.
The military commission were in some confusion. No pro-
vision having been thought of against so strange an accident,
there was no second die at hand. They were just on the point
of despatching a messenger to fetch one, when the pedlar pre-
sented himself with the offer of supplying the loss. The new
die is examined by the auditor, and delivered to the unfortunate
Rudolph. He throws: the die is lying on the drum; and again
it is a six! The amazement is universal: nothing is decided: the
throws must be repeated. They are: and Weber, the husband
of the sick wife—the father of the two half-naked children, flings
the lowest throw.
* Immediately the officer's voice was heard wheeling his men
into their position: on the part of Weber there was as little delay.
The overwhelming injury to his wife and children inflicted by
his own act, was too mighty to contemplate. He shook hands
rapidly with his two comrades; stept nimbly into his place; kneel-
ed down; the word of command was heard—“Lower your
muskets; ” instantly he dropt the fatal handkerchief with the
gesture of one who prays for some incalculable blessing: and in
the twinkling of an eye, sixteen bullets had lightened the heart
of the poor mutineer of its whole immeasurable freight of an-
guish.
All the congratulations, with which they were welcomed on
their return into the city, fell powerless on Rudolph's ear!
Scarcely could even Charlotte's caresses affect with any pleasure
the man who believed himself to have sacrificed his comrade,
through collusion with a fiend. - -
The importunities of Charlotte prevailed over all objections
which the pride of her aged father suggested against a son-in-
law who had been capitally convicted. The marriage was
solemnized: but at the wedding-festival, amidst the uproar of
merriment, the parties chiefly concerned were not happy or
tranquil. In no long time the father-in-law died, and by his death
É. the young couple in a state of complete independence.
ut Charlotte's fortune, and the remainder of what Rudolph had
inherited from his father, were speedily swallowed up by an idle


16 - THE MAGIC DICE.
and luxurious mode of living. Rudolph now began to ill-use his
wife. To escape from his own conscience, he plunged into all
sorts of dissolute courses. And very remarkable it was, that,
from manifesting the most violent abhorrence for every thing
which could lead his thoughts to his own fortunate cast of the
die, he gradually came to entertain so uncontrollable a passion
for playing at dice, that he spent all his time in the company of
those with whom he could turn this passion to account. His
house had long since passed out of his own hands: not a soul
could be found anywhere to lend him a shilling. The sickly
widow of Weber and her two children, whom he had hitherto
supported, lost their home and means of livelihood. And in no
long space of time the same fate fell upon himself, his wife, and
his child. + -
Too little used to labor to have any hope of improving his
condition in that way, one day he bethought himself that the
Medical Institute was in the habit of purchasing from poor peo-
ple, during their life-time, the reversion of their bodies. To
this establishment he addressed himself; and the ravages in his
personal appearance and health, caused by his dissoluté life,
induced them the more readily to lend an ear to his proposal.
But the money thus obtained, which had been designed for
the support of his wife and half-famished children, was squan-
dered at the gaming-table. As the last dollar vanished, Schroll
bit one of the dice furiously between his teeth. Just then he
heard these words whispered at his ear—“Gently, brother, gent-
ly: All dice do not split in two like that on the sand hill.” He
looked round in agitation, but saw no trace of any one who
could have uttered the words.
With dreadful imprecations on himself and these with whom
he had played, he flung out of the gaming-house, homewards
on his road to the wretched garret where his wife and children
were awaiting his return and his succour. But here the poor
creatures, tormented by hunger and cold, pressed upon him so
importunately, that he had no way to deliver himself from misery
but by flying from the spectacle. But whither could he go thus
late at night, when his utter poverty was known in every ale-
house? Roaming he knew not whither, he found himself at
length in the church-yard. The moon was shining solemnly
upon the quiet grave-stones, though obscured at intervals by
piles of stormy clouds. Rudolph shuddered at nothing but at
himself and his own existence. He strode with bursts of laugh-
ter over the dwellings of the departed; and entered a vault
which gave him shelter from the icy blasts of wind, which now
began to bluster more loudly than before. The moon threw
her rays into the vault full upon the golden legend inscribed in
the wall—“Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!” Schroll
took up a spade that was sticking in the ground, and struck with


THE MAGIC DICE. 17
it furiously against the gilt letters on the wall: but they seemed
indestructible; and he was going to assault them with a mattock,
when suddenly a hand touched him on the shoulder, and said to
him, “Gently, comrade: thy pains are all thrown away.”
Schroll uttered a loud exclamation of terror: for, in these words,
he heard the voice of Weber, and, on turning round, recognised
his whole person.
“What wouldst thou have?” asked Rudolph,-‘‘What art
thou come for?”—“To comfort thee,” replied the figure, which
now suddenly assumed the form and voice of the pedlar to whom
Schroll was indebted for the fortunate die. “Thou hast forgot-
ten me: and thence it is that thou art fallen into misfortune.
Look up and acknowledge thy friend in need that comes only to
make thee happy again.”
“If that be thy purpose, wherefore is it that thou wearest a
shape before which, of all others that have been on earth, I have
most reason to shudder?” - -
“The reason is——because I must not allow to any man my
help or my converse on too easy terms. Before ever my die
was allowed to turn thy fate, I was compelled to give thee cer-
tain intimations from which thou knewest with whom it was that
thou wert dealing.”
“With whom, then, was it that I was dealing?” cried Schroll,
staring with his eyes wide open, and his hair standing erect.
“ Thou knewest, comrade, at that time—thou knowest at
this moment,” said the pedlar, laughing, and tapping him on *
shoulder. “But what is it that thou desirest ?” -
Schroll struggled internally; but, overcome by his desolate
condition, he said immediately—“Dice: I would have dice that
shall win whenever I wish.”
“Very well: but first of all stand out of the blaze of this
golden writing on the wall: it is a writing that has nothing to
do with thee. Here are dice: never allow them to go out of
thy own possession: for that might bring thee into great trouble.
When thou needest me, light a fire at the last stroke of the mid-
night hour; throw in my dice, and with loud laughter. They will
crack once or twice, and then split. At that moment catch at
them in the flames: but let not the moment slip or thou art lost.
And let not thy courage be daunted by the sights that I cannot
but send before me whensoever I appear. Lastly, avoid choos-
ing any holy day for this work; and beware of the priest's ben-
ediction. Here, take the dice.” * *
Schroll caught at the dice with one hand, whilst with the
other he covered his eyes. When he next looked up, he was
standing alone. º
He now quitted the burying-ground to return as hastily as
possible to the gaming-house, where the light of candles was
still visible. But it was with the greatest difficulty that he ob-
- * * 2% *


18 THE MAGIC DICE.
tained money enough from a “friend”, to enable him to make
the lowest stake which the rules allowed. He found it a much
easier task to persuade the company to use the dice which he
had brought with him. They saw in this nothing but a very
common superstition—and no possibility of any imposture, as
they and he should naturally have benefited alike by the good
luck supposed to accompany the dice. But the nature of the
charm was—that only the possessor of the dice enjoyed their
supernatural powers; and hence it was that, towards morning,
Schroll reeled home, intoxicated with wine and pleasure, and
laden with the money of all present, to the garret where his
family were lying, half frozen and famished.
Their outward condition was immediately improved. The
money which Schroll had won was sufficient not only for their
immediate and most pressing wants: it was enough also to pay
for a front, apartment, and to leave a sum sufficient for a very
considerable stake.
With this sum, and in better attire, Rudolph repaired to a
gaming-house of more fashionable resort—and came home in the
evening laden with gold.
He now opened a gaming establishment himself; and so much
did his family improve in external appearances within a very
few weeks, that the police began to keep a watchful eye over
him.
This induced him to quit the city, and to change his residence
continually. All the different baths of Germany he resorted to
beyond other towns: but, though his dice perseveringly maintain-
ed their luck, he yet never accumulated any money. Every-
thing was squandered upon the dissipated life which he and his
family pursued. -
At length at the baths of the matter began to take an
unfortunate turn. A violent passion for a beautiful young lady
whom,Rudolph had attached himself to in vain at balls, concerts,
and even at church, suddenly bereft him of all sense and dis-
cretion. One night, when Schroll (who now styled himself Cap-
tain Von Schrollshausen) was anticipating a master-stroke from
his dice, probably for the purpose of winning the lady by the,
display of overflowing wealth and splendor, suddenly they
lost their virtue, and failed him without warning. Hitherto
they had lost only when he willed them to lose: but, on this
occasion, they failed at so critical a moment, as to lose him not
only all his own money, but a good deal beside that he had
borrowed.
Foaming with rage, he came home. He asked furiously after
his wife: she was from home. He examined the dice attentively;
and it appeared to him that they were not his own. A power-
ful suspicion seized upon him. Madame Von Schrollshausen
had her own gaming circle as well as himself. Without betray-


THE MAGIC DICE. 19
ing its origin, he had occasionally given her a few specimens
of the privilege attached to his dice: and she had pressed him
earnestly to allow her the use of them for a single evening. It
was true he never parted with them even ongoing to bed: but
it was possible that they might have been changed whilst he
, was sleeping. The more he brooded upon this suspicion, the
more it strengthened: from being barely possible, it became pro-
bable; from a probability it ripened into a certainty; and this
certainty received the fullest confirmation at this moment, when
she returned home in the gayest temper, and announced to him
that she had been this night overwhelmed with good luck; in
proof of which, she poured out upon the table a considerable
sum in gold coin. “And now,” she added laughingly, “I care
no longer for your dice; nay, to tell you the truth, I would not
exchange my own for them.”
Rudolph, now confirmed in his suspicions, demanded the
dice — as his property that had been purloined from him. She
laughed and refused. He insisted with more vehemence; she
retorted with warmth: both parties were irritated: and, at
length, in the extremity of his wrath, Rudolph snatched up a
knife and stabbed her: the knife pierced her heart: she utter-
ed a single sob—was convulsed for a moment—and expired.
“Cursed accident!” he exclaimed, when it clearly appeared,
on examination, that the dice which she had in her purse were .
not those which he suspected himself to have lost.
No eye but Rudolph's had witnessed the murder: the child
had slept on undisturbed; but circumstances betrayed it to the
knowledge of the landlord; and, in the morning, he was prepar-
ing to make it public. . By great offers, however, Rudolph suc-
ceeded in purchasing the man's silence: he engaged in substance
to make over to the landlord a large sum of money, and to marry
his daughter, with whom he had long pursued a clandestine
intrigue. Agreeably to this arrangement, it was publicly noti-
fied that Madame Von Schrollshausen had destroyed herself
under a sudden attack of hypochondriasis, to which she had
been long subject. Some there were, undoubtedly, who chose
to be skeptics on this matter; but nobody had an interest suffi-
ciently deep in the murdered person to prompt him to a legal
inquiry. *
A fact, which at this time gave Rudolph far more disturbance
of mind than the murder .# his once beloved wife, was — the
full confirmation, upon repeated experience, that his dice had
forfeited their power. For he had now been a loser for two
days running to so great an extent, that he was obliged to ab-
scond on a misty night. His child, towards whom his affection
increased daily, he was under the necessity of leaving with his
host as a pledge for his return and fulfilment of his promises.
He would not have absconded, if it had been in his power to


20 x. THE MAgic dice.
summon his dark counsellor forthwith: but on account of the
great festival of Pentecost, which ſell on the very next day, this
summons was necessarily delayed for a short time. By staying
he would have reduced himself to the necessity of inventing
various pretexts for delay, in order to keep up his character with
his creditors: whereas, when he returned with a sum of money
sufficient to meet his debts, all suspicions would be silenced at
Once.
In the metropolis of an adjacent territory, to which he resort-
ed so often that he kept lodgings there constantly, he passed
Whitsunday with impatience—and resolved on the succeeding
night to summon and converse with his counsellor. Impatient,
however, as he was of any delay, he did not on that account feel
the less anxiety as the hour of midnight approached. Though
he was quite alone in his apartments, and had left his servant
behind at the baths, yet long before midnight he ſancied that
he heard footsteps and whisperings round about him. The
purpose he was meditating, that he had regarded till now as a
matter of indifference, now displayed itselfin its whole monstrous
shape. Moreover, he remembered that his wicked counsellor
had himself thought it necessary to exhort him to courage, which
at present he felt greatly shaken. However, he had no choice.
As he was enjoined, therefore, with the last stroke of twelve, he
set on fire the wood which lay ready split upon the hearth, and
threw the dice into the flames, with a loud laughter that echoed
frightfully from the empty hall and staircases. Confused, and
half-stifled by the smoke which accompanied the roaring flames,
he stood still for a few minutes, when suddenly all the surround-
ing objects seemed changed, and he found himself transported
to his father's house. His father was lying on his death-bed
just as he had actually beheld him. He had upon his lips the
very same expression of supplication and anguish with which he
had at that time striven to address him. Once again he stretch-
ed out his arms in love and pity to his son; and once again he
seemed to expire in the act. w
Schroll was agitated by the picture, which called up and re-
animated in his memory, with the power ef a mighty tormentor,
all his honorable plans and prospects from that innocent period
of his life. At this moment, the dice cracked for the first time;
and Schroll turned his face towards the flames. A second time
the smoke stifled the light, in order to reveal a second picture.
He saw himself on the day before the scene of the sand-hill sit-
ting in his dungeon. The clergyman was with him. From the
expression of his countenance, he appeared to be just saying—
“Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.” Rudolph thought
of the disposition in which he then was—of the hopes which the
clergyman had raised in him---and of the feeling which he then
had that he was still worthy to be reunited to his father, or had


THE MAGIC DICE, - 21
-
become worthy by bitter penitence. The next fracture of
the die disturbed the scene—but to substitute one that was not
at all more consolatory. For now appeared a den of thieves, in
which the unhappy widow of Weber was cursing her children,
who—left without support, without counsel, without protection,
had taken to evil courses. In the background stood the bleed-
ing father of these ruined children, one hand stretched out
towards Schroll with a menacing gesture, and the other lifted
towards heaven with a record of impeachment against him.
At the third splitting of the dice, out of the bosom of the
smoke arose the figure of his murdered wife, who seemed to
chase him from one corner of the room to another, until at length
she came and took a seat at the fireplace; by the side of which,
as Rudolph now observed with horror, his buried father and the
unhappy Weber had stretched themselves; and they carried
on together a low and noiseless whispering and moaning that
agitated him with a mysterious horror.
After long and hideous visions, Rudolph beheld the flames
grow weaker and weaker. He approached. The figures that
stood round about held up their hands in a threatening attitude.
A moment later, and the time was gone forever; and Rudolph,
as his false friend had asserted, was a lost man. With the cour-
age of despair he plunged through the midst of the threatening
figures, and snatched at the glowing dice—which were no soon-
er touched than they split asunder, with a dreadful sound, before
which the apparitions vanished in a body.
The evil counsellor appeared on this occasion in the dress of
a grave-digger, and asked with a snorting sound—“What
wouldst thou from me?” * -
“I would remind you of your promise,” answered Schroll,
stepping back with awe: your dice have lost their power.”
“Through whose fault?” *
Rudolph was silent, and covered his eyes from the withering
glances of the fiendish being who was gazing upon him.
“Thy foolish desires led thee in chase of the beautiful
maiden into the church: my words were forgotten; and the
benediction, against which I warned thee, disarmed the dice of
their power. In future, observe my directions better.”
So saying, he vanished; and Schroll found three new dices
upon the hearth. w
After such scenes, sleep was not to be thought of; and Ru-
dolph resolved, if possible, to make trial of his dice this very
night. The ball at the hotel over the way, to which he had
been invited, and from which the steps of the waltzers were still
I audible, appeared to present a fair opportunity. Thither he
repaired; but not without some anxiety, lest some of the noises
in his own lodgings should have reached the houses over the
way. He was happy to find this fear unfounded. Every thing
*


22 THE MAGIc Dice.
appeared as if calculated only for his senses: for when he in-
quired with assumed carelessness what great explosion that
was which occurred about midnight, nobody acknowledged to
have heard it.
The dice, also, he was happy to find, answered his expecta-
tions. He found a company engaged at play: and by the break
of day he had met with so much luck, that he was immediately
able to travel back to the baths, and to redeem his child and
his word of honor.
In the baths he now made as many new acquaintances as the
losses were important which he had lately sustained. He was
reputed one of the wealthiest cavaliers in the place; and many
who had designs upon him in consequence of this reputed
wealth, willingly lost money to him to favor their own schemes;
so that, in a single month he gained sums which would have
established him as a man of fortune. - Under countenance of this
repute, and as a widower, no doubt he might now have made
successful advances to the young lady whom he had-formerly
pursued: for her father had an exclusive regard to property,
and would have overlooked morals and respectability in any
candidate for his daughter's hand. But with the largest offers
of money he could not purchase his freedom from the contract
made with his landlord’s daughter—a woman of very disreputa-
ble character. In fact, six months after the death of his first
wife, he was married to her. .
By the unlimited profusion of money with which his second
wife sought to wash out the stains upon her honor, Rudolph's
new-raised property was as speedily squandered. To part from
her was one of the wishes which lay nearest his heart: he had,
however, never ventured to express it a second time before his
father-in-law: for on the single occasion when he had hinted at
such an intention, that person had immediately broken out into
the most dreadful threats. The murder of his first wife was the
chain which bound him to his second. The boy whom his first
wife had left him, closely as he resembled her in features and
in the bad traits of her character, was his only comfort—if, in-
deed, his gloomy and perturbed mind would allow him at any
time to taste of comfort.
* To preserve this boy from the evil influences of the many bad.
examples about him, he had already made an agreement with a
man of distinguished abilities, who was to have superintended
his education in his own family. But all was frustrated. Mad-
ame Won Schrollshausen, whose love of pomp and display led
her eagerly to catch at every pretext for creating a }: had
invited a party on the evening before the young boy's intended
departure. The time which was not occupied in the eating-
room was spent at the gaming-table, and dedicated to the dice,
of whose extraordinary powers the owner was at this time avail-
º -


THE MAGIC DICE. - - 23
ing himself with more zeal than usual—having just invested all
his disposable money in the purchase of a landed, estate. One
of the guests having lost very considerable sums in an uninter-
rupted train of ill luck, threw the dice, in his vexation, with
such force upon the table, that one of them fell down. The at-
tendants searched for it on the floor; and the child also crept
about in quest of it: not finding it, he rose; and, in rising,
stepped upon it, lost his balance, and fell with such violence
against the edge of the stove—that he died in a few hours of
the injury inflicted on the head.
This accident made the most powerful impression upon the
father. He recapitulated the whole of his life from the first
trial he had made of the dice. From them had arisen all his
misfortunes. In what way could he liberate himself from their
accursed influence?—Revolving this point, and in the deepest
distress of mind, Schroll wandered out towards nightfall, and
strolled through the town. Coming to a solitary bridge in the
outskirts, he looked down from the battlements upon the gloomy
depths of the waters below, which seemed to regard him with
looks of sympathy and strong fascination. “So be it then!”
he exclaimed, and sprang over the railing. But, instead of
finding his grave in the waters, he felt himself below seized
powerfully by the grasp of a man—whom, from his scornful
laugh, he recognised as his evil counsellor. The man bore him
to the shore, and said—“No, no, my good friend: he that
once enters into a league with me—him I shall deliver from
death even in his own despite.” -
Half crazy with despair, the next morning Schroll crept out
of the town with a loaded pistol. Spring was abroad—spring
flowers, spring breezes, and nightingales:* they were all abroad,
but not for him or his delight. A crowd of itinerant tradesmen
passed him, who were on their road to a neighboring fair.
One of them, observing his dejected countenance with pity, at-
tached himself to his side, and asked him in a tone of sympathy
what was the matter. Two others of the passers-by Schroll
heard distinctly saying—“Faith, I should not like for my part
to walk alone with such an ill-looking fellow.” He darted a
furious glance at the men, separated from his pitying companion
with a fervent pressure of his hand, and struck off into a solitary
track of the forest. In the first retired spot, he fired the pistol:
and behold! the man who had spoken to him with so much kind-
ness lies stretched in his blood, and he himself is without a .
wound. At this moment, while staring half-unconsciously at
the face of the murdered man, he feels himself seized from be-
* It may be necessary to inform some readers, who have never lived far
enough to the south to have any personal knowledge of the nightingale, that this
bird sings in the daytime as well as the night.


24 º THE MAGIC DICE.
hind. Already he seems to himself in the hands of the public
executioner. Turning round, however, he hardly knows wheth-
er to feel pleasure or pain on seeing his evil suggester in the
dress of a grave-digger. “My friend,” said the grave-digger,
“if you cannot be content to wait for death until I send it, I,
must be forced to end with dragging you to that from which I
began by saving you—a public execution. But think, not thus,
or by any other way, to escape me. After death, thou wilt
assuredly be mine again.”
“Who, then,” said the unhappy man, “who is the murderer
of the poor traveller?” - -
“Who? why, who but yourself? was it not yourself that -
fired the pistol?” -
“Ay; but at my own head.”
The fiend laughed in a way that made Schroll's flesh creep
on his bones. “Understand this, friend, that he whose fate I
hold in my hands cannot anticipate it by his own act. For the
present, begone, if you would escape the scaffold. To oblige
you once more, I shall throw a veil over this murder.”
Thereupon, the grave-digger set about making a grave for
the corpse, whilst Schroll wandered away—more for the sake
of escaping the hideous presence in which he stood, than with
any view to his own security from punishment.
Seeing by accident a prisoner under arrest at the guard-
house, Schroll's thoughts reverted to his own confinement.
“How happy,” said he, “for me and for Charlotte—had I then
refused to purchase life on such terms, and had better laid to
heart the counsel of my good spiritual adviser!”—Upon this a
sudden thought struck him—that he would go and find out the
old clergyman, and would unfold to him his wretched history
º situation. He told his wife that some private affairs requir-
ed his attendance for a few days at the town of But,
say what he would, he could not prevail on her to desist from
accompanying him. -
On the journey, his chief anxiety was, lest the clergyman,
who was already advanced in years at the memorable scene of
the sand hill, might now be dead. But, at the very entrance
of the town, he saw him walking in the street, and immediately
felt himself more composed in mind than he had done for years.
The venerable appearance of the old man confirmed him still
more in his resolution of making a full disclosure to him of his
whole past life: one only transaction, the murder of his first
wife, he thought himself justified in concealing; since, with all
his penitence for it, that act was now beyond the possibility of
reparation.
For a long time, the pious clergyman refused all belief to
Schroll's narrative; but being at length convinced that he had
a wounded spirit to deal with, and not a disordered intellect, he


THE MAG1c Dice. 25
exerted himself to present all those views of religious consola-
tion which his philanthropic character and his long experience
suggested to him as likely to be effectual. ... Eight days’ con-
versation with the clergyman restored Schroll to the hopes of
a less miserable future. But the good man admonished him at
parting to put away from himself whatsoever could in any way
tend to support his unhallowed connexion.
In this direction, Schroll was aware that the dice were inclu-
ded: and he resolved firmly that his first measure on returning
home should be to bury in an inaccessible place these accursed
implements, that could not but bring mischief to every possessor.
On entering the inn, he was met by his wife, who was in the
highest spirits, and laughing profusely. He inquired the cause.
“No,” said she: “you refused to communicate your motive for
coming hither, and the nature of your business for the last week:
I, too, shall have my mysteries. As to your leaving me in
solitude at an inn, that is a sort of courtesy which marriage nat-
urally brings with it: but that you should have travelled hither
for no other purpose than that of trifling away your time in the
company of "an old tedious parson, that (you will allow me to
say) is a caprice which seems scarcely worth the money it will
cost.”
“Who, then, has told you that I have passed my time with
an old parson?” said the astonished Schroll.
“Who told me? Why, just let me know what your business
was with the parson, and I’ll let you know, in turn, who it was
that told me. So much I will assure you, however, now—that
the cavalier who was my informant is a thousand times hand-
somer, and a more interesting companion, than an old dotard
who is standing at the edge of the grave.” - -
All the efforts of Madame Von Schrollshausen to irritate the
curiosity of her husband proved ineffectual to draw from him his
secret. The next day, on their return homewards, she repeat-
ed her attempts. But he parried them all with firmness. A
more severe trial to his firmness was prepared for him in the
heavy bills which his wife presented to him on his reaching
home. Her expenses in clothes and in jewels had been so pro-
fuse, that no expedient remained to Schroll but that of selling,
without delay, the landed estate he had so lately purchased.
A declaration to this effect was very ill received by his wife.
“Sell the estate?” said she: “what, sell the sole resource I
shall have to rely on when you are dead? And for what reason,
I should be glad to know; when a very little of the customary
luck of your dice will enable you to pay off these trifles? And
whether the bills be paid to-day or to-morrow cannot be of any
very great importance.” Upon this, Schroll declared with firm-
ness that he never meant to play again. “Not play again!”
* 3 - f


26 - w THE MAGIC DICE.
exclaimed his wife, “pooh! pooh! you make me blush for you!
So, then, I suppose it's all true, as was said, that scruples of
conscience drove you to the old rusty parson? and that he en-
joined, as a penance, that you should abstain from gaming? I
was told as much: but I refused to believe it; for, in your cir-
cumstances, the thing seemed too senseless and irrational.”
“My dear girl,” said Schroll, “consider”—
“Consider! what's the use of considering? what is there
to consider about?” interrupted Madame Von Schrollshausen:
and, recollecting the gay cavalier whom she had met at the inn,
she now, for the first time, proposed a separation herself. “Very
well,” said her husband, “I am content.” “So am I,’” said .
his father-in-law, who joined them at that moment. “But take,
notice that, first of all, I must have paid over to me an adequate
º of money for the creditable support of my daughter:
else” * f
Here he took Schroll aside; and the old threat of revealing
the murder so utterly disheartened him, that at length, in de-
spair, he consented to his terms. º -
Once more, therefore, the dice were to be tried; but only for
the purpose of accomplishing the separation: that over, Schroll
resolved to seek a livelihood in any other way, even if it were
as a day laborer. The stipulated sum was at length all collected
within a few hundred dollars; and Schroll was already looking
out for some old disused well into which he might throw the
dice, and then have it filled up: for even a river seemed to him
a hiding place not sufficiently secure for such instruments of
misery. * -
Remarkable it was, on the very night when the last arrears
were to be obtained of his father-in-law’s demand,-a night
which Schroll had anticipated with so much bitter anxiety,+that
he became unusually gloomy and dejected. He was particu-
larly disturbed by the countenance of a stranger, who, for sev-
eral days running, had lost considerable sums. The man called
himself Stutz; but he had a most striking resemblance to his
old comrade, Weber, who had been shot at the sand-hill; and
differed indeed in nothing but in the advantage of blooming
youth. Scarcely had he leisure to recover from the shock
which this spectacle occasioned, when a second occurred. About
midnight, another man, whom nobody knew, came up to the
gaming-table—and interrupted the play by recounting an event
which he represented as having just happened. A certain man,
he said, had made a covenant with some person or other, that
they call the Evil One—or what is it you call him? and by means
of this covenant he had obtained a steady run of good luck at
lay. - a -
“Well, sir (he went on), and, would you believe it, the other.


THE MAGIC DICE. - 27
\
*
day he began to repent of this covenant; my gentleman wanted
to rat, he wanted to rat, sir. Only, first of all, he resolved
privately to make up a certain sum of money. Ah! the poor
idiot! he little knew whom he had to deal with: the Evil One,
as they choose to call him, was not a man to let himself be
swindled in that manner. No, no, my good friend. I saw—
I mean, the Evil One saw—what was going on betimes; and he
secured the swindler just as he fancied himself on the point of
pocketing the last arrears of the sum wanted.”
The company began to laugh so loudly at this pleasant fiction,
as they conceived it, that Madame Von Schrollshausen was at-
tracted from the adjoining room. The story was repeated to
her: and she was the more delighted with it, because in the
relater she recognised the gay cavalier whom she had met at
the inn. Everybody laughed again, excepting, two persons—
Stutz and Schroll. The first, had again lost all the money in
his purse; and the second was so confounded by the story, that
he could not forbear staring with fixed eyes on the stranger,
who stood over against him. His consternation increased when
he perceived that the stranger’s countenance seemed to alter
at every moment; and that nothing remained unchanged in it,
except - the cold expression of inhuman scorn with which he
perseveringly regarded himself.
At length, he could endure this no longer: and he remarked,
therefore, upon Stutz's again losing a bet, that it was now late;
that Mr.'Stutz was too much in a run of bad luck; and that, on
these accounts, he would defer the further pursuit of their play
until another day. And, thereupon, he put the dice into his
pocket. I
“Stop !” said the strange cavalier! and the voice froze
Schroll with horror; for he knew too well to whom that dreadful
tone, and those fiery eyes, belonged.
“Stop !” he said again: “produce your dice!” And trem-
blingly Schroll threw them upon the table. º
“Ah! I thought as much,” said the stranger; “they are loaded
dice ſ” So saying, he called for a hammer, and struck one of
them in two. “See!” said he to Stutz, holding out to him the
broken dice, which, in fact, seemed loaded with lead. “Stop,
vile impostor!” exclaimed the young man, as Schroll was pre-
paring to quit the room in the greatest confusion; and he threw
the dice at him, one of which lodged in his right eye. The
tumult increased; the police came in; and Stutz was apprehend-
ed, as Schroll's wound assumed a very dangerous appearance.
Next day, Schroll was in a violent fever. He asked repeat-
edly for Stutz. But Stutz had been committed to close confine-
ment; it having been found that he had travelled with false
passes. He now confessed that he was one of the sons of the
w - - º


28 THE Magic dice.
mutineer Weber; that his sickly mother had died soon after his
father's execution; and that himself and his brother, left without
the control of guardians, and without support, had taken to bad
courses. - -
On hearing this report, Schroll rapidly worsened; and he un-
folded to a young clergyman his whole unfortunate history.
About midnight, he sent again in greathaste for the clergyman.
He came: but, at sight of him, Schroll stretched out his hands
in extremity of horror, and waved him away from his presence;
but, before his signals were complied with, the wretched man
had expired in convulsions.
From this horror at the sight of the young clergyman, and
from the astonishment of the clergyman himself, on arriving
and hearing that he had already been seen in the sick-room, it
was inferred that his figure had been assumed for fiendish
purposes. The dice and the strange cavalier disappeared at
the same time with their wretched victim; and were seen no
more
~-


2
THE GoRED HUNTSMAN.
0.
If thou be hurt with hart,
It brings thee to thy bier; .
* But barber’s hand W. boar's hurt heal, -
Thereofthou need’st not fear. Old Rhyme.
The night was drawing on apace. The evening mist, as it
arose from the ground, began to lose its thin white wreaths in
the deep shadows of the woods. Kochenstein, separated from
his companions of the chase, and weary with his unsuccessful
efforts to rejoin them, became more and more desirous of dis-
covering in what direction his route lay. But there was no
track visible, at least by that uncertain and lessening light, the
mazes of which could guide him to his home. He raised his
silver-mouthed bugle to his lips, and winded a loud and sus-
tained blast. A distant echo plaintively repeated the notes.
The Baron listened for other answer with the attention his
situation required, but in vain.
“This will never do,” said he, casting the reins on his
horse's neck: “see, good Reinzaum, if thy wit can help thy
master at this pinch; it has done so before now.” The animal
seemed to understand and appreciate the confidence placed, in
him. Pricking up his before drooping ears, and uttering a
wild neigh, he turned from the direction his rider had hitherto
pursued, and commenced a new rout at an animated trot. For
awhile the path promised well; the narrow defile, down which
it lay between rows of gigantic larch and twisted oaks, seemed
manifestly intended to conduct to some more extended opening.
But on reaching its termination the horse suddenly stopped.
The glimmering light that yet remained just enabled the Baron
to perceive the impervious enclosure of thickly planted trees,
that surrounded the little, natural amphitheatre’ at which he
had arrived.
“This is worse and worse, Reinzaum,” exclaimed the disap-
pointed rider, as he cast a disconsolate glance upwards. . There :
was not a single star visible, to diminish the deep gloom in


30 THE GORed HUNTSMAn. - i.
which the woods were enveloped. “Guetiger himmel! that I
should be lost in my own barony, and not a bareleggéd schelm
to point out my road!”
Weary of remaining in one spot, he rode round the enclosure
in which he found himself thus unpleasantly placed. He re-
peated the same exercise, gazing wistfully on every side, "
though the darkness was now almost too great to discover to
him the massy trunks, under the branches of which he rode.
At length he stopped suddenly.
“Is that a light,” said he inwardly, “that glimmers through
, the—no, 't is gone. Ach Gott! it comes again! If I could
but reach it!”
Again he winded his horn, and followed the blast with a
most potent halloo. His labor was in vain, the light remained
stationary. The Baron began to swear. He had been edu-
cated at Wurtzburg, and for a Swabian swore in excellent
German.
He was perplexed whether to remain where he was, with
this provoking light before him, and the probable chance of
remaining all night in the woods; or to abandon his steed, and
endeavor to penetrate through the trees to the spot whence the
light issued. Neither of these, alternatives was precisely to
his liking. In the former case he must abide the cold air and
damp mist till morning; in the other he incurred the risk of
losing his steed, should he not be able to retrace his way to
the spot. Indecision however was not the fault of his charac-
ter; and, after a minute's hesitation, he sprung from his horse,
fastened him to a tree, and began to explore the wood in the
direction of the light.
The difficulties he encountered were not few. The Baron
was a portly personage and occasionally found a difficulty in
squeezing through interstices, where a worse fed man would
have passed ungrazed. Briers and thorns were not wanting,
and the marshy ground completed the catalogue of annoyances.
The Baron toiled and toiled, extricating first one leg and then
the other from the deep entanglement in which each was by a
turns plunged, while the object of his attention seemed as dis-"
tant as ever. His patience was exhausted. Many and em-
phatic were the figures of his inward rhetoric. Of one fact he
became convinced, that all the evil influences of the stars had
this night conspired to concentrate their power on one unlucky
wight, and that this wight was no other than the Baron Von
Kochenstein. - -
But the Baron was not a man to be easily diverted from his
purpose, and he labored amain. His hands were bruised with
the branches he had torn down when they impeded his course,
| and the heat drops on his brow, raised by his exertions, mixed


THE GORED HUNTSMAN. 31
*
with the chill and heavy night dew that fell around him. At
length a desperate effort, almost accompanied with the loss of
his boots, placed him free from the morass through which he
had waded. He stamped and shook his feet when on dry land:
with the satisfaction that such a deliverance inspires. To add
to his joy, he perceived, that the light he had so painfully sought
... was not more than fifty ells distant.
: A moment or two brought him to the door of a low dwelling
over-shadowed by a beetling, penthouse-like roof. As far as
he could discern, the building was of considerable antiquity.
The portal was of stone, and the same material composed the
frames of the windows, which were placed far from the ground,
and from which proceeded the light he had sought.
Our huntsman lost little time in applying to the door, at first
with a gentle knock, which being disregarded increased to a
thundering reverberation of blows. The gentle and the rude
knocks were of equal avail. He desisted from his occupation
to listen awhile, but not a sound met his ear.
“This is strange, by the mass,” said the Baron: “the house
must be inhabited, else whence the light? And though they
slept like the seven sleepers, my blows must have aroused
them. Let us try another mode—the merry horn must awaken
them, if aught can move their sluggish natures.” And once
more resorting to his bugle he sounded a réveillée. A jolly
cheering note it would have been at another time, but in the
middle of the dull night it seemed most unfit. A screech owl's
note would have harmonised better. - -
“I hear them now,” said he of the bugle, “praised be the
saints.” On this as on other occasions, however, the saints
got more thanks than their due. An old raven disturbed by
, the Baron's notes, flapping her wings in flight, had deceived
his ears. She was unseen in the congenial darkness, but her
hoarse croakings filled the air as she flew.
Irritated at the delay, the Baron made a formal declaration
of war. In as loud a voice as he could he demanded entrance,
and threatened in default of accordance to break open the door.
A' loud laugh as from a dozen revellers was the immediate
reply. -
- % piece of the trunk of a young tree lay near the Baron; he
took it up and dashed it with all his strength against the door.
It was a mighty blow, but, though, the very building shook
before it, the strong gate yielded not. -
* Before Kochenstein could repeat the attack, a hoarse voice,
seemingly proceeding from one of the windows, greeted his
ears. - * .
“Begone with thy noise,” it said, “else I will loose the dog
..on thee.” w -


32 - THE GoRED HUNTSMAN.
“I will break the hound's neck, and diminish his caitiff
master by the head, if thou open not the door this instant.
What! is this the way to treat a benighted traveller? Open, I
say, and quickly.” -
It seemed that the inmate was about to put his threat in execu-
tion for the low deep growl of a wolf-dog was the only answer to
the Baron's remonstrance. He drew his short hunting sword
and planted himself firmly before the door. He waited awhile,
but all was silent.
He had again recourse to his battering ram. The door re-
sisted marvellously, but it became evident, that it could not
long withstand such a siege. As the strong oak cracked and
groaned, the Baron redoubled his efforts. At length the voice
he had before heard again accosted him. -
“Come in, then, if thou wilt. Fool! to draw down thy fate
on thee.” The bolts were undrawn. “Lift up the latch.”
The Baron troubled not himself to inquire the meaning of
the ominous words of the speaker, but obeyed the direction
given, and entered. He found himself in a spacious apartment
that appeared to comprise the whole tenement. He looked
around for the foes he expected to meet, and started back with
astonishment.
The only occupant of the apartment was a lady, the rich
elegance of whose dress would have attracted admiration, had
not that feeling been engrossed by her personal loveliness.
Her white silken garment clung to a form modelled to perfection,
. . and was fastened at her waist by a diamond clasp of singular
shape, for it represented a couchant stag. A similar ornament
confined the long tresses of her hair, the jetty blackness of
which was as perfect as the opposite hue of the brow they
shaded. Her face was somewhat pale, and her features melan-
choly, but of exquisitely tender beauty.
She arose, as the Baron entered, from the velvet couch on
which she was seated, and with a slight but courteous smile
motioned him to a seat opposite to her own. A table was ready
spread by its side, laden with refreshments. He explained the
cause of his coming, and apologized with great fervency for
his rude mode of demanding admission.
“You are welcome,” said the lady again, pointing to the
vacant seat. Nothing could be more ordinary than these three
words, but the sound of her voice thrilled through the hearer's
sense into his soul. She resumed her seat, and Kochenstein
took the place offered him. He gazed around, and was con- .
vinced, to his amazement, that they were alone. Whence
then the voice, with which he had held converse? and whence
the uproarious laugh, which had first assailed his hearing?
There could not, he felt certain, be another chamber under
º


THE GoRED HUNTSMAN. * . 33
that roof capable of containing such a number of laughers. '
. The dog too, whose savage growl had put him on his guard,
where was he? -
The Baron was however too genuine a huntsman, to suffer
either surprise or admiration to prevent him from doing justice
to the excellent meal before him, and to which his hostess in-
vited him, declining however to partake with her guest. He
eat and drank therefore, postponing his meditations, except an
anxious thought on the situation of his steed. “Poor Reinza-
um,” thought he, thou wilt suffer for my refreshment. A warm
stable were fitter by far for thee than the midnight damps that
chill thee.” And the Baron looked with infinite satisfaction on
the blazing hearth, the ruddy gleams of which almost eclipsed
the softer light of the brilliant lamp that hung from the ceiling.
As his appetite became satisfied, his curiosity revived. Once
or twice as he raised his eyes he met the bright black ones of
his entertainer. They were beautiful; yet, without knowing
why, the Baron shrunk from their glance. They had not the
pensive softness of her features. The expression was one he
could not divine, but would not admit that he feared.
He filled his goblet, and in the most courteous terms drank
the lady's health. She bowed her head in acknowledgement,
and held to him a small golden cup richly chased. The Baron
filled it,-she drank to him, though but wetting her lip with
the liquor. She replaced the cup and rose from her seat.
“This room,” she said, “must be your lodging for the night.
Other I cannot offer you.—Farewell.” -
The Baron was about to speak. She interrupted him. “I
know what you would say—Yes, we shall meet again. Take
this flower,” she added, breaking a rose from a wreath that
twined among her hair in full bloom, though September had
commenced, and the flowers of the gardens and the fields were
long since dead, “take this flower. On the day that it fades
you see me once more.” She opened a small door in the
wainscoting, hitherto unseen by the Baroh, and closed it after
her before he could utter a word.
The Baron felt no disposition to sleep, and paced about the
room revolving the events of the evening. The silence of the .
hour was favorable to such an employment, and the soft carpets
that covered the floor prevented even his own footsteps from
being heard. - -
• Wearied with his fruitless ruminations, he was beginning to
relieve himself from his lonely want of occupation, by taking
note more minutely than before of the handsome though antique
furniture of the apartment, when his attention was claimed by
the sounds of a harp. A few bars only had been played, when the
music was sweetened by a voice the softest he had ever heard.


34 THE GoRED HUNTSMAN.
º
The words of the song applied too strikingly to himself to es-
cape his ear.
Wo to him, whose footsteps rude
Break my fairy solitude;
Wo to him, whose fated grasp
Dares undo my portal clasp;
Wo to him, whose rash advance -
Dooms him to my blighting glance; r
In the greenwood shall he lie,
On the bloody heather die.
The voice and music ceased together, leaving the Baron
oppressed with unwonted fears. “And I must see her again!
would this rose would bloom forever!” He seated himself,
and ere long he fell into a troubled sleep. -
When he awoke, the ashes on the hearth were sparkless,
and the morning, casting away her gray mantle, was beginning
to dart her gayer beams through the narrow windows. He
perceived, with surprise, that the door through which his host-
ess had retired was ajar, yet she was not in the apartment, and
from the situation in which he had sat she could not have pass-
ed through the door by which he had entered. He arose, and
walked about with as much noise as he could make, with the
object of apprising the lady of the dwelling, that the wainscot
door was open. After continuing this for a length of time his
curiosity increased. He véntured to look through the doorway.
It opened into a small closet, which was entirely empty.
He had already witnessed too much to feel any great addi-
tional astonishment at this discovery. “Besides,” said he to
himself, “her words spoke but of a meeting at a future day.
Why therefore should I expect her now?”
He opened the entrance door, and found his horse, which
he had left tied in the wood, ready for departure, and apparent-
ly in excellent condition. “Woman or witch,” he exclaimed,
“I owe her a good turn for this—Now, Reinzaum, keep up thy
credit.” And springing on his horse's back he pursued a track,
that seemed to lead in the direction he wished; and without aid
of whip or spur was at Kochenstein in an hour.
His first act was to place the rose in a vase of water. Day
by day he visited it, and found its bloom unabated. Three
months passed away without any visible alteration in the beauty
of the flower. The Baron became less sensible of the remem-
brances connected with it, and gazed on it with indifference.
He even displayed it to the inmates of his castle, and among
thers, to his only daughter, the death of whose mother had left
ochenstein a widower. Frederica was in her seventh year,
and within a few days of its completion. To her earnest intrea-
ties for the flower, her father promised it should be hers on her


THE GORED HUNTSMAN. . 35
f
birthday. The child was overjoyed at the idea of a present, to
which much importance was attached in her eyes, for the ever-
blooming rose was the talk of the whole castle; and every
human creature in it, except its lord, offered many conjectures
respecting the flower, all very ingenious, and all very absurd.
On the morning of his daughter's birthday the rose was dead.
The Baron Von Kochenstein, though a man of courage and
thirty-two quarterings, changed color when he beheld the faded
flower. Without speaking a word he mounted Reinzaum, and
alloped off at the rate of four German miles an hour.
He had ridden some half hour, when he saw before him a stag,
the finest he had ever beheld. It was prancing on the frosty
round, and throwing aloft its many-fined antlers in proud dis-
dain of the meaner brutes of the earth. At the approach of the
Baron, it fled. In pure distraction of spirits, and in that dread
of his own thoughts, which prompts a man to any thing to avoid
himself, Kochenstein pursued, though unattended by a single
hound. The stag seemed wind-footed. Reinzaum followed
like a noble horse as he was.
Through glade and copse, over hill and plain, the Baron chas-
ed the lordly stag. At length it abated its speed near the side
of a transparent pool, in the midst of which a fountain threw up
its beautiful column of waters. The stag halted, and turned to
gaze on its pursuer. For the first time Kochenstein applied
his spur to the quivering flank of his steed, and grasped his
hunting sword. A moment brought him to the side of the quarry:
ere another had elapsed, a stroke from its branching antlers .
brought him to the ground. The steed fled in dismay. In vain
did Kochenstein endeavor to avert his impending ſate. With
all the strength of terror he grasped the left horn of the stag, as .
it bended against its prostrate victim. The struggle was but
for an instant, and a branch of the other antler pierced the
Baron's side. -
No sooner was the stroke inflicted, than the rage which had
possessed the stag seemed wholly abated. It offered not to
trample on the defenceless man, or to repeat the blow. Gazing
awhile on its work it turned away, plunged into the waters of
. fountain, and was lost from sight in the overwhelming
ood.
Enfeebled as he was, for the blood gushed in torrents from his
side, the Baron half raised himself up to look on the closing wa-
ters. Something in the stag's gaze awoke associations, that
carried his mind back to the events of a few months ago. While
he gazed on the fountain, the column of its jet divided, then
sunk, and ceased to play. A figure appeared from the midst.
It glided across the pool and approached the Baron. A lady
stood beside him. She was clad in robes of white, and her


36 THE GORED. HUNTSMAN.
a -
head was girt with a wreath of faded flowers. Her left brow
was spotted with recent blood. The Baron shuddered at her
glance, still more at her voice, for he knew too well the soft
tone in which she sang these lines. - -
º ſ
To my plighted promise true,
Once again I meet thy view;
Now my garland's roses fade,
And thy rashness’ debt is paid.
Sad the fate, and dark the doom,
That led thee to my secret home:
In the greenwood thou art lying,
On the bloody heather dying!
*
The last sounds mingled with the rush of the fountain as it
rose again, when, retreating on the waters, the songstress sank
into their embrace. Her last notes had fallen on the ears of the
Baron. The rush of the waters was unheard by him; for when
the song ceased, he was no more.—The Keepsake.
,-,
*** - . . º


THE NIKEKUR HOLL.
IN one of the outer Skerries of the Shetland Islands there dwelt
many years ago, two fishermen, who, from their having both
been left when young without parents or protectors, had formed
an intimacy which subsisted jhroughout their lives. By their
joint exertions they had managed to possess themselves of a boat,
which led to a mutual good will or partnership, extending itself
over all their other property in trade; for, as each inherited the
cabin of his ancestors, there were two separate domestic estab-.
lishments, though these existed more in appearance than real-
ity. The difference in the ages of this pair was not great, but
their persons and tempers were as unlike as a sealgh and a
sillock. Petie Winwig was a thickset, Dutch-built, heavy-
headed calf, with a broad, swollen, grinning countenance. His
cheeks rose like two lumps of blubber on each side of his nose,
almost concealing that, as well as his little eyes, when he laugh-
ed. A perpetual smile of good humour and acquiescence sat
upon his face, and his well fattened limbs and body showed
that care and discontent never prevented his stomach's doing
its duty in an able manner. If instead of having been born in
this needy land, he had been the son of an English trader, he
would have become one of those sleek, oily, fullbottomed swab-
... bers, whom I have seen marching down Wapping High Street
as if they were heaving an anchor at every step; and who, when
they come aboard to look after stores, oblige us to lay a double
plank from the quay to the gangway, for fear they should snap
a good two inch deal asunder with their weight. -
“Ay!” said Captain Shafton, “I know one who could raise
a ton at least—perhaps you have seen him—old Fodder?”
“Fat Fodder!” cried Shipley, laughing, “I know him
well—they say he measures three yards round the waist. ... I
have seen the watermen refuse to take him across the river, for
fear of swamping their boats. I wanted him to let them tow
him astern, like a dead fish, for there would be no fear of his
sinking.” -
“I can tell you a merry jest of old Fodder,” said the first
mate, “if you’ll put me in mind of him another night—at present
I'll continue the laird's story.” - -
Petie Winwig was not only fat, he was lazy and sleepy; and,
had not his station compelled him to daily exertions and noctur-
4 -
-


38 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
nal watchings, he would have been the greatest though the most
harmless drone in the islands. On the other hand, his asso-
ciate and partner was a perfect wasp, both in appearance and
activity. He was “a lean and hungry looking” rogue, a
complete “spare Cassius” in his way. His figure was tall and
bony, with a length of arm fit for a king, and an eye as quick
as a “ donkey’s.” His looks were prying and inquisitive, and
the shrewdness of his features was greatly heightened by a long
and hooked nose, whieh obtained for him amongst his country-
men, who had been, (as most of them have,) in the Greenland
seas, the designation of the Mallemak.” This title he indeed
well sustained, for he was as rapacious, and as constantly on
the wing, as that unwearied bird; but he might as justly have been
called a Solan, or a pelican, for if he could not poise himself in
the air and plunge down, like one of them on a shoal of fishes,
he knew no bounds to his desire to obtain them; nor would the
possession of all the inhabitants of the deep have satisfied his
covetousness. His real name was Daniel, but he was most
commonly called Spiel Trosk, the hardest driver of a bargain
who ever brought goods to Lerwick; and, if he did not openly
cheat and delude his customers, it was only because he had not
been brought up according to the newest and most liberal sys-
tem of education. He was, indeed, as much in the dark in this
particular, as if he had lived through the whole of one of the
dark ages, and though Petie Winwig, his comrade, as well from
indolence as from stupidity, never questioned his dealings, but
left the management of the money entirely in his hands with-
out suspicion, he was not enlightened enough to think of swin-
dling him. This ignorance was indeed deplorable; for Petie
preferred sitting in doors, making fishing lines and mending
nets, to plying in the market, and was, besides, fully convinced
both of his own incapacity for business, and of his companion's
talents; so that, but for this want of illumination, Spiel might
have bilked him out of the profits of their mutual labors. There
were, however, no unfair dealings between them, but, on the
contrary, perfect confidence and friendship. They tilled one
plot of ground, and sowed it with the same seed: they assisted
each other in digging peat, and in making or repairing every
shed or utensil which the necessities of either required; and they
knew no need of asking when they wished to borrow. In fact,
the division of their huts was the only distinction that existed be-
tween them, and as these were situated close together, on a slope
lying under the lee of a rocky hill, apart from the rest of the
village, this separation was merely nominal.
To their lonely and isolated situation may perhaps be traced
the commencement of their union; and in such islands, where
" * Pronounced “Mollymawk.”
º


THE NIKKUR Holl. 39
-
every want beyond the capacity of the individual to supply, must
be obviated by the assistance of a neighbor, close intimacies
must necessarily be produced. Similarity of temper and inclina-
tion may be essential to matrimonial connexions, but the friend-
ships of either sex exist most strongly between those of different
dispositions and pursuits; and he who considers that jealousy,
envy, and avarice, are the rocks on which most friendships
are wrecked, will not be at a loss for the cause.
The love of gain, which Spiel Trosk nourished as the dearest
affection of his heart, increased, like all other inordinate desires,
in strength and magnitude, till it became a monster. He grew
discontented with the spare profits of his occupation, a creel of
sillocks brought him but a trifle, hundreds of ling and tusk were
sold without filling his purse, and the mittens and caps, which
he and Petie knitted at spare hours, or whilst watching their
lines, hardly repaid the cost and the labor, and to dig and carry
peat was absolute waste of time.—In fact, his thoughts were di-
rected towards obtaining large sums of money, such as he had
heard were amassed by the southrons, whose ships passed
occasionally before his eyes. He had sailed in a Greenland-
man, in his youth, and he now dreamed of the wealth the owner
must have possessed to fit out such a vessel; he thought of the
shoals of bottle-noses he had seen killed in his native voes, and
he calculated the produce which the laird had enjoyed—Money
became the only theme of his thoughts, his idol, and he might
be said to worship Mammon in his heart. At length he became
º with a strange idea, he fancied that he was destined to
e rich—not rich like Magnus Horrick, the fish salter, who
traded to Spain; nor like Davis Steinson, the spirit dealer; but
rich as Gilbert Maclure of Leith, who, it was said, could buy all
Shetland; or as a merchant of London, whose ships came year-
ly to Lerwick, on their way to the whale fishery, and returned,
in their homeward course, laden with the ransom of a monarch.
For some time the idea which Spiel had conceived, of his ap-
W.; state of affluence, was of great benefit to the firm of
inwig and Trosk; for the fisherman had believed that his rich-
es were to be the result of unparalleled exertion and success.
He had accordingly become more energetic than ever, and he
began to attract much notice at this period, from his constantly
going about in search of gain. He knew no rest by land or by
sea, his nets and his lines were always in the water, and his fish
were never wanting in the market. Petie now was of greater
importance than he had ever been before, and his hours were
well engaged in netting and twisting lines; for Spiel had doubled
his demand for tackle, and employed two sets of fishing gear
instead of one. -
But it was not from fish only that Trosk expected to obtain
his wealth; he became a speculator, and at the close of the


40 - THE NIKKUR Holl.
summer bought the surplus grain of his neighbors, and added
it to an extraordinary quantity which he and Winwig had raised
by their own exertions. This he intended to carry in his boat
to the surrounding islands, when corn might be dear, and he
talked of stretching over to Orkney, if he could hear of a good
market. At the departure and return of the Greenland fleet, he
was one of the most diligent visiters to the vessels in Brassa
Sound, whither he always repaired in due time, with lambs,
poultry, eggs, mittens, hose, and every other saleable commodi-
ty; but, unlike his brethren, instead of preferring to receive the
value of his merchandise in meal, split pease, and pieces of beef
or pork, he would never part even with a muscle unless for
money, for the only delight he knew was the possession of cash.
Another source of revenue to the firm was down, collected
during those times when the weather rendered fishing impracti-
cable, and Spiel was soon known as the most adventurous climb-
er amongst precipices who had ever plundered a nest. Even
the eagles of Sumburgh were not safe from his depredations,
when engaged in scaling the heights of the mountains—no man
could strike down a shag or a gannet like the Skerry fisherman,
nor could any one boast of having killed so many wild swans.
With all his diligence and dexterity, after a year and a half
spent in anxious labor and peril, Trosk found that the accumu-
lated profits of twice fifty such terms, would not produce the
wealth he had allotted to himself in his dream of avarice; and,
instead of questioning the justness of his impression that he was
to become rich, he concluded that some strange and unprece-
dented good fortune was to befall him. This fancy wrought in
the mind of Spiel till he could not contain it, and it was spread
abroad through the medium of Winwig, who, finding his friend
did not mean to make it a secret, took delight in telling what
he began to believe as truth, for his opinion of Trosk’s sagacity
was great, and his own weakness of mind was not trifling. To
the simple declaration which Petie made, the neighbors added
their own comments, and incorporated them with the text. It
was said, that Spiel had been visited by his infernal majesty
himself, who had offered to make him a rich man, on certain
conditions, and that only the consent of the fisherman was want-
ing to render him wealthy. Several even recollected the time
of the proposal, and were almost, sure they had seen the evil
one pull the latch of the cottage, and enter during a storm. A
description of the Devil became familiar with the gossips of the
Skerries, and from thence found its way to Lerwick; and at
length “Mess John, the pastor,” made some allusion to it in
the kirk on a Sunday. Others had a different way of accounting
for the foretold riches of the fisherman. He was the orphan
of an orphan, and that was sufficient to ensure him luck. This
assertion, however, did not contain enough of the wonderful to


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 41
*
give general satisfaction; and, accordingly some declared that
Trosk had discovered the means of propitiating the lost race of
brownies, and of obtaining their long withheld kindness; while
still another party said, that the prophet, who had predicted the
future riches of the fisherman, was a being without name, or de-
scription, which had risen up from the bottom of the sea one
moonlight night, when Spiel pulled his line, thinking he had
hooked a large fish, and which had told him explicitly, that he
should possess more pieces of gold than he had ground “aits in
the mull.”. -
Which of these reports is correct, is not for me to state, but
an occurrence soon took place which induced Spiel Trosk to
believe and hope in secret, that that portion of them which re-
ferred to the quantity of gold he should amass would prove cor-
rect. It is one of the attributes of superstition to give credit to
relations which are totally at variance with our own experience
and knowledge, provided they promise something improbable
and supernatural; and, although the fisherman at first declared
that he had neither seen the devil, nor propitiated a brownie,
nor fished up a demon from the depth of the ocean, he suddenly
altered his manner, and hinted that the report of his having
communication with beings of another world was not altogether
without foundation. - . .
The desire of wealth, which at first had prompted Spiel to ex-
ert every muscle in the pursuit of profitable occupations, now
rose to a height which rendered it, like all other overstrained
passions, injurious to its entertainer. By his unrivalled dili.
gence and foresight, and the, obedience and docility of Petie,
Trosk and Winwig were already spoken of as the most flourish-
ing fishermen within the isles. On them Magnus Horrick, the
mighty fish curer, depended for a greater supply than on any
four others, and from their nets and lines the gastronomes of
Lerwick obtained the choicest offerings of the seas. Their
fame, too, began to be attached to other articles of commerce;
Spiel had disposed of his barley and oats with great success,
having carried them to the neighboring isles at a season when
they were greatly needed, for which the laird of Calk had pre-
sented him with a fizgig or small harpoon.
Petie's mittens and caps were in great esteem amongst traders
and sailors, and were thought equal to those of Fair Isle, and
their boat was always welcome alongside of every ship in the
sound, since, as I have said, they were not civilized enough to
know how to cheat. In this thriving condition, when they were
considered as the most monied men in the Skerries, and had con-
tracted for more land for raising barley, and feeding sheep and
horses, than any other tenants of the laird, Spiel Trosk became
discontented, and possessed with the belief that his riches were
to be the result of some fortuitous circumstance. His mind
º º º 4%
Q.
H
-


42 - | THE NIKKUR HOLL.
grew uneasy and anxious, and instead of wearing the air of an
active man of business, with a keen and decisive glance of the
eye, he showed the restless and haggard countenance of a per-
son bereft of his property. He began to prowl and roam about
now, ºnore in hopes of meeting with the gifts of chance, than in
pursuit of any determined object, and his looks grew rapacious
from avarice, and angry from disappointment; still he did not
neglect any of his former occupations, though he performed
them with less alacrity of spirit and gratification than before;
but he was wont to fall into reveries and calculations upon the
nature of the event which was to fill up the measure of his covet-
ousness, if, indeed, such a desire can be satiated.
Dangerous is the precipice that hangs over the gulf of futu-
rity, and fearful is his situation who attempts to look steadily
down it. The meditations of the fisherman, on the possibility of
gaining money without labor, gave birth to strange fancies
and desires in his mind. The gossip of the old women often
recurred to his thoughts, and when at night the wind whistled
around his cabin, and the sea poured into the voe near which it
was situated, and broke among the rocks, his ear listened, almost
without his consent, for some unusual and portentous sound.
What it was he expected to hear, or to behold, he knew not,
and wished not to think, but the heavy pattering of rain often
sounded to him like footsteps, and when a gust shook his door,
he looked at the latch, with the fixed yet haggard eye of one
who firmly awaits the arrival of a terrible visiter.
The mind of Spiel was likewise perpetually disturbed by the
recurrence of a singular circumstance, whenever he sought re-
pose on his pillow. At the moment of dropping off to sleep, he
was awakened by a word whispered in his ear, which notwith-
standing all his endeavors, he could not perfectly recollect,
although it seemed as if the mention of one letter of it would
have enabled him to remember the whole. It was not a word
he had ever heard before, nor uttered in a tone like the voice
of any being he knew; but, to whatever language it belonged,
or however it was spoken, it was distinctly pronounced, and
nothing but the want of a cue to begin with prevented his re-
peating it. He held it in his mind, and felt it as it were at the
end of his tongue, but all his attempts to give it utterance were
unavailing, and he might have forgotten it, but that, when he
least thought of it, the same syllables were repeated near to
him—not constantly, but from time to time, just as his eyes
closed, and he lost the consciousness of his situation.
Still this was a circumstance of no consequence, and he strove
to look upon it as a curious annoyance, which caused him more
uneasiness than it deserved. It was the omen of nothing; for
nothing took place that had not happened before. No good or
evil fortune crossed his path, but the neighbors, with natural
-**
-


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 43
malignity, remarked that success had not made Trosk happier;
and pithy hints, about the blessings of poverty and contentment,
were dropped in his presence. But the malicious insinuations
of his countrymen were less heeded by Spiel than the froth of
the sea; his thoughts were on bags of money, and his atten-
tion was engaged with things to come.
Winter had now fairly set in, short days succeeded the long
nights of that season, and the northern ocean was dashed in
huge billows upon the shores. The blasts, which swept the icy .
sea of Spitzbergen, came laden with triple coldness, and wither-
ed the vegetation of the valleys through which they passed.
The spray no longer merely whitened the rocks along the beach;
it rose in showers upon the breeze, and smote the face of the
wanderer far within the land. The wild fowl forsook the coast,
and gathered together upon the sheltered lochs and pools among
the hills; and squalls of hail and sleet drove along in rapid suc-
cession.
At this season little opportunity offered to the fishermen, to
pursue their avocations; they were, for the most part, confined
to their cottages, and employed themselves in refitting their
tackle for the ensuing spring. Not so Spiel Trosk: if the sea
would yield him no fish, it might give him drift wood, or the
spoil of a wreck, or curious shells for the Greenland doctors,
or even sea weed, or he might light upon a seal sleeping on a
rocky nook, or surprise a solan within reach of a stone, or he
might find something which would add to his possessions, and
eventually be converted into money; for, like Ben Franklin, he
well knew that, after lying by for seven years, many things at
last turn to account. With this view, Spiel was accustomed to
make a tour of the beach early every morning, and he seldom
returned without a trifle of some kind in his hand.
In one of his rounds he stopped to observe a speck floating
on the water, which, as it drew near, he found to be a seal by
its diving. He stood for a little while, in hopes it might crawl
out upon the shore, and give him an opportunity of striking it,
and whilst thus engaged, just within the verge of the flood tide,
which was rising, he occasionally turned his eyes upon the peb-
bles that were driven forward by the force of the waves. A
billow, more heavy and more angry than the rest, rolled towards
him, and as it rushed up the strand, it brought, amongst a clus-
ter of wreck and sea moss, a yellow pellet, which it left at his
feet. From habitual inclination to appropriate every thing to
himself, the fisherman at first picked it up as an uncommon
stone; but his fingers soon contracted with spasmodic firmness,
when he discovered that he held in his hand a piece of pure
gold. After a momentary ecstasy, he again looked at it, and
saw that by the action of the water it had been rolled to and fro
* -


44 THE NIKKUR Holl.
at the bottom, till it had become as round, and about as large,
as a musket bullet. - -
From ruminating on his wishes, and on the reports that had
been framed concerning their accomplishment, the mind of Trosk
had acquired a tinge of superstition. He gazed again and
again at the golden pebble and thought of the bullets of precious
metal which he had heard in his childhood were sometimes shot
at witches, and he felt a slight thrill through his frame, when
the idea of a bait being laid for him by the infernal foe crossed
his brain. - -
The consideration of the weight and value of this little ingot,
however, soon put weak fancies to flight, and he sat himself
down to form some conjecture as to the manner of its arrival
on that coast, while he carefully watched the waves for anoth-
er such gift. - - -
Long and abstract were the meditations of Spiel Trosk, as
he patiently awaited the ebbing of the tide, in hopes the retir-
ing waters would leave a second ball of gold for his reward.
He reflected that, unless his prize had been cast into the form
of a bullet, a supposition which he would not seriously entertain,
it had probably formed the centre of a large piece of gold,
which had been worn away to the size he now found it; and,
with a sigh, at the loss of so many precious grains, as deep as
if they had been drawn from his own pocket, he strove to es-
timate what might have been the bulk of the original ingot.
I cannot tell you how he set to work; but he was interrupted
by a heavy squall of rain, hail, and snow, which drove with
blinding fury over the ocean, full in his face, and though he
cared little for weather, he thought it as well to seek shelter in
a kind of cavern in the rocks, not far from where he was stand-
ing, foreseeing that the tempest would not last long. Hither,
then, he retreated, not by entering at its mouth, for the sea
constantly poured in at that opening, but by descending down a
wide gap in its roof, which led by craggy steps to the cavity
within. A dark and dreary retreat was this cavern, and of un-
usual formation, for it was not a blind cave, penetrating directly
into the cliff, but a vast gallery or tunnel, which opened on one
side of a steep headland, and pierced through to the other,
allowing the waves to rush and tumble along its gloomy gulf,
till they foamed out at the end opposite to that at which they
entered. From the position of the external rocks, a constant
succession of waves were directed through it, and a perpetual
roar reverberated in its hollow bowels. Few but adventurous
and thoughtless lads had ever ventured within its interior, and
their curiosity led them not far; while the more mature, who had
no motive for encountering its difficulties, were contented with
warning their children not to fall down the rift that led to it,
which gaped amidst a cluster of heather at the back of the prom-


| THE NIKKUR HOLL. - 45
ontory, and with handing down its name of the Nikkur Holl,
as they had received it from their fathers.
Trosk left the low beach, and hurried round the hill, to the
opening that conducted to the chasm; for the storm came pelt-
ing down more angrily than he had expected, and so thickly
fell the sleet, that he could scarcely see to pick his way through
the peat bogs, that lay at the foot of the acclivity, deluged as
they were with the little rills that descended into them. He
had not sought “the yawn,” as the mouth of the rift was called,
since he had been a youth, but he found it with little difficulty.
On entering, however, he perceived that its gulf was much
less practicable to him now than he had been used to consider
it, when younger and more venturesome; and though he was
the most expert climber within the Skerries, he felt no inclina-
tion to penetrate farther within its abyss, than was requisite to
screen him from the driving of the tempest. At about ten or
twelve feet below the edge, there was a shelf formed by the
projection of a ledge of rock, and to this he let himself down,
and having seated himself, at length, under the lee of a block of
stone, he drew out his piece of gold from his pocket, and re-
newed his contemplations.
His chief endeavor was to recollect if he had ever heard of
a vessel having been cast away near the Skerries; for to some
such occurrence he attributed the presence of the golden bullet,
and he wished, besides, to flatter a hope he had conceived, that
this prize was only the harbinger of a greater treasure; but,
with all his retrospection, he could recall no tradition of a ship-
wreck near his native isle, and he remained lost in amazement
and doubt. Meanwhile, the face of the heavens became less
obscure with clouds, the wind no longer howled over the mouth
of the gulf, and the deep echoing bellow of the troubled surge
within the Nikkur Holl was the only sound distinguishable.
The fisherman, however, did not awaken from the revery into
which he had fallen, but remained sitting, almost unconsciously,
on the ledge within “the yawn.” He was calling over in his
mind the names of several old persons, from whom he meant to
inquire what vessels had been lost on the coast within their
memory, and was scarcely aware that he was not seated by his
own hearth, when a voice whispered slowly in his ear, “Car-
mil-han.” “Good God!” cried Spiel, starting up and looking
fearfully down the abyss, from whence the sound seemed to
come, “this is the Word that haunts me in my sleep! what can
it mean?” What is Carmilhan? he would have said, but he
felt unwilling to pronounce the strange term, though he now
recognised it as that which he had so long endeavored to utter.
He continued a few moments gazing into the dark void beneath,
and listening to the roaring waves, which seemed to wrestle
unceasingly within the craggy entrails of the hill, till a degree


Y46 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
of alarm overcame him, and he turned to ascend the sides of the
rift; but, just as his last foot was withdrawn over the upper
edge, a slight breath of wind passed out, and muttered, “ Car-
milhan.” “Carmilhan!” repeated Trosk with violence: “Gra-
cious Heaven, why is this unknown word thus spoken to me!”
He then rushed down the hill, and stopped not till he had
hastened a great way towards his cottage. •
It must not be supposed, from this behavior, that Spiel was
a coward; he was, on the contrary, one of the bravest of his
countrymen, but the singular coincidence of the same sound,
ringing in his ears at unexpected moments, and the dreary place
in which he had last heard it, combined to agitate his mind.
He felt, too, a degree of nervous irritability gain upon him, as
his desire of wealth grew stronger; for that powerful impulse
was opposed by a consciousness, that the encouragement he
gave it was criminal, and he had, besides, constantly remarked,
that the word which annoyed him always followed his reveries
and dreams of riches. -
By the time he reached his cabin, which he did at a swift
pace, Trosk felt inclined to smile at his own folly, at scamper-
ing through burns and bogs at the rustling of the air from an
outlet in the rock. He now half doubted that he had heard
any thing more than a gust of wind; for, though he was con-
fident that “Carmilhan” was the word he had fancied spo-
ken to him in his sleep, and which he had in vain endeavored
to recollect, he attributed the supposed repetition of it in “the
yawn,” to his having remembered it unexpectedly, at the instant
the “sough” rose up through the tunnel. In fact he burst out
into a laugh, as he looked at his breeks, splashed with the oozy
puddles through which he had hurried, and he fondled “Sealgh,”
the dog who guarded both the cottages, in a more playful man-
ner than was natural to him. Not having been at home to
light his fire, he went to Winwig's hut, in hopes of getting some
warm burgoo for breakfast, and, on entering, he found Petie
fast asleep, sitting with his back propped against a chest, by
the side of some smoaking peat, that lay amidst a heap of white
ashes on the raised hearth, in the midst of the room. In each
hand he still held a knitting needle, with which he had been at
work, and a kitten was playing with the worsted ball attached
to them, whilst Petie's head occasionally nodded forward, as if
in mute approbation of its antics. -
The fisherman entered the cottage of his comrade, with the
intention of showing him the piece of gold he had found, but
Winwig did not awake with the noise he made, and Spiel seat-
ed himself by the fire, and warmed his pannikin to prepare
his meal in silence. At another time he would have roused
Petie, who had fallen into a doze, as he was wont when unen-
gaged in any very active employment; but now he felt some


the Nikkun Holi. - , 47
f
doubts of the prudence of letting his friend know his good for-
tune, since that harmless and simple being might take delight
in spreading the news among the neighbors, who would be
continually on the watch for other prizes of the same kind, and
who might also adopt a measure he had contemplated himself.
At length he resolved not to make his partner acquainted with
“his luck,” but to pursue his own counsels, till he had satisfied
himself that there would be no danger in risking the disclosure;
and he continued eating his crowdie with good appetite, and
admiring the full, sleek, and torpid countenance of Winwig,
and wondering how any being capable of making money by
exertion could resign himself to such a state of unprofitable
inaction. There was, however, in the blubber swollen cheeks
and massive double chin of Petie, an air of contentment and
happiness that offered the best reply to the sarcastic reflections
of Trosk; and could a stander-by have beheld the broad,
smooth, rounded features of one, half smiling in sleep, while
his head nodded at ease, unable to sink far, from the rolls of
fat that encompassed his neck and pillowed it up, and at the
same glance could have viewed the sharp and care-marked
visage of Spiel, with its deepening furrows, its wrinkled front,
its thin projecting nose, curved over its compressed lips, while
its hue of lived brown was rendered still more lurid by the
gleams of its haggard eye, which shone behind its contracted
brow of stiff black hair, like the glance of a tiger through a
bush, he would have required no time to decide which person
he would have chosen to be.'
Petie's slumber was ended by the kitten, which, after taking
sundry gamesome wheels round the room, ran scrambling up
his clothes, till it mounted his head, from whence, when the
“man mountain’’ moved, it leaped off in alarm. Not less
alarmed was Winwig, who, clapping both his hands on his
crown, where the beast had left several scratches, started up
"and staggered about, with his eyes half open, and his senses
yet asleep; but a loud laugh, which Spiel was provoked to
utter, recalled his recollection. -
“Heigh! Spiel,” cried the drowsy loon, rubbing his eyes, “I
am very glad you are safe; for I have been dreaming strange
things about you.” -
“About me, do you say?” replied the other.
“Ay, indeed, hinney,” said Winwig, “I but now thought I
was yourself, and, though I knew I was not you, I still fancied
I was, and at the same time I thought I was a fish, and that I
saw a bait which I wanted to take, though I knew there was a
hook in it, that would lay hold of me. It was a yellow bait, and
, the more I looked at it the more I longed for it, and something
seemed to mutter ‘take it, take it,” in my ear, till at last I
snapped at it, and was caught, and I felt as if being drawn along


48 THE NIKKUR Holl.
by the hook when I awaked; but all the while I thought I was
you, and not me, though I imagined I was close by at the
time.” -
“Pheugh! dreams are but dreams,” said Spiel: “you felt
the cat’s claws in your head, and you imagined the rest to ac-
count for it. Has Steenson been here to-day?”
“No,” replied Petie; “I think the squall has kept him away.
It was so thick for a time that I could not see, and just then I
dropped off. ”
“Where were you in the storm?” -
“I was under shelter of a rock,” said Trosk, turning the
conversation, and, shortly after, he left the cabin. -
From this time Spiel became more moody and disconted than
ever. The sight of the gold, which he used to contemplate
several times a day, seemed to infect him with an insatiability
and restlessness, that kept him constantly from home. In spite
of frost and snow, and storms and tempests, he was always on
the beach; and whenever the boat could live on the sea, he put
off shore, on pretence of fishing, though many old craftsmen
made it their business to inform him that it was not the season
for catching fish. But Spiel gave them some evasive answer,
and they grew tired of imparting wisdom to no purpose to a self-
willed-adventurer. \
Trosk's real object, in pretending to fish, was to use a grap-
nel he had constructed, in hopes of laying hold.of something at
the bottom, which would prove of value, or, at least, confirm him
in his idea that some ship had foundered near the spot where
he found the piece of gold. He had in vain inquired, of the
oldest inhabitants of the isle, whether any vessel had been wreck-
ed at any time near the Skerries. No one knew of a loss.so
near; and, though many could tell him of all the catastrophes
of the kind that had happened amongst the Shetland Islands,
since the time when the Spanish Armada appeared off them, he
could hear of nothing that had taken place where he expected.
Spring appeared, and yet Spiel had met with no second piece
of gold, although he had paced the beach till he had almost
numbered every stone that lay upon it. He had raked the
bottom with his grapnel, for a mile along the coast, and for the
depth of ten fathoms, but had found nothing. He had watched
when the waves were most rough, and the surf most violent, in
hopes of seeing another rounded mass of precious metal
thrown on the strand, but in vain, and now it was time to return
to his usual duties—to drain the land, to till and sow, and dig
peat, and set his tackle in order. Yet, without neglecting the
business of the firm, he resolved to continue his researches for
more gold. He felt convinced, that one lump of that substance
could not have come alone to where he found it, and he per-
suaded himself, that he had not hitherto struck upon the place


THE NIKKUR HOLL. - 49
where the wreck had happened. To avoid wasting the time
necessary for his other occupations, he regularly went out at
night with his boat, and this he did for a long time in private;
but, when his proceedings were noticed, he still continued the
practice, declaring that he could not sleep, and that it was bet- .
ter to run the chance of catching something, than to be awake
and idle in bed. By degrees, however, he let his desire for
acquiring the supposed lost treasure overcome his prudence,
and, instead of returning ashore to renew his labors in the field,
he remained, pretending to fish, for the greater part of the day.
Unfortunately, the place near which he had found the bullet was
notorious for its want of fish; and, when his countrymen saw
him toiling in such a barren spot, they were amazed at his per-
tinacity in dropping his lines where no prey had been taken for
years. This obstinacy was the more conspicuous, because
quantities of sillocks, herrings, mackerel, cod, ling, and tusk,
were to be met with in other places; and the sagacity for which
Spiel had formerly been remarkable began to be questioned,
while the property he had accumulated daily dwindled away.
At the same time, in consequence of all these meditations and
considerations, and painful watchings, Trosk himself grew lean-
er, and more avaricious," without becoming more rich. Indeed,
he was now much poorer; his features put on a more greedy
and sharpened appearance, his eyes seemed capable of pierc-
ing through every thing at which he looked, and his cupidity
was without control. Instead of Spiel Trosk, the money-maker,
he was now called “Dan Bottlenose;”—not that any one dared:
apply such a name to him in his presence, for his blows were
never tenderly given, nor slow in forthcoming, but his wilful
folly in “fishing for blobs,” as his neighbors used to term his
labors, had become the jest of the island. -
He was not, however, forsaken by Petie, though he brought
home no fish, nor struck down wild swans as before; nor though
Gustave Guckelsporn and Chriss Mienkel endeavored to per-
suade him that Spiel was daft or possessed, and that it was sinful
to have any thing to do with him, while there were so many
other good fellows in the island, to whom he could unite in
partnership, as he had done with him. But so well was Win-
wig persuaded of the superior sense and conduct of his com-
panion, that he adhered to his fortunes as firmly now as when
they were more prosperous, and never even questioned Trosk
concerning his motions. * - , º
, Spiel himself, at length, began to doubt the rationality of his
conduct, and looked back with regret on the months he had
wasted in vain; yet, the poorer he became, the more earnest
grew his attempts to recover some of the hidden wealth. He
now loaded a large stone with tallow, and let it sink quickly to
the bottom, in hopes of bringing up a pellet of gold attached to
5


50 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
it, as stones and shells are found clinging, by the same means,
to the sounding lead; but he drew from the bottom nothing but
pebbles, starfish, and sea urchins, and this contrivance proved
as unsuccessful as his grapnel had formerly done.
Whilst labor and disappointment exhausted the strength and
the patience of the infatuated fisherman, a more obscure and
indefinable misery preyed upon those moments which he was
constrained to allow for rest. Still, from time to time, as he
resigned himself to sleep, the same strange unearthly voice
whispered in his ear the unknown word, to which he could find
no interpretation, and still he doubted the evidence of his drow-
sy senses, and endeavored, when awake, to persuade himself,
that by continually thinking of a sound, which had been at first
only the creation of his fancy, he had rendered its recurrence
habitual. Yet, while his reason strove to contradict his feel-
ings, his mind became influenced by superstitious misgivings;
he listened to tales of kelpies and water fiends with attention,
and began to attribute his torment to a call from an evil spirit.
He now could account for his hearing “Carmilhan” repeated
in the “ yawn,” by believing that the Holl was haunted by these
beings, and he thought of applying to the minister for advice.
Then, he paused to consider whether charms would not drive
them away, and would have taken council of an old woman,
famous in those isles for her necromancy, had not his better
feelings told him that the practice was unchristian; but an oc-
currence took place which overthrew his scruples, and brought
him to the brink of the deep pit.
The moon appeared one night, when he was prosecuting his
research with his grapnel. It rose full from behind a deep
black cloud, whose skirt rested on the horizon, while its upper
edge floated like a vast black pall in the mid heaven. The
wind had gone down, and left the sea unruffled, but heaving
with a heavy ground swell, rising and falling in large smooth
billows, like the dance of a host of hills. Spiel continued his
occupation, in spite of the uneasy motion which the water com-
municated to his boat; not without some hope, that the agitation
of the ocean might lay bare or detach some portion of the treas-
ures for which he was seeking. The position he occupied at the
rising of the moon, was not far from the entrance to the Nikkur
Holl; for he had investigated almost every other station, and
when the moonlight threw the broad shadow of the cliffs upon
the water, he could not help turning his head to mark the gro-
tesque imº of the noss, or headland, through which the tun-
nel ran. Its shade was stretched upon the surface, like the
figure of a huge monster, while the roaring of the surge through
the cavern seemed to imitate its bellow. Around it spread a
field of brilliant light, but, far beyond, the sea was buried in the
deepest gloom, beneath the sable cloud from which the moon


`. THE NIKKUR HOLL. ' 51.
had glided. Trosk, while his boat drifted, and drew the grapnel
along the bottom, gazed first at the fanciful shadow of the Nik-
kur Holl, and then at the promontory itself, till his attention
was fixed by his seeing something move on its summit. What
it was he knew not, but at first he thought it was a pale flame,
then it looked like a winged creature, dancing with extended
pinions, and he ſancied he could see its features, which were
human. He looked to see if its shadow was reflected in the
water, but nothing was visible on the image of the noss. He
turned his eyes again towards the top of the cliff, and a chill
sweat crept out of his skin, when he beheld the little being leap
up distinctly from the brow of the hill, and fall down repeatedly
on its taper legs.
A thousand strange and superstitious feelings arose within
the mind of the fisherman, as he gazed on this realization of the
gossip tales he had once despised. This, then, was a sea sprite
or kelpie, and was no doubt the demon that tormented him with
its unceasing whisper. This it was, which had muttered Car-
milhan in the yawn; this was the little imp, Still Spraakel, which
had always been said to dwell in the Nikkur Holl, and whose
visits boded both good and evil, though no one could tell which
till it happened; this was the moonlight in which it loved to ap-
pear. Spiel was running on thus in his fancy, while he looked
at the object of his conjectures, till it made a third vault a
vanished, and at the same time the grapnel caught hold of some-
thing at the bottom, and brought up the boat. The fisherman
forgot the spirit for a moment, in the hope that this might prove
some part of the treasure, and he began to haul with care upon
his line. He pulled with force, but the hooks still clung firmly
to the bottom, and though the swell of the waves jerked hard .
upon the rope, it kept its grasp. Spiel pulled still stronger, and
brought his skiff close over the spot by his tugging; but the
grapnel kept its hold. He grew uneasy, and feared his line
might break, and he looked back to the noss, to see if the ap-
parition was there. It was not there, but he beheld the black
cloud advancing on all sides from the horizon, while the moon
looked pale in the space in which she yet shone, in the centre
of the heavens. The shadow of the headland was gone, and
darkness was fast closing around him. The wind began to rise,
, and the bowels of the Nikkur Holl roared more loudly than be-
fore, while the heaving of the sea grew more troubled. His
boat rocked, and he leaned over its side, and pulled with vio-
lence, resolved upon breaking his rope, or bringing up the spoil,
be it rock or kist of gold. Again he strained hard, just as the
clouds were about to shut out the light of the moon; the impedi-
ment gave way, and he believed the line had broken, for he felt
no weight; but in an instant something large and dark rose up
above the surface of the water, over which he bent, as if dispo-
f


52 - THE NIKEUR HOLL.
sed to spring into the boat. He fixed his eyes upon it, with
his hands extended to grasp it, whatever it might be; and as
the water, which had now assumed a sparkling appearance,
separated to give it passage, he saw inscribed upon a round
black mass of something, though what he could not define, the
hateful word, “Carmilhan.” It stopped scarce half an instant
above the surface, and again sunk, as quickly as it had risen;
but Trosk, rendered desperate by this repetition of his torment,
plunged his arm swiftly after it, and caught it by its hair. This
gave way, and the rest was gone. He drew back his hand, but
the moon had disappeared, and he could not see what sort of
slippery matter remained in it. A groan of despair, urged al-
most to madness, burst from the lips of the fisherman at this
defeat, and he gnashed his teeth and tore his hair with vexation;
but presently, loud claps of thunder, followed by heavy drops
of rain, foretold the onset of a storm, and he was compelled to
take to his paddles, and make for the shore. A raging tempest
succeeded, and Spiel, though cooped beneath a ledge of rock,
was drenched with rain and spray; but, notwithstanding his
situation, and the occurrences he had witnessed, he fell asleep
before the day dawned over the ocean. His dreams were but
a repetition of what he had shortly before beheld while awake,
though aggravated by the wild delusions of unbridled fancy, and
he was disturbed from his repose by an imaginary disappoint-
ment, similar to that which he had really suffered. When he
opened his eyes, the first rays of the sun were gleaming over
the waters before him. The billows had dwindled to little waves,
leaping and dancing along the surface, with glittering ºrests
and pale blue bosoms. A soft mist occupied the horizon, ex-
tending towards the island, and gleaming in many places with
imperfect rainbows, which gradually seemed to melt away in the
morning sunbeams. Of wind there was scarcely a breath, and
one small black cloud floated alone upon a sky of milky azure.
The fisherman lay for sometime looking at the mild features
of the new-born day, and comparing them with the hideous
scowl of the preceding night. His view stretched over a wide
expanse of sea, swelling in joyous motion, from the foot of the
rocks, in which he had found protection, to the light veil of
vapor which hung before the distance. He saw, at intervals,
the restless gulls glide along the face of the deep, and the glit-
tering fishes leap from its bosom; but yet he did not stir, and
he wondered what feeling of idleness now bound his hitherto
unwearied limbs.
After remaining a little longer thus stretched at ease, he was
about to arise and take to his boat, when he fancied he could
see, at the utmost verge of vision, something floating on the
water. . It was, indeed, but a speck, but it was a speck of hope,
and Spiel never neglected the slightest chance of acquisition.


--
* *
º
** -
º THE NIKKUR HOLL. 53
It was something, and it might be something valuable, and that
idea was sufficient to engage his attention. He resolved, there-
fore, to make towards it, lest any one else should have it in his
eye, and secure it before him, and he was every moment on
the point of creeping from his recess, but yet he felt willing to
stay an instant longer. This instant was spent in a fresh con-
jecture on the nature of the floating body, and the succeeding,
instant was similarly occupied. In the meanwhile, the object
of his consideration drew sensibly nearer, and became more
visible; and as he concluded, by its progress, that it possessed
more means of making way than the action of the winds and
the waves, he began to suppose that it might be a skiff. That
it was a boat, he in a short time became convinced, for he
could mark its outline, and descry a figure sitting in it; but his
surprise at the rapidity of its advance was increased, by his
not being able to descry either the sails or oars by which it
was propelled. º
Having determined to remain where he was, Spiel drew him-
self as far back as possible within his hiding place, and kept
his eyes fixed upon the bark. He now fancied that its quick-
ness of motion had decreased, and that it came forward very
slowly indeed. This he considered natural enough, as it evi-
dently had no source of motion but the uncertain action of the
waves, and he attributed his former supposition to the incorrect
vision caused by the fog; but still he was astonished to observe
it glide on, on end, with the stem towards the shore, instead
of driving along with its broadside to the wind; béause he
could see that the person aboard paid no attention to the rud-
der, if it had one, but was seated rather more forward than aft.
He noticed another circumstance, that excited his wonder,
which was, that a small string of petrels, or Mother Carey's
chickens, followed the wake of the bark, and flew at times
around the head of the stranger; though it is well known that
these birds never appear except in storms, of which they are
considered both the harbingers and the spirits; yet just then
the weather and the ocean were remarkably calm. Again, he
was at a loss to account for the boat being directed immediately
towards the spot in which he was secreted, for there was no
inlet or landing place for some distance along the coast, but a
bluff, rocky margin, till you come to Dummafrith's Voe.
This circumstance, however, he attributed to ignorance of
the shore, or want of power to manage the boat, and he had
time to form a thousand speculations while he lay ensconced in
his nook.
At length, Spiel could make out something of the features
and figure of the person who occupied the bark, and he found
him to be a little withered old man, who sat quite stiff and ,
upright on the rowers' bench, and neither moved his head nor
5%


º
54 THE NIKKUR Holl. *
*
body to the right/nor to the left. His face was thin and sharp,
and covered by a dry, wrinkled, tawny skin, stretched tightly
over the stringy muscles which formed his cheeks and lips.
His dress was of bright yellow canvass, or something like it,
and a red night-cap covered his head, with its point sticking
upright in the air, while in his hand he held a kind of instrument,
that resembled a harpoon at one end and a blubber fork at the
other.
“This is a very odd little fellow,” thought Trosk to himself,
as the boat came up towards him, “he looks as old and as stiff
as if he had been dead and dried like a salted tusk for this fifty
years—he certainly is not alive now.”
This conjecture, indeed, seemed true, for the skiff having run
up against the boat of the fisherman, which lay beneath his re-
cess, remained stationary, and Spiel could see plainly enough,
that the eyes of the little figure were closed, and that its mouth
was shut, as if a long time had passed since it had been opened,
and that there was no perceptible respiration going on.
Spiel, having advanced to the edge of his retreat, sat for some-
time looking down upon the immoveable little figure before him, .
in wonder at the situation and attire of the man, and at the kind
of boat which had brought him; for the whole was unlike any
thing he had ever before beheld or heard of. But, after striving
in vain to account for what he saw, he became impatient, and
in a tone somewhat influenced by a kind of awe, which he felt
creeping into his mind, he called out to the stranger to know if
he was asleep. He might as well have called to the Nikkur
Noss for any answer he received, though he repeated the ques-
tion several times, each louder than the last. But, growing
more bold or curious, he descended into his boat, and grasping
the boat hook gave the little oddity a smart push. This was of
no avail, and he pushed again harder than before, to as little
purpose; and he was about to fasten a rope to the head of the
skiff to tow it round to the voe, by the side of which he resided,
thinking it fit that the authorities of the island should take cog-
nizance of the dead body, for such he now considered it to be,
when it slowly began to move. Its eyes opened, but at first
they were lifeless, and vôid of sight, and turned in their sockets
with a ghastly rolling, which, if it did not terrify the Shetlander,
made him push off the strange boat from his own with a feeling
of horror. Shortly after, the lips quivered, and were drawn
apart into a fearful grin, which showed gums large and toothless,
and expanded into a frightful gape, from whence a deep sigh,
or rather groan, issued, along with a blast of vapor, more like
the smoke of gunpowder than the steam of breath. Upon see-
ing this, Spiel mechanically shipped his oar over the stern of
! his boat, and began to skull her a little way off; but, reflecting
‘that he was acting like a coward, he put her head about again.


THE NIKKUR HOLL. - 55
In the meanwhile, life seemed to have taken possession of the
stranger, and he turned his eyes towards Trosk, and said, in a
voice of uncommon expression, “Where am I?”
This was uttered in Dutch, and the fisherman, who was par-
tially acquainted with that language, from having associated with
whale-catchers and traders from Holland, exclaimed in the same
tongue, “Who are you?”
* “I am one sitting in a boat,” answered the stranger, some-
what sharply, “to whom it would have been better for you to
have given an answer than a question.”
“Why?” said Spiel drily, for he was not a man to be lec-
tured.
“Because,” said the other, “I could have satisfied questions
you might have liked to ask.”
“You have not satisfied one which I asked just now,” cried
the fisherman; ‘‘ but I have no mind to wrangle with you. You
are at one of the Shetland isles—one of the outer Skerries—
Whence do you come? and why do you come in this strange
fashion?” -
“What is strange to you is not strange to me,” replied the
little man. “I came over the sea to look for the Carmilhan.”
“For the Devil!” ejaculated Spiel.
“I have no need to look for him,” said the stranger.
“In the name of God! what is the Carmilhan 2’’ cried the fish-
erman ſervently.
“I answer no questions put in that manner,” exclaimed the
little man, wriggling about as if in pain, and groaning as if he
growled.
“I say, what is the Carmilhan?” repeated Spiel, not heeding
the anguish of the stranger.
“The Carmilhan is nothing now,” said the other; “but once
she was as brave a ship as ever bore a mast.” •
“A ship!” cried Trosk. --
“Yes, a ship,” repeated the stranger; “and when she was
lost among these islands, she carried more gold than had floated
in any vessel before her.”
“Where was she lost, and when?” exclaimed the fisherman.
“It is nearly a hundred years since she was wrecked,” replied
the little man, “and it was in the night: so that, though I was
on board her at the time, I know not the precise spot; but I am
come hither to discover it.”
“A hundred years ago!” cries the Shetlandman—“You on
board a ship a hundred years ago! Pray, how old are you?”
“Old enough to have sailed in the Carmilihan,” replied the
stranger. “But why do you marvel?—Pray how old is Chriss
Mulrill?”
“A hundred and ten, I am told,” said Spiel; “yet how come
you to know her?” = - -


56 THE NIKKUR HOLL,
“I knew her when a child,” said the other.
“What can you want with the treasure?” cried the fisher-
man—“what need has a man of your years of money?—Teach
me how to find the gold; I will take the trouble of raising it, and
we will share it between us.”
“Yes, and how shall I be sure of your keeping your engage-
ment?” said the little man sneeringly.
* Be always with me,” answered the other. “We will divide
the money as we obtain it; and should I offer to wrong you, do
you reveal the secret to my enemies. The fear lest another
should learn the situation of the wreck, will be a bond sufficient-
ly strong to ensure my fidelity.”
“Well, be it so,” replied the stranger. “But art thou a
man of courage?” The first step requires a strong heart, Spiel
Trosk.”
“You know my name, old carl!” cried the fisherman in
amazement. “How comes this?”
“I knew your father, though you did not,” answered the little
man in his evasive way; “and I know more than you could de-
mand, though you sat here to question, and I to make replies,
till another century were added to my age. I ask you—are you
a man of courage?”
“Try me, and learn,” replied the Shetlander.
“You must try yourself,” said the man in the red cap;
“ and if you follow my directions you will learn the spot where
the riches of the Carmilhan lie hidden. You must go, just be-
fore midnight, to the most remote and desolate place in yon
island, and you must take a cow with you, and having killed it,
you must get some one to wrap you up in her fresh hide. You must
then be laid down, and left alone on the wild heath, and ere the
clock strikes the first hour of morning your desires will be satis-
fied.”
“That is how old Engrol's son was lost, body and soul!”
exclaimed Trosk, in a tone of abhorrence. “Thou art Satan!”
continued he, again skulling his boat away—“Thou art Beel-
zebub, old tempter, the Prince of darkness—Aroint thee,
demon!—I defy thee!” -
: “Thou art an utter fool,” bawled the old man to Spiel, as he
fled hastily from him. “A bubble-blinded bottlenose!—May
the curse of avarice hang over thee! May the thirst of gold
choke thee. May the ” but the fisherman having taken to
both his oars, was soon too far from the little man to hear his
exclamations, and he gained the point of the Nikkur Noss be-
fore he checked his way, or turned to look after the detestable
being he had quitted. When Trosk did look for the object of
his terror, he perceived him sitting as motionless and as rigid
in his skiff as when first he approached to the island, and with
as little signs of animation. The boat was moving forward, as


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 57
if in pursuit of him, and round it flew the petrels, whose pres-
ence was so singular, as though in attendance on the little
being. Although the Shetlander was by no means deficient in
courage, but gifted with rather more than the ordinary race of
men, he did not feel willing to have another meeting, alone,
with one who seemed possessed of supernatural powers; and,
after making himself certain that the strange creature was ac-
tually running down upon him, he set up his sail, and again
plied his oars with vigor. In this way he shot swiftly round
the Noss, and stood down to the bottom of the Woe; but, though
he kept a keen eye upon the promontory, he never saw the
little man’s skiff come past it.
Spiel Trosk had now passed the summer in dragging for in-
gots and ducats; but, as I have already said, instead of becom-
ing richer, the wealth he had before accumulated was greatly
diminished. With his property his reputation for sagacity and
success likewise began to decrease, and his countrymen attrib-
uted to nothing less than infatuation his obstinacy of persisting
to fish in places which were well known to be unfrequented by
the inhabitants of the deep. It was in vain that he heard of
shoals of herrings, ling, and tusk, being seen and caught in un-
usual quantities, round various points of the islands; his perti-
nacity yielded to none of his former objects of avidity, and his
boat nightly returned to his cabin as clean of fish as it had de-
parted in the morning. “The Skerry fisherman” had for some-
time ceased to be the principal contributor to the market of Ler-
wick, and no one had supplied his place, for no one possessed
the energy and resolution which had led Spiel to cast his nets by
night and by day, because probably no one was urged by the
same incentive—avarice. Instead of daily adding to their store,
the necessities of the partners had daily subtracted from it, till
no store remained. Want succeeded to comparative affluence;
and, from the want of the conveniences, they soon sunk to the
want of the necessaries of life. But, though this painful altera-
tion was evidently owing to the strange obstinacy of Trosk,
Winwig never for a moment deserted or upbraided his partner:
he still placed the same unbounded reliance upon his superior
powers as he had done when his exertions were successful;
and, though now the whole task of supplying the means of ex-
istence had devolved upon him, he was never heard to com-
plain. - -
These circumstances seemed to add another pang to the tor-
ments Trosk already endured, and his feelings were still more
embittered by a belief that now began to infuse itself into his
mind, that he was, as his neighbors declared, wasting his time;
yet such was his madness, that the poorer he became, the lon-
ger and more strenuously did he continue his luckless fishery
for gold and jewels. To add to his mental misery at his want
º


58 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
of success, the fiend-like whisper of Carmilhan still annoyed his
hour of sleep, at intervals, though it would leave him for a time;
but it did not fail to return when he had begun to hope he
should never experience it again.
At length poverty and disappointment, combined with avarice,
actually unsettled his brain; for to nothing else than insanity
can be attributed the desperation which determined him to fol-
low the instructions of the little man, who had accosted him on
the morning before-mentioned. The charm proposed by this
strange being was not unknown to the islands of Scotland, but
it was known as a snare which had entrapped many to their
fearful destruction, and the tales connected with it were of a
kind appalling to the listener. But nothing now could influence
the fisherman against his resolution to retrieve his fortunes, or
perish—not even the pagan origin attributed to the spell; for
it was alleged, and perhaps truly, that the slaughter of the vic-
tim was a sacrifice offered to the powers of darkness, as a pro-
pitiation for their good will, and all the abomination of a heathen
and an idolater was imputed to the deed. -
It was in vain that Petie Winwig, who was, (for a fisherman,)
a devout kirk-going man, especially when it is considered that
he loved to sleep on Sundays, endeavored to dissuade his
friend from pursuing his purpose. Useless were his represen-
tations, that they should certainly manage, somehow or other,
to get through the winter, and that it was sinful to tempt Prov-
idence by sleeping all night wrapped up in a cow-hide in the
open air, when he might repose comfortably in bed beneath a
rain-tight roof. Neither his arguments nor his entreaties had
any effect upon Spiel, who seemed to grow more obstinate in
proportion to the endeavors made to convert him from his de-
sign, and the fat good-natured fisherman's persuasions ended
in his yielding to the violent harangues of his associate, and
agreeing to accompany him to the desert place where the charm
was to be effected.
The hearts of both were wrung with pain when they fastened
a rope round the horns of a beautiful cow, which they had brought
up from a calf with all the kindness usually shown to a favorite.
She was the last remnant of their former prosperity, and had
been retained till now, though they had frequently wanted a
meal, which the sale of Luckie would have supplied. They
could not part with her, they could not see her the property of
another, but the delusion of Trosk made him ready to sacrifice
every other feeling, and his overruling spirit damped the oppo-
sition of his comrade. - -
It was now September, and the long nights of the long Shet-
land winter had commenced. The clouds of evening rode heav-
ily on the gusty winds, which rolled them around, like huge
icebergs eddying in the Malestroom; deep shadows filled the


THE NIKKUR Holl. - 59
º
glens and valleys between the hills, and the moist peat bogs,
and the murky channels of the rills, looked black and fearful,
like yawning gulfs and gaping crevices in the earth. Spiel
led the way, and Winwig came after, shuddering at his own
temerity, and following his companion more from habit than
from inclination. A thousand looks he spent upon the beauti-
ful cow, which walked to execution like a young criminal, show-
ing more youthful as his death draws nearer. It was of that
small and graceful breed, whose sleek fat sides, and glossy
coats, offer so strong a contrast to the shaggy lank limbs and
endant pot bellies, of the savage horses that browse on the
Shetland hills. Her face wore the quiet and confiding expres-
sion which domesticated animals show towards those who caress
and feed them; and when she turned, as she sometimes did,
towards Petie, as if in expectation of a root, or a tuft of hay, his
feelings overcame him, and a tear passed across his eye, if it
did not trickle from it. Often was he on the point of begging
Spiel to spare their favorite beast, and exchange her for one
less loved; but an awe, which never before had chained his
tongue, now bound it, and he mechanically traced the footsteps
of his friend, as though he had been his slave.
The spot to which the desperate fisherman bent his course
was as desolate as his soul could desire. It was a shallow val-
ley, between two hills, but it was a mountain glen, and was
elevated above other vales, which led descending from it towards
the coast. The summits of its barren sides were shrouded in
dull gray mist, and the patches of heather, and the blocks of
stone which lay scattered along the slopes, were imperfectly
visible in the gloomy light, which entered rather from the dell
beneath than from the sky above; many slow creeping streams
stole darkling down the hills, and fed a boggy rivulet, which
flowed oozing and slumbering through the swampy bottom,
till, gathering in volumes, it fell into the succeeding dales, and
terminated in the sea, which, by day, was visible at the end of
the range of highlands, though now the waves could only be
heard bursting furiously over the rocks and headlands that op-
posed it, or rolling mournfully among the pebbles that formed
its bed on the level shore.
The only route which would allow the cow to attain the scene
of her intended slaughter was along the edge of the stream, which
brought its darkened waters from the upper glen. When the
fishermen first joined it, near the beach, it was a full and head-
long current, tumbling from the little basins it had worn among
the rocks, with a quick pace and a brawling sound. In some
places it wore its way through beds of disjointed stones, and
gushed, in varied forms, between the opposing fragments; in
others it sped unseen between banks of bright green moss, which
hung over its silent course, almost concealing it; and, again, it
-
*


60 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
appeared bursting out from a black cavity in the peaty soil, to fill
a murky pool, or spread through a swampy hollow. Further up
the valley, its progress was less distinct, and its voice scarce
more than a murmur; but the verdant hue that marked its path
along the glens, and the deep brown tint of its sometimes stag-
nant surface, offered a strong contrast to the pale, withered pur-
ple of faded heath, and the yellow mosses of the surrounding
hills. No vestige of man was seen in these wild solitudes, and
silence was only broken by the noise of water, and the cries of
birds. The hoarse bellow of the ocean rose at times upon the
blast, which rushed, but spoke not, through the barren dells, and
the last late shriek of the fierce sknaw was mingled with its
echo.
Not more unwilling could have been the march of the vic-
tim, had it known the fate to which its progress tended, than
were the steps of Petie Winwig, as he followed the crooked
track which the bogs and rivulets compelled his comrade to
adopt. Opposing feelings of every description rose in his
mind against the deed to which he lent himself an accomplice.
Friendship exclaimed, that he was aiding the companion of his
youth in the worst species of self-destruction, the destruction
of the soul; humanity and gratitude upbraided him with aban-
doning the harmless animal, which he had taught to look upon
him as a protector, and which had returned his kindness with
its milk and its offspring; and religion whispered, that even he
himself was about to participate in an unhallowed and fiendish
sacrifice!—a rite of Baal!—a propitiation of the grace of Satan!
—an offering of blood on high places! All the denunciations he
had heard or perused against the sin of worshipping idols, and
bowing to Beelzebub, came across his mind; all the stories to
which he had listened, of the fatal ends of those who dabbled
in the damned mysteries of witchcraft, rose fresh, but more ter-
rible, upon his memory; and when his feet sunk, as they often
did, in the fresh loose peat, that sometimes formed their path,
his soul shook with fear, that the earth was about to gape and
swallow him. But Spiel Trosk strode steadily forward, leading
the unfortunate “Luckie,” with the air and energy of one who
deems that nothing which may follow can exceed the misery
that has passed. - -
His tall gaunt form, and long swift stride, gave him the look
of a sorcerer, stalking supernaturally along to the perpetration
of some devilish action, and could any uninitiated eye have seen
the little procession which wound and mounted up the wild defile,
leading from the sea to the highest glen, it must have considered
it, (as it really was,) hastening to perform in secret some in-
fernal ceremony of necromancy. -
The Skerry fisherman entered upon the last stage of the
mountain valleys with the firm step and the daring feelings,


THE NIKKUR HOLL, 61
which accompany the untamed criminal to the scaffold. . With all
his usual strength and nerve, he turned to help the breathless vic-
tim, whose unassisted efforts could not enable her to climb over
a rocky ledge, that separated the lower from the highest glen;
and without heeding the tottering gait and pallid countenance
of Petie, he led her away towards the centre of the area, with a
ace quickening as he proceeded. Winwig, though he trem-
É. followed; and well might it have been supposed, from his
drooping and abandoned aspect, that he too was about to be sac-
rificed with his favorite. As he crept onward, he felt the earth
shake beneath him, and he perceived that Spiel was proceeding
over a quaking bog, whose wide surface of closely woven moss
seemed floating on a pool of water, and vibrated at every step,
with a motion truly symbolic of his own sensations.
Even Luckie now seemed fearful to proceed, and looked back,
and lowed with a hollow sound, which was as unlike the rejoic-
ing bellows she used to utter by the side of her native voe, as
was her situation and her destiny. If anything were wanting to
fill to the brim Petie's cup of misery, it was a murmur from his
beloved knowt:—a gush of tears forced themselves to his eyes,
and started over the lids; but, though they fell like rain drops
on the ground, he did not speak. He was, with all his weak-
ness, resolved not to oppose the measures of his friend, nor to
add, by the expression of his own sorrow, to the high wrought
agony of mind which he knew, from what he saw, Spiel was
silently enduring.
In a few minutes Trosk reached the place where he had re-
solved to make trial of the efficacy of the charm. It was a small
circumscribed spot, in the midst of a wide morass, whose trem-
bling treacherous carpet spread around over the greater part of
the valley, I call it a valley, because it was enclosed by hills,
but it was rather a vast platform, near the summit of the moun-
tains, whose highest ridges surrounded it like an amphitheatre,
leaving open one side, which looked down into the dells beneath,
and over them out to sea. The streamlets, that trickled from
the acclivities, had penetrated the bed of moss, which had been
gathering in thickness over the peat for ages; and the tough
dense matwork quivered above the moist ooze, without permit-
ting the foot to pierce it. - w
The gloom of evening had greatly increased, whilst the Shet-
landers had been making their way up the ascent of the long de-
file, and its obscurity was augmented by the blackness of a cloud,
which had slowly floated above their heads, till it had settled
round the neighboring eminences. The mist, which ever accu-
mulates about the tops of the Zetland mountains, had begun to
fall in a thick drizzle, and there was so little light to help them,
that they advanced close to a large gray stone, which stood up
from the bosom of the marsh, without perceiving it to be tenant-


62 THE NIKKUR Holl.
ed. The moans of “Luckie” gave the alarm, and were answer-
ed by the loud scream of an eagle, which slowly spread its dus-
ky wings, and swept off from the rock on which it had been
seated. Petie started, but Spiel approached, and laid his imple-
ments on the rough fragment. Winwig turned round, and cast
his eyes down into the valley, at the extremity of which the sea
might be heard, tumbling and roaring among the crags of the
coast; he looked up to the sky, and along the summits of the
hills, and saw that the dim atmosphere was darkened by the
overhanging volume of heavy vapor, that seemed increasing
above him; he listened to a low rumbling sound, that issued
from the murky cloud; he turned again, and found that Trosk
had drawn the rope, that held the head of Luckie, round the
base of the stone—he beheld him raise a poleaxe over his head
—he could not bear this!—With his hands clasped, or rather
clinched, he fell upon his knees, and exclaimed—“In the name
of God, Spiel Trosk, spare yourself and Luckie! Ay, hinney,
spare her!—spare yourself, and me!—spare your soul!—spare
your life! and if this deadly sin must be, wait till the morrow,
and bring some other creature than our own dear kine.” -
“Petie, art thou daft!” cried Spiel, staring upon him with
the eye of a madman, and with the weapon still uplifted in the
air. “Shall Ispare Luckie, and perish?”
“You would not perish,” answered Winwig, rapidly—“you
would not perish! Whilst I have hands, Spiel, what need you
fear to perish? Stay, hinney' stay! and let me work from break
of day till fall at night, rather than plunge your soul into perdi-
tion, and slay the poor dumb beast.”
“Then take this axe,” exclaimed Spiel, with vehemence,
“and drive it through my brain!—I will not quit this spot again,
unless I have my will.—Can your hands work up the riches of
the Carmilhan 2–Can your fingers supply more than the vilest
necessaries of life?—But let them end my misery!—Here, take
my place, and I will be your victim.”
“Spiel,” cried Winwig, starting on his feet, and in an ago-
ny, “Strike!—spare nothing!—But ah, Trosk, it is your eter-
nal life for which I fear!—know you not that this is the ‘Peghts’
aultar stone?'—and that you are about to offer up a sacrifice
to the demon they worshipped?”
“I know no such thing,” cried the other Shetlander loudly,
and with a grinning laugh, that showed he was determined to
know nothing, or to think of nothing, contrary to his purpose-
“I know no such thing—I mean no such thing, Petie Winwig,
I tell thee.—You are mad, man, and you will drive me mad.—
But Luckie shall not die—you shall have her instead of me!”
—and he dashed down the axe, and clutched the knife from the
stone, with the intention of plunging it into his bosom. -
Petie, the feeble-minded Petie, was in an instant at his side;
º


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 63
he wrenched the instrument from his grasp, and in the next
moment he seized the poleaxe, and whirling it round his head,
he let the blade fall full on the skull of Luckie, with such force
that he cleft it in twain, and she rolled dead, without a strug-
gle, at the feet of her masters.
A flash of lightning, accompanied by a clap of thunder, fol-
lowed this action, and Trosk stared at his companion, as a man
would stare if he beheld a child accomplish what he should fear
to attempt. Not that he could not have shown as much bodily
strength himself; but that the mild and passionless Petie should
have assumed a part so energetic, and so contrary to the spirit
of his former life! But Winwig neither started at the thunder,
nor looked at his companion, nor spoke, but instantly made.
use of the knife he had seized, to flay his favorite; and he
proceeded as quickly and as dexterously as if she were only a
seal. In this occupation he was joined by Spiel, after he had
recovered from his surprise, though he felt as much reluctance
now as eagerness before, and his heart sickened at the hot.
steams that arose from the carcass. Ere the hide was taken
off, the mist had gathered so densely around the hills, that the
fishermen were both enveloped in clouds, and drenched with
rain. The fog rolled along the little plain in revolving billows,
but slowly; for, though the wind was heard rushing through
the dells below, and struggling with the distant surge, it was
not yet amongst the mountains. The rumbling of thunder
grew louder around them, and came nearer at times, exploding
among the highest eminences, and descending at times upon
the plain. Bright flashes and corruscations darted across the
moss, and played about the “Stane,” appearing to settle for a
moment upon its summit, and then gliding swiftly over the sur-
face of the swamp; and more than once the Shetlanders started,
and looked up, as they fancied they heard the flap of a wing
close above their heads.
At length, the skin being stripped off, it was stretched out
upon the ground, at a little distance from the carcass, and Spiel
laid himself upon it. Without breaking the silence that had
been maintained since the fall of Luckie, Winwig proceeded to
envelope his companion in the covering, still warm from the body,
leaving only his head unswathed. He then bound the rope
round the outside, and, having completed the operation as ful-
ly as he could devise, he stood for a moment looking down up-
on Trosk, whose features were now scarcely visible through
the darkness of night. He then spoke—“Spiel,” said he,
“can I do anything else for you?” -
“Nothing more,” replied the other, “fare thee well!”
“Farewell!” returned Petie, “and may God protect and for-
give you, as I do.”
These last words were uttered in a less firm tone than that in


64 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
which he had before spoken, and in an instant he was gone
from the view of his associate. -
The simple fisherman had scarcely left his more daring part- .
ner exposed upon the wild peat bog, than, as if his departure
had been a signal concerted with the demons of storm and des-
olation, a tempest broke forth, to which neither the experience
of Spiel, nor his recollection of the reports of others, could find
a parallel. It began with a glare of lightning, which exposed
to his view, not only the crags and hills in his own neighborhood,
but the valleys beneath, and the sea, and the small islands which
lay scattered out beyond the bay. He saw them but for a
moment, but he could perceive their rocks whitened with the
foam of tremendous billows, which were bursting over them;
and he believed he beheld what appeared to him the vision of a
large strange-built vessel, driving along, dismasted, upon the
ocean. He scarcely did believe, and half doubted, that he had
seen this latter object, for its figure and its crew, (whose frantic
gestures he had also imagined he had distinguished,) were such
as were to him before unknown. But if this sight were a mere
phantom, what could have brought it before his eyes? The
darkness that succeeded this wide gleam was of the deepest dye,
and the peals of thunder that broke around him were as loud as
though the heavens had burst in its discharge. A shower of
fragments was scattered from the mountain tops, and poured
down their sides, with a din and clatter more terrible than the
noise of the elements. Spiel expected every moment to be crush-
ed to pieces, or buried beneath a mass of rock, and his helpless
state was now to him a source of the greatest anguish. Some
of the pieces dashed nearly up to him, and others bounded past,
and rushed headlong over the declivity into the dell beneath,
where he could hear them rolling and splashing through the
deep morass. It rained when Winwig had left him, but now a
body of fluid fell down upon him scarcely divided into streams,
for of drops there were none, and in an instant the surface of
the quaking bog on which he lay became deluged. He sudden-
ly found himself surrounded by water, which covered his lower
extremities, leaving his head and shoulders free; for Petie had
raised them on a tuft of moss, which, had he not done, Trosk
would have been totally immersed. Still he felt the inundation
rise, for the waterspout, or whatever else it was, continued to
descend, and as he was unable to, stir, either hand or foot, he .
gave himself up to death. He would have called upon heaven,
but the reflection of the iniquity in which he was engaged, chok-
ed his prayer. He would have invoked the powers of darkness,
but a deep-felt horror thrilled through his frame at the idea.
He endeavored to struggle, but the hide of Luckie seemed to
cling more closely to him, with an avenging embrace. He
thought of Petie—where was Petie? He shouted Petie! Petieſ


THE NIKKUR Holl. 65
with all his strength, but his voice was drowned in the rush and
turbulence of the flood, and he strained it till its sound was only
a hoarser scream. A hoarser scream replied to him, or was it
echo? He screamed again, in greater agóny, half hoping, half
in terror; but the water filled his ears, and he knew not if he
were answered. “Gracious God, I perish!” murmured Spiel
as the fluid touched his lips, and passed over them; but, in the
next instant, a rush, like the hurried tumble of a cataract, faint-
ly reached his hearing, and he felt the deluge sink from him, and
leave his mouth uncovered. It subsided, however, but a little,
yet enough to give him hope, and his dismay grew less. The
pouring down from the clouds likewise diminished, and the pitchy
blackness of the atmosphere was less intense. Gradually the
fall of water became converted into a heavy shower, which con-
tinued to grow less, and glimpses of dull light broke through the
mass of darkness. Spiel blessed the sight, and found his cour-
age return; but he felt as exhausted as if he had been strug-
gling with death, and he longed to be released from his con-
finement. - -
Still the purport of his sufferings was unaccomplished, and
with reviving life he felt his avaricious desires reenter his heart,
and this even whilst the water was still above his shoulders. He
was sensible, however, that it passed away, and he conjectured
rightly that its sudden rise had been owing to one of the frag-
ments of stone having rolled to the outlet of the stream, and stop-
ped its passage into the glen, through the rocky ledge: but the
weight of the accumulating body of water had moved it from its
position, and allowed sufficient opening for the stream to escape,
and this drew off the inundation by degrees. - -
Midnight passed and Trosk, though he knew not the time
began to doubt the efficacy of the charm. He was tired and
weary of his situation, and he would have preferred an incanta-
tion of a more busy kind. Rest with him was only appropriated
to sleep, and that he granted with reluctance; but now that he
was compelled to be quiescent, he felt a sense of drowsiness.
Whether this was the effect of habit, or fatigue, or cold, I cannot
say, but so it was, and it so overpowered him, that, in spite of
his situation, he lost at times all consciousness. The ebbing of
the flood had nearly left him dry in the space of half an hour,
and, believing morning to have advanced two hours at least, he
resolved to give himself up to sleep, as the best way of passing
the hours till he was released.
He closed his eyes, and slept; but how long he knew not.
. He was awakened by what at first he thought something passing
across his face, but he was soon sensible that it was a violent
gust of wind. It was again nearly as dark as before, and repeat-
ed blasts rushed past him, with an angry murmur. There was .


66 The NIKKUR HOLL.
but little rain now falling, and that came more like spray upon
a gale than a shower, but he felt even more chilled than when
he was surrounded by water. He heard the rage of the ocean
more distinctly than he had done, and he fancied that it forced
its stubborn waves much further into the valley below than the
beach. An inexplicable turbulence seemed mingled with the
usual uproar of billows bursting on a rocky shore, and the dells
seemed more the seat of the confusion than of the echo. He
could have imagined that the sea had overcome its boundaries of
ages, and was taking possession of the conquered land. A rush of
water was certainly coming towards him—he longed to be able
to see. Another glare of lightning, like the first lit up all the
horizon, and he saw for a moment the ocean and the islands
looking more fearful than before. Even in that instant he strain-
ed his eyes to catch one glance of the ship he had thought
abandoned to the fury of the elements, and he again believed
he beheld it, raised on the back of a huge billow, which dashed
it down at the foot of a distant promontory, and clbsed over it.
The headland was the Nikkur Noss, which he knew well, as
the scene of his mispent labors. He might, perhaps, have
looked longer, for the lightning continued to flash so fast that
there was scarcely an interval of darkness, but with a tremen-
dous gush a column of foam rose up, from beyond the craggy
ledge of the platform on which he lay, and, whirling round in the
air, came towards him. -
What passed during a few succeeding moments, Spiel could
not well remember. He felt himself raised from the moss, and
borne along above it, and he saw the Peights' Aultar Stane
twisted out of the earth. He heard a raging struggle, as of
wind and water fighting for mastery, and he was hurled against
a bank with violence, and deprived of his senses.
When he recovered, the tempest had ceased, the heavens.
were clear and bright with a vivid illumination, and the air was
still. He was lying, not where Petie had left him, but at the
foot of the ridge of eminences, bounding the little plain, and his
frame seemed shaken and more powerless than before. He
could now distinguish the roll of the waves on the shore, flow-
ing as they were wont in calm weather, and he attempted to
discover the time by the rise of the tide; for there was not the
least sign of dawn, though the sky was brilliantly enlightened.
He listened attentively, and heard not only the brawling mur-
mur of the sea pouring among the shingles, but a burst of solemn
music mingled with it, yet so faint that he was not convinced
of its reality. A pause ensued—again a strain of harmony float-
ed on the untroubled air—and again it was lost as a gust of
wind swept up the dell. Again he heard it louder than before,
and he fancied it approached him, and, as it continued, he believ-
-
º


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 67
ed he could distinguish the tune of a psalm he had heard sung
by the crew of a Dutch herringbuss, which had been off the
Skerries in the preceding summer. Nay, he fancied he could
perceive voices occasionally join the notes, and sing the very
words he had formerly heard; for as 1 have said before, Trosk
understood the language. Although, when the winds rose he
always lost the sounds of this singular concert, yet, whenever.
there was a lull, he was satisfied that it gradually drew nearer,
and he could now trace its advance, winding slowly up the glens
from below, towards that in which he was extended.
At length it was so distinct, that he was persuaded it must
have crossed the ledge that bounded the brink of the plain, and
he endeavored to raise his head, so that he might gain a view
of the source of this extraordinary melody. There was a loose
fragment of stone near him, and by dint of wriggling and push-
ing himself along like a seal, he contrived to elevate his head
upon it, and, looking forth, he beheld a long and gleamy pro-
cession approaching towards him, over the quaking bog on
which he had at first been laid. Sorrow and dejection were
marked on the countenances of the beings composing the troop,
and their habiliments appeared heavy with moisture, and drip-
ping like fresh sea weeds. They drew close up to him, and
were silent. First came the musicians, whose instruments he
had heard so long and so anxiously, but he could not scrutinize
them much, for, as they advanced opposite to him, they wheel-
ed off to the right and left, and took their stations on either side.
The front space was immediately occupied by a varied group,
who appeared, by their deportment, to precede some object of
great distinction, which, when they parted and filed off in the
same manner as the band, presented itself to view. º
This was a tall, bulky, though well built man, whose capac-
ity of belly was properly balanced by the protuberance of that
part which honor has assumed to herself. His head was not
little, and his face appeared rather swollen. His shoulders
were wide, and were clothed in a full coat of broad cloth, fash-
ioned after the manner of the fourth generation past. Its skirts
reached bekow his knees, round which they curved. It was
collarless, but sleeves, vastly deep, hung from the arms, the
cuffs of which were adorned with cut-steel buttons, of great
circumference and brightness. Broad bands of rich gold lace
covered every seam and edge, more glorious in the eyes of the
beholder than the setting sun, and the lapels of a quilted vest
hung down from the immense orb of his bowels, heavy with the
brecious metal that braided them. His thighs were arrayed in
preeches of scarlet velvet, silk hose disguised his legs, and
large square-toed shoes covered his feet, and lent their thongs
to support gold buckles of great breadth, which glittered with
º


G8 THE NIKE UR HOLL.
precious stones. On his head was placed a long, flowing, flax-
en, curling wig, surmounted by a small three-cornered cocked
hat, buttoned up with gold bands, and a long, straight, basket-
hilted sword hung, suspended in a broad buff-embroidered belt,
by his side. In his hand he held a gold-headed clouded ground
rattan, of great length and thickness, and close by his side walk-
ed a black boy, bearing a long, twisted, grotesquely fashioned
pipe, which he occasionally offered to his lord, who stopped
and gave a solemn puff or two, and then proceeded.
When he came immediately opposite to Spiel, he stood still
and erect, and a number of others ranged themselves on his
right hand and on his left, whose dresses were fine, but not so
splendid as their superior's, and they bore pipes of common
form only. Behind these drew up a group of persons, many of
whom were ladies, some bearing infants in their arms, others
leading children by their hands, all dressed in strange and gor-
geous apparel, though of fashions unknown to him who beheld
them; and, lastly, came a body of men and lads, with big loose
trowsers, thick heavy jackets, and red worsted night-caps, whom
Trosk instantly knew to be Dutch sailors. Each of these had
a quid of tobacco stuck in his cheek, and a short blackened
pipe in his mouth, which he sucked in melancholy silence.
The fisherman lay still, and saw this grim troop assemble
around him, with feelings of mingled alarm and wonder; his
heart did not sink, for it was kept alive by fearful curiosity,
but cold sweats gathered upon his brow. Presently, the prin-
cipal figure looked round, and seeing his attendants all in their
stations, he took his long twisted pipe from the hands of the
negro, and began to smoke in long and deep-drawn whiffs; and
this seemed as a signal to the rest to follow his example, for,
immediately, every mouth was in action, and which ever way
Spiel cast his looks, he beheld nothing but glowing tubes and
gleaming eyes turned towards him, while wreaths of smoke rose
up from the multitude, and formed a dense cloud-like canopy
above them. Nevertheless, though he could plainly distin-
guish the features and the dresses of this ghastly crew, he could
also see the stars clearly glimmering through them, and now
gleams of fire and electric flashes began to shoot across the
heavens, and the sky grew more vividly bright than it had been.
Still, though Trosk could behold all these appearances through
the bodies of the phantoms, he could also perceive that his
ghostly visitants were closing slowly upon him, that their ranks
grew more dense, and the space between him and them more .
narrow, while their puffs became more violent, and the smoke
rose up with redoubled velocity. . -
The Shetlander was naturally a bold and, indeed, a despe-
rate man, and he had come to the glen with the desire of con-
*
*


THE NIKKUR HOLL. 69
versing with beings of another world; but when he beheld this
fearful, strange, and unintelligible multitude crowded round
him, and pressing nearer and nearer as if about to overwhelm
him, his courage yielded, his frame, shook, and the sweat ran
copiously down his face. The appearance of the black boy
occasioned him more terror than all the rest; for, never having
seen a negro in those far distant isles, he believed him to be a
little devil, and his white teeth and whiter eye-balls looked ter-
rific against his sable face; but his terror redoubled, when, on
turning his eyes up to look at the sky above, he perceived
close behind his head that little dry withered man who had ac-
costed him in the skiff, sitting now as rigidly upright as before,
but with a pipe in his mouth, which he seemed to hold there as
if in grave mockery of all the assembly. Trosk started convul-
sively, and a choking sensation seized upon his throat; but,
summoning all his energy, he mastered it, and directing himself
to the principal person before him, he exclaimed, “In the name
of him ye obey, who are ye? and what want ye all with me?”
The great man gave three puffs, more solemnly than ever,
upon this adjuration, and then, taking the pipe slowly from his
lips, and giving it to his attendant, he replied, in a tone of chil-
ling formality, “I am Aldret Janz Dundrellesy Vander Swel-
ter, whilome commander of the good ship Carmilhan, of the
city of Amsterdam, homeward bound from Batavia, in the east,
which being in northern latitude, 60°, 10”, and 17°, 5’, longi-
tude east, from the island of Ters, at 12 P. M. on the night of
the 21st of October, 1699, was cast away on the inhospitable
rocks of this island, and all on board perished. These are
mine officers, these my passengers, and these the mariners
forming my i. crew. Why hast thou called us up from
our peaceful bowers, at the bottom of the ocean, where we rest
softly on beds of ooze, and smoke our pipes in quiet, listening
to the songs of mermaids?—I say, why hast thou called us up?”
Spiel had expected to commune with spirits, good or bad, but
he had not anticipated a visit from the captain of the vessel he
wished to rifle; and, indeed, the question he had to propose
was rather an awkward one to put to Mynheer Vander Swelter,
for ghosts are in general tenacious of hidden treasure, and a
Dutch ghost was likely to be more tenacious than any other,
and, in particular, the spirit of a commander in whose charge a
treasure had been placed, since he might still think he had a
right to preserve it for the true owners, or at least for their
heirs lawfully begotten and duly qualified. But this was no
time for deliberation, and the prospect of gaining his wishes .
poured like a reviving cordial over the soul of the fisherman,
and washed away his terror. “I would know,” replied he,
i. .# I can find the treasure with which your ship was
aden.” -


70 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
“At the bottom of the sea,” answered the captain with a
groan, which was echoed by all his crew.
“At what place?” said Spiel, -
“In the Nikkur Noss,” replied the spectre.
“How came they there?” Inquired the Skerryman.
“How came you here?” answered the captain.
“I came here,” said Spiel.
“”T is false!” exclaimed the Spirit, “you came no further
than the Peghts' Aultar Stane.”
“I did not think of that,” cried Trosk, whose eagerness for
wealth did not allow him to think of any thing else; “but how
shall I get them?” -
“A goose would dive in the Nikkur Noss for a herring, tho
idiot,” answered Mynheer Vander Swelter; “are not the trea-
sures of the Carmilhan worth a similar exertion?—Would'st
thou know more?”
“Yes, how much shall I get?” said Spiel. t
“More than you will ever spend,” replied the captain, and
the little man grinned behind Trosk’s head, and the whole com-
pany laughed loud.
‘‘ Hast thou done with me?” said the commander.
“Yes, I have,” answered Spiel Trosk. “Thanks, and fare
thee well!” -
“Farewell, till we meet again,” said Mynheer Vander Swel-
ter, facing about and marching off, preceded by his musicians,
and followed by his officers, passengers, and crew, all puffing
, their pipes in majestic solemnity.
Again the grave music was heard winding down the dell ac-
companied by the words of the psalm, and the fisherman marked
the notes grow fainter and fainter, till at length they were lost
in the murmur of the waves.
All the rest of the night Spiel spent in struggling to get free
from his envelope, for he was anxious to commence his search
for the treasures by the break of day. At length, towards dawn,
he extricated one arm from its confinement, and with that un-
bound the ropes that encircled the hide.
The pleasure with which he once more rose upon his feet was
considerable, but it was lessened when he perceived an eagle
tearing open the bowels of the ill-fated Luckie, and recollected
the grief of Petie for her death, and his strange behavior on the
occasion. The intention, however, of enriching this friend of his
youth, seemed to him ample compensation for his loss, and he
looked for the Stane, which was not now by the side of the car-
cass. He saw nothing but fragments of rock lying around, and
supposing that it had been shattered to pieces, though scarcely
waiting to think at all, he hurried towards the cabin of his part-
ner with the greatest precipitation.


THE NIKRUR HOLL. 71
Petie was lying on the ground, in a state of stupefaction; he
was clothed, and Trosk, from a glance at his bed, perceived that
he had not been in it during the night and imagined that he had
sunk on the earth the instant he had reentered the cottage. It
was not without infinite difficulty that the impatient fisherman
recovered his gentler partner, and, when he did revive him, the
joy of Winwig knew no bounds. Even Luckie—poverty—every
thing, was forgotten in his delight at seeing Spiel alive and well.
But the narrative, or rather the broken and disjointed sentences
uttered by Trosk, soon dissipated this glimpse of happiness.
“Dive in the Nikkur Noss!—dive like a cormorant in the Nik-
kur Noss!” was all he could exclaim, while his cheek resumed its
paleness, and his teeth again became set firmly against each oth-
er. “I would dive into a whirlpool,” cried Spiel, looking round
upon the bare walls of the cottage, now deprived of all the
marks of humble affluence they had formerly shown, “ rather
than see this.—No,” he continued, “whether you follow or
desert me, I will go;” and with these words he seized a torch,
a tinderbox, and a rope, and darted forward.
Petie immediately set out after him, calling to him not to obey
the counsel of the fiend, and reiterating all he had said on for-
mer occasions; but to little purpose, for Spiel resolutely kept
so far ahead of him as not to hear his arguments, and, having
reached the yawn, he leaped down to the shelf, where he had
formerly rested, and pulled off his jacket. He then lit his torch,
made fast the rope, and by its aid was beginning to descend,
when Petie arrived. By this time the resolution of Winwig
had again given way to the haste and energy of Trosk, and,
without speaking, he also was prepared to descend; but he was
stopped by his companion, who, in his usual commanding man-
ner, bade him stay where he was, and aid him to go down by
holding and steadying the rope. - -
A man less daring and determined than Trosk, would, under
any circumstances, have found the descent impossible; the
crags were slippery, and the rocks crumbled in his grasp, but
avarice was his spur, and hope his guide, and by dint of perse-
verance and resolution he passed by every obstacle. The Nik-
kur Noss was at all times a retreat for turbulent waves and mur-
muring winds, which seemed to seek its obscurity, to vent their
rage in secret: but now unusual quiet reigned through the long
tunnel, and when the Shetlander alighted on a projecting ledge,
just above the level of the water, there was less uproar echoing
through the vault than he had ever known. He immediately
trimmed his torch, and looking down upon the stream that pour-
ed through the channel saw nothing but a dark flow of water,
eddying along, covered with froth and large bubbles. For a
moment he considered how he should proceed, and he looked
…”


72 THE NIKKUR HOLL.
up to the high rough arched ceiling, in wonder at its craggy
surface, and at the pendant stalactites that hung dripping from
every point. He turned again to the water, and saw along its
edge, large sea-nettles, whose red and blue tentacula glitter-
ed in the light that he held in his hand. At length, with the
impatience that had brought him there, he resolved to dive and
search the bottom, through the whole of its length, and he laid
his torch on the rock to prepare himself. Whilst stripping,
he fancied he saw something gleam through the water beneath
where the link was placed, and being ready he plunged at once,
and grasped a heavy body which he brought up.
It was a small iron bound box, but the rust had eaten into
its hinges, and applying force the lid came off, and discovered
a mass of golden coin. There was enough to have enriched the
finder and his partner for their lives, and Petie loudly entreated
Spiel to ascend, and tamper no longer with danger; but Trosk
only looked upon what he had gained as the first fruits of his
long labors. He drew in his breath for another dive, though
a rush of angry waves had rolled through the gulf, and the
wind had begun to bellow. He stepped down to the water's
edge, but started for he heard the word Carmilhan uttered with
a titter, as he had often heard it whispered. He looked round
and saw nothing, and smiled at his own imagination. He cast
his eyes on the casket of ducats, and felt reanimated. Again
he disappeared beneath the surface of the water—but he never
rose again. A wild laugh re-echoed through the vault as he
went down, and only a few bubbles came up at the place where
he had plunged in. -
Petie returned alone, but he returned an altered man. , His
mind had given way under the repeated shocks it had received,
and he gradually sunk into a state of idiocy. He paid no more
attention to fishing, or to husbandry; every thing about him went
to decay; he sold his boat and all he possessed, to support him-
self, and his only pleasure or recreation consisted in wandering
about the sides of the Voe, or ascending the Nikkur Noss, mut-
tering to himself, or looking anxiously into vacancy, as if he ex-
pected to see the spirit of Mynheer Vander Swelter start up
from behind every stone. From this conduct he soon acquired
the name of daft Petie, and he became an object both of pity
and ofterror to his countrymen, who, however, quickly abandon-
ed the coast, to which he used principally to resort, as a place
infested by beings of another world.
Now comes the most singular part of my story; for it is so
well attested that I know not how to doubt it, though it is so
improbable that my reason will not allow me to give credit to it.
One dark and windy night, a fisherman had been driven by stress
of weather to take shelter in the Voe, near which the cottage
*


THE NIKKUR Holl. , 73
of Winwig was situated. He had just moored his boat, and was
preparing to cross the heath to the village, when he saw a ves-
sel bearing down towards the coast, avoiding all the rocks and
shoals, and standing as boldly in as if she could sustain no dam-
age from those dangerous and secret enemies. -
The fisherman stood amazed at this unexpected sight. Hea-
ven only knows how many ideas of storm ships and flyin
Dutchmen crossed his mind. At length he recollected himself
sufficiently to be aware, that whatever the stranger might"be,
he had time enough to get out of the way, and he was preparing
to fly when he saw a figure, which notwithstanding the dark-
ness, he recognised as Petie, moving along in the path he intend-
ed to have pursued, brandishing his arms, and muttering to him-
self, as was common with him in his nocturnal wanderings. .
The superstition of the islanders had attached a degree of
terror to the person of Petie, which certainly, his still portly
form and mild countenance Could not otherwise have inspired;
and the fisherman, alarmed and hesitating between the two ob-
jects of horror, had only sufficient sense left to throw himself
on the ground, and crawl behind a small rock, which stood
upon the shore, at a little distance from the foot of a cliff,
where he hoped he might lie concealed till the danger was over.
From this confined situation he could neither see nor hear any
thing for some time, during which the winds arose and the sea
became more agitated. At length, he, too, fancied he heard
voices on the air, and shortly he found himself surrounded by
a ghostly crew, who encircled him with glowing pipes and
gleaming eyes, but in unbroken silence.
For a long time this sight so terrified the Shetland fisherman,
that, his tongue so cleaved to the roof of his mouth, that, though
he longed to mutter out a prayer or an adjuration, he felt himself
unable to articulate, and, when he did speak, he could not re-
collect one word of the exorcism he had been meditating, but
could only inquire, in the most brief and hurried terms, who
his visiters were. He was answered immediately.—A figure,
which he instantly recognised as Spiel Trosk, followed by
another, which he knew to be Winwig, stepped before the rest
and said,—“I am Spiel Trosk, boatswain's mate of the good
ship Carmilhan—will you enter among our crew?” At this
instant, and before the Shetlander could find words for his in-
tended refusal, a loud laugh resounded behind his head; he
turned his eyes involuntarily, and beheld the little figure in the
yellow jacket and red cap, grinning diabolically.—This was too
much—he could not bear it, and he fell back in a swoon.
When he revived the morning had broken, but there was no
trace left of the Carmilhan and her crew. The man, who is
always described as a sensible and steady fellow, was so well
7


.
74 THE NIKKUR HOLE.
convinced of the reality of his vision, that he voluntarily made
oath of it before the proper authorities; but he was not believ-
ed, or at least he was supposed to have fallen asleep, and
dreamed of ghosts, till it was observed that Winwig was missing.
This, indeed, made some stir, and the strictest inquiries were
set on foot for him; but he could never be found; and it was
supposed by the judicious, that in a fit of insanity he had thrown
himself into the sea; but the superstitious maintain that he, too,
was at length, persuaded to dive for the treasures of the Car-
milhan—that he perished, and that his ghost now forms one of
the spectral crew; and, in proof of this assertion, it is said that
both he and Trosk, together with a motley crowd of Dutchmen,
have been seen more than once haunting the Woe and the
promontory of the Nikkur Noss.


DER FRE IS CHUTZ;
T H E M A G I C B A L L S.
[From the German of A. Apel.]
Black spirits and white, a
Blue spirits and gray, -
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may.
“LISTEN, dear wife,” said Bertram, the forester of Linden-
hayn, to his good and faithful Anne; “listen, I beseech you,
one moment. You know I have ever done my utmost to make
you happy, and will still continue to do so; but this project is out
of the question. I entreat you, do not encourage the girl any
further in the notion; settle the matter decidedly at once, and
she will only drop a few silent tears, and then resign herself to
my wishes; but by these silly delays nothing rational can be
effected.”
“But, dearest husband,” objected the coaxing wife, “may
not Catherine be as happy with William the clerk as with Robert
the gamekeeper? Indeed you do not know him: he is so clever,
so good, so kind 22 -
“But no marksman,” interrupted the forester. “The situa-
tion which I hold here has been possessed by my family for
more than two hundred years, and has always descended down
in a straight line from father to son. If, instead of this girl,
Anne, you had brought me a boy, all would have been well; he
would have had my situation, and the wench, if she had been
in existence, might have chosen for her bridegroom him whom
she loved best; now the thing is impossible. My son-in-law
must also be my successor, and must therefore be a marksman.
I shall have, in the first place, some trouble to obtain the trial
for him; and in the second, if he should not succeed, truly, I
shall have thrown my girl away: so a clever huntsman she shall
have. But observe, if you do not like him, I do not exactly in-
sist upon Robert: find another active clever fellow for the girl,
I will resign my situation to him, and we shall pass the rest of
our lives free from anxiety and happily with our children. But
-**.


76 -- DER FREISCHUTZ.
hush!—not another word!—I beseech you let me hear no more
of the steward’s clerk.” . • . -
Mother Anne was silenced; she would fain have said a few
more words in favor of poor William, but the forester, who was
too well acquainted with the power of female persuasion, gave
her no further opportunity; he took down his gun, whistled his
dog, and strode away to the forest. The next moment, the fair
curled head of Catherine, her face radiant with smiles, was pop-
ped in at the door—“ Is all right, dear mother?” said she.
“Alas! no, my child; do not rejoice too soon; ” replied the sor-
rowing Anne. “Your father speaks kindly, but he has deter-
mined to give you to nobody but a huntsman; and I know he
will not change his mind.” Catherine wept, and declared she
would sooner die than wed any other than her own William. Her
mother wept, fretted, and scolded by turns; till at length it was
finally determined to make another grand attack upon the tough
heart of old Bertram; and, in the midst of a deliberation respect-
ing the manner in which this was to be effected, the rejected
lover entered the apartment.
When William had heard the cause of the forester’s objec-
tion,-- “Is that all, my Catherine,” said he, pressing the weep-
ing girl to his bosom; “then keep up your spirits, dearest, for I
will myself become a forester. I am not unacquainted with wood-
craft, for I was, when a boy, placed under the care of my uncle,
the chief forester Finsterbuch, in order to learn it, and only at
the earnest request of my uncle the steward, I exchanged the
shooting-pouch for the writing-desk. Of what use,” continued
the lover, “would his situation and fine house be to me, if I can-
not carry my Catherine there as the mistress of it? If you are
not more ambitious than your mother, dearest, and William the
gamekeeper will be as dear to you as William the steward, I
will become a woodsman directly: for the merry life of a for-
ester is more delightful to me than the constrained habits of the
town.”
“O dear, dear William,” said Catherine—all the dark clouds
of sorrow sweeping rapidly over her countenance, and leaving
only a few drops of glittering sunny rain, sparkling in her sweet
blue eyes—“O beloved William! if you will indeed do this, all
may yet be well: hasten to the forest, seek my father, and speak
to him ere he have time to pass his word to Robert.” “Away,”
replied William, “to the forest; I will seek him out, and offer
my services as gamekeeper: fear nothing, Catherine; give me
a gun, and now for the huntsman’s salute.”
What success he had in his undertaking was soon visible to
the anxious eye of Catherine, on her father's return with him
from the forest. “A clever lad, that William,” said the old man;
“who would have expected such a shot in a townsman? I 'll
speak to the steward myself to-morrow; it would be a thousand


DER FREISCHUTZ. ^ - - 77
pities such a marksman should not stick to the noble huntsman
craft. Ha! ha! he will become a second Kuno. But do you
know who Kuno was?” demanded he of William. -
The latter replied in the negative. -
“Lo you there now!” ejaculated Bertram; “I thought I had
told you long since. He was my ancestor, the first who pos-,
sessed this situation. He was originally a poor horseboy in the
train of the knight of Wippach; but he was clever, obliging,
grew a favorite, and attended his master every where, to tour-
naments and hunting parties. Once his knight accompanied the
duke on a grand hunting match, at which all the nobles attended.
The hounds chased a huge stag towards them, upon whose back,
to their great astonishment, sat tied a human being, shrieking
aloud in a most frightful manner. There existed at that period,
among the feudal lords, an inhuman custom of tying unhappy
wretches who incurred their displeasure (perhaps by slight trans-
gressions against the hunting laws) upon stags, and then driv- .
ing them into the forest to perish miserably by hunger, or at
least to be torn to pieces by the brambles. , The duke was ex-
cessively enraged at this sight, and offered immense rewards to
any one who would shoot the stag; but clogged his benefactions
with death to the marksman, should his erring bullet touch the
victim, whose life he was desirous to preserve, in order to ascer-
tain the nature of his offence. Startled by the conditions, not
one of the train attempted the rescue of the poor wretch, till
Kuno, pitying his fate, stepped forward and boldly offered his
services. The duke having accepted them, he took his rifle,
loaded it in God's name, and earnestly recommending the ball
to all the saints and angels in heaven, fired steadily into the bush
in which he believed the stag had taken refuge. His aim was
true; the animal instantly sprung out, plunged to the earth, and
expired; put the poor culprit escaped unhurt, except that his
hands and face were miserably torn by the briers. The duke
kept his word well, and gave to Kuno and his descendants for-
ever this situation of forester. But envy naturally follows mer-
it, and my good ancestor was not long in making the discovery.
There were many of the duke's people who had an eye to this
situation, either for themselves or some cousin or dear friend,
and these persuaded their masters that Kuno's wonderful suc-
cess was entirely owing to sorcery; upon which, though they
could not turn him out of his post, they obtained an order that
every one of his descendants should undergo a trial of his skill
before he could be accepted; but which, however, the chief for-
ester of the district, before whom the essay is made, can render
as easy or difficult as he pleases. I was obliged to shoot a ring
out of the beak of a wooden bird, which was swung backwards
and forwards; but I did not fail, any more than my forefathers;
7%


78 DER FREISCHUTZ.
and he who intends to succeed me, and wed my Catherine, must
be at least as good a marksman.”
William, who had listened very attentively, was delighted with
this piece of family history; he seized the old man's hand, and
joyously promised to become, under his direction, the very first
of marksmen; such as even grandfather Kuno himself should
have no cause to blush for. -
Scarcely had fourteen happy days passed over his head, ere
William was settled as gamekeeper in the forester’s house; and
Bertram, who became fonder of him every day, gave his formal
consent to his engagement with Catherine. It was, however,
agreed that their betrothment should be kept secret until the
day of the marksman's trial, when the forester expected to give
a greater degree of splendor to his family festival by the pres-
ence of the duke's commissary. The bridegroom swam in an
ocean of delight, and so entirely forgot himself and the whole
world in the sweet opening heaven of love, that Bertram fre-
quently insisted, that he had not been able to hit a single mark
since he had aimed so successfully at Catherine.
And so it really was. From the day of his happy betroth-
ment, William had encountered nothing but disasters while
shooting. At one time his gun missed fire; at another, when
he aimed at a deer, he lodged the contents of his rifle in the
trunk of a tree: when he came home, and emptied his shooting-
pouch, he found, instead of partridges, rooks and crows, and in
lieu of hares, dead cats. The forester at length grew seriously
angry, and reproved him harshly for his carelessness; even
Catherine began to tremble for the success of the master-shot.
William redoubled his diligence, but to no purpose; the near-
er the approach of the important day, the more alarming grew
his misfortunes; every shot missed. At length he was almost
afraid to fire a gun; lest he should do some mischief; for he had
already lamed a cow and almost killed the cowherd.
“I insist upon it,” said the gamekeeper Rudolph, one even-
ing, to the party, “I insist upon it that some wizard has bewitch-
ed William, for such things could not happen naturally; there-
fore let us endeavor to loosen the charm.”—“Superstitious .
stuff!” interrupted Bertram, angrily; “an honest woodsman
should not even think of such trash. Do you forget the three
things which a forester ought to have, and with which he will
always be successful, in spite of sorcery? Come, to your wits,
answer my query.”
“That can I truly,” answered Rudolph; “he should have
great skill, a keen dog, and a good gun.”
“Enough,” said Bertram; “with these three things every
charm may be loosened, or the owner of them is a dunce and
no shot.”
“Under favor, father Bertram,” said William, “here is my
º


DER FREISCHUTZ. - 79
gun; what have you to object against it? and as for my skill, I
do not like to praise myself, but I think I am as fair a sportsman
as any in the country; nevertheless, it seems as if all my balls
went crooked, or as if the wind blew them away from the barrel
of my gun. Only tell me what I shall do. I am willing to do
any thing.” “It is singular,” muttered the forester, who did
not know what else to say.
“Believe me William,” again began Rudolph, “it is nothing
but what I have said. Try only once: go on a Friday, at mid-
night, to a cross road, and make a circle round you with the ,
ramrod, or with a bloody sword, which must be blessed three
times, in the name of Sammiel”—“Silence!” interrupted Ber-
tram, angrily: “know ye whose name that is? he is one of the
fiend's dark legion. God protect us and every Christian from
him!” William crossed himself devoutly, and would hear
nothing further, though Rudolph still maintained his opinion.
He passed the night in cleaning his gun, and examining minutely
every screw, resolving, at dawn of day, once more to sally forth,
and try his fortune in the forest. He did so, but, alas! in vain.
Mischiefs thickened round him: at ten paces distance he fired
three times at a deer; twice his gun missed fire, and although
it went off the third time, yet the stag bounded away unhurt
into the midst of the forest. Full of vexation, he threw himself
under a tree, and cursed his fate, when suddenly a rustling was .
heard among the bushes, and a queer-looking soldier with a
wooden leg came hopping out from among them. -
“Holloa! huntsman,” he began, laughing at the disconso-
late-looking William, “what is the matter with you? Are you
in love, or is your purse empty, or has anybody charmed your
gun? Come, don’t look so blank; give me a pipe of tobacco,
and we’ll have a chat together.”
William sullenly gave him what he asked, and the soldier
threw himself down in the grass by the side of him. The con-
versation naturally turned upon woodcraft, and William related
his misfortunes to him. “Let me see your gun,” said the
soldier. William gave it. “It is assuredly bewitched,” said
he of the wooden leg, the moment he had taken it in his hand;
“you will not be able to fire a single shot with it; and if they
have done it according to rule, it will be the same with every
*"W. shall take into your hands.”
illiam was startled; he endeavored to raise objections
against the stranger's belief in witches, but the latter offered to
give him a proof of the justice of his opinions. “To us sol-
diers,” said he, “there is nothing strange; and I could tell you
many wonderful things, but which would detain us here till
night. But look here, for instance: this is a ball which is sure
of hitting its mark, because it possesses some particular virtue:
try it; you won't miss.” William loaded his gun, and looked


80 IdER FREISCHUTz.
around for an object to aim at. A large bird of prey hovered
high above the forest, like a moving dot;-“Shoot that kite,”
said the one-legged companion. William laughed at his absur-
dity, for the bird was hovering at a height which the eye itself
could scarcely reach. “Laugh not, but fire,” said the other,
grimly; “I will lay my wooden leg that it falls.” William fired,
the black dot sunk, and a huge kite fell bleeding to the gröund.
“You would not be surprised at that,” said he of the wooden
leg to the huntsman, who was speechless and staring with as-
tonishment; “you would not, I repeat, be surprised at that, if
you were better acquainted with the wonders of your craft.
Even the casting such balls as these is one of the least impor-
tant things in it; it merely requires dexterity and courage,
because it must be done in the night. I will teach you for
nothing when we meet again; now I must away, for the bell
has tolled seven. In the meantime—here, try a few of my balls:
still you look incredulous—well—till we meet again.”
The soldier gave William a handful of balls, gnd departed.
Full of astonishment, and still distrusting the evidence of his
senses, the latter tried another of the balls, and again struck an
almost unattainable object: he loaded his gun in the usual man-
ner, and again missed the easiest! . He darted forward to fol-
low the crippled soldier, but the latter was no longer in the
forest; and William was obliged to remain satisfied with the
promise which he had given of meeting him again hereafter.
Great joy it gave to the honest forester when William return-
ed, as before, loaded with game from the forest. He was now
called upon to explain the circumstance; but not being pre-
pared to give a reason, and above all, dreading to say any thing
upon the subject of his infallible balls, he attributed his ill luck
to a fault in his gun, which he had only, he pretended, last night
discovered and rectified. “Did I not tell you so, wife,” said
Bertram, laughing. “Your demon was lodged in the barrel;
and the goblin which threw down father Kuno this morning, sat
grinning on the rusty nail.” “What say you of a goblin,” de-
manded William; “and what has happened to father Kuno?”
“Simply this,” replied Bertram; “his portrait fell of itself from
the wall this morning, just as the bell tolled seven; and the
silly women settled it that a goblin must be at the bottom of the
mischief, and that we are haunted accordingly.”
“At seven,” repeated William, “at seven!” and he thought,
with a strange feeling of affright, of the soldier who parted from
him exactly at that moment. “Yes, seven,” continued Ber-
tram, still laughing. “I do not wonder at your surprise; it is
not a usual ghostly hour, but Anne would have it so.” The
latter shook her head doubtfully, and prayed that all might end
well; while William shivered from head to foot, and would
secretly have vowed not to use the magic balls, but that the


DER FREISCHUTZ. 81
thought of his ill luck haunted him. “Only one of them,” said
he internally; “only one of them for the master-shot, and then
I have done with them forever.” But the forester urged him
the next instant to accompany him into the forest; and as he
dared not excite fresh suspicions of his want of skill, nor offend
the old man by refusing, he was again compelled to make use
of his wondrous balls; and in the course of a few days he had so
accustomed himself to the use of them, and so entirely recon-
cilled his conscience to their doubtful origin, that he saw noth-
ing sinful or even objectionable in the business. He constantly
traversed the forest, in the hope of meeting the strange giver
of the balls; for the handful had decreased to two, and if he
wished to make sure of the master-shot, the utmost economy
was necessary. One day he even refused to accompany Ber-
tram, for the next was to be the day of trial, and the chief
forester was expected; it was possible he might require other
proofs than the mere formal essay, and William thus felt himself
secure. But in the evening, instead of the commissary, came a
messenger from the duke, with an order for a large delivery of
game, and to announce that the visit of the chief forester would
be postponed for eight days longer. - -
William felt as if he could have sunk into the bosom of the
earth, as he listened to the message, and his excessive alarm
would have excited strange suspicions, if all present had not
been ready to ascribe it to the delay of his expected nuptials.
He was now obliged to sacrifice at least one of his balls, but
he solemnly swore nothing should rob him of the other but the
forester’s master-shot. - -
Bertram was outrageously angry when William returned
from the forest with only one stag; for the delivery order was
considerable. He was still more angry the next day at noon,
when Rudolph returned loaded with an immense quantity of
game, and William returned with none: he threatened to dismiss
him, and retract his promise respecting Catherine, if he did
not bring down at least two-deer on the following day. Cath-
erine was in the greatest consternation, and earnestly besought
him to make use of his utmost skill, and not let a º of
her interrupt his duties while occupied in the forest. He de-
parted—his heart loaded with despair. Catherine, he saw too
plainly, was lost to him forever; and nothing remained but the
choice of the manner in which he should destroy his happiness.
Whilst he stood lost in the agonizing anticipation of his impend-
ing doom, a herd of deer approached close to him. Mechanical-
ly he felt for his last ball; it felt tremendously heavy in his hand:
he was on the point of dropping it back, resolving to preserve
his treasure at every hazard, when suddenly he saw—O sight
of joy!—the one-legged soldier approaching. Delightedly he
let the ball drop into the barrel, fired, brought down a brace


82 DER FREIschUTz.
of deer, and hastened forward to meet his friend; but he was
gone! William could not discover him in the forest.
“Hark ye, William!” said the forester to him in the eve-
ning, rousing him from the torpor' of grief into which he had
fallen; “you must resent this affront as earnestly as myself:
nobody shall dare utter falsehoods of our ancestor Kuno, nor
accuse him as Rudolph is now doing. I insist,” continued he,
turning again to the latter, “if good angels helped him, (which
was very likely, for in the Old Testament we frequently read
of instances of their protection,) we ought to be grateful, and,
praise the wonderful goodness of God. But nobody shall ac-
cuse Kuno of practising the black art. He died happily—ay,
and holily, in his bed, surrounded by children and grandchil-
dren—which he who carries on a correspondence with the evil
one never does. I saw a terrible example of that myself, when
I was a forester's boy in Bohemia.” - -
“Let us hear how it happened, good Bertram,” said all the
listeners; and the forester nodded gravely, and continued.
“I shiver when I think of it; but I will tell you nevertheless.
When a young man, practising with other youths under the
chief foresters, there used frequently to join us a town lad, a
fine daring fellow, who, being a great lover of field sports,
came out to us as often as he could. He would have made a
good marksman, but was too flighty and thoughtless, so that
he frequently missed his mark. Once, when we ridiculed his
awkwardness, we provoked him into a rage, and he swore by
all that was holy that he would soon fire with a more certain
aim than any game-keeper in the country, and that no animal
should escape him, either in the air or on the earth. But, he
kept his light oath badly. A few days afterwards an unknown
huntsman roused us early, and told us that a man was lying in
the road and dying without assistance. It was poor Schmid.
He was covered with wounds and blood, as if he had been torn
by wild beasts: he could not speak, for he was quite senseless,
with scarcely any appearance of life. He was conveyed to
Prague, and just before his death declared, that he had been
out with an old mountain huntsman to a cross road, in order to
cast the magic balls, which are sure of hitting their mark; but
that making some fault or omission, the demon had tréated him
so roughly that it would cost him his life.” -
“Did he not explain?” asked William, shuddering. s
“Surely,” replied the forester. “He declared before a cour
of justice, that he went out to the cross road with the old game-
keeper; that they made a circle with a bloody sword, and after-
wards set it round with skulls and bones. The mountain hunter
then gave his directions to Schmid as to what he was to do: he
was to begin when the clock struck eleven to cast the balls,
and neither to cast more nor fewer than sixty-three; one either
º


DER FREISCHUTZ. - 83
above or under this number would, when the bell tolled midnight,
be the cause of his destruction: neither was he to speak a single
word during his work, nor move from the circle, whatever might
happen, above, below, or around him. . Fulfilling these condi-
tions, sixty balls would be sure of hitting, and the remaining
three only would miss. Schmid had actually begun casting the .
balls when, according to what we could gather from him, he
saw such cruel and dreadful apparitions, that he at length shriek-
ed and sprung out of the circle, falling senseless to the ground;
from which trance he did not recover till under the hands of the
physician in Prague.”
“Heaven preserve us!” said the forester's wife, crossing
herself. “It is a very deadly sin undoubtedly, ” pursued Ber-
tram, “and a true woodsman would scorn such practice. He
needs nothing but skill, and a good gun, as you have lately ex-
perienced, William. I would not, for my own part, fire off such
balls for any price; I should always fear the fiend would, at some
time or other, conduct the ball to his own mark instead of to
mine.” -
Night drew round them with the conclusion of the forester's,
story. He went to his quiet bed, but William remained in rest-
less agony. It was in vain that he attempted to compose him-
self. Sleep fled entirely from his spirit. Strange objects flitted
past him, and hovered like dark omens over his pillow. The
strange soldier of the forest, Schmid, Catherine, the duke's
commissary, all rushed before his eyes, and his fevered imagi-
nation converted them into the most dreadful groups. Now,
the miserable Schmid stood warningly before him, and hollowly
pointed to his newly bleeding wounds; then the dark distorted
face faded to the pallid features of Catherine wrestling with the
strength of death; while the wild soldiér of the forest stood
mocking his agony with a hellish laugh of scorn. The scene
then changed to his mind, and he stood in the forest before the
commissary, preparing for the master-shot. He aimed—fired—
missed. Catherine sunk down on the earth. Bertram drove
him away; while the one-legged soldier, now again a friend,
brought him fresh balls; but too late—the trial was over, and
he was lost.
In this manner wore away his agonized night, and with the
earliest dawn he sought the forest, hoping to meet with the .
soldier; the clear morning air chased away the dark images of
sleep from his brow, and ennerved his drooping spirit. “Fool!”
said he to himself, “because I cannot understand what is mys-
terious, must the mystery therefore be a sin? Is what I seek so
contrary to nature that it requires the aid of spirits to obtain it?
Does not man govern the mighty instinct of animals, and make
them move according to the will of their master? Why then,
should he not be able, by natural means, to command the course


84 DER FREISCHUTZ.
of inanimate metal which receives force and motion only through
him? Nature is rich in wonders which we do not comprehend,
and shall I forfeit my happiness for an ignorant prejudice only 2
No! Spirits I will not call upon, but nature and her hidden pow-
ers I will challenge and use, even though unable to explain its
mystery. I will seek the soldier, and, if I cannot find him, I
will at least be bolder than Schmid, for I have a better cause.
He was urged by presumption, I by love and honor. * -
But the soldier appeared not, however earnestly William
sought him; neither, could any of those of whom he inquired
give him the slightest information respecting him, and two days
were wasted in these anxious and fruitless inquiries.
* “Then be it so,” exclaimed the unhappy young man; and in
a fit of despair he resolved to cast the magic balls in the forest.
“My days,” he added, “are numbered to me; this night will
I seek the cross road. Into its silent and solitary recess no one
will dare to intrude; and the terrible circle will I not leave till
the fearful work shall be done.” - -
But when the shadows of evening fell upon the earth, and after
William had provided lead, bulletmould, and coals, for his noc-
turnal occupation, he was gently detained by Bertram, who felt,
he said, so severe an oppression, that he entreated him to re-
main in his chamber during the night. Catherine offered her
services, but they were, to her astonishment, declined. “At
any other time, ” said her father, “I should have preferred you,
but to-night it must be William. I shall be happier if he will re-
main with me.” .
William hesitated. He grew sick in his inmost heart. He
would have objected, but Catherine’s entreaties were so earnest,
her voice so irresistible, that he had nothing to oppose against
her wishes. He remained in the chamber, and in the morning
Bertram's dark fears had faded, and he laughed at his own ab-
surdity. He proposed going to the forest, but William, who
intended to devote the day to his search for the soldier, dissuad-
ed him, and departed alone. He went, but returned disappoint-
ed, and once more resolved to seek the forest at night. As he
approached the house, Catherine met him. “Beloved William,”
said she, “you have a visiter, and a dear one, but you must
guess who it is.” - -
William was not at all disposed to guess, and 'still less to re-
ceive visits; for at that time the dearest friend would have been
the most unwelcome intruder. He answered peevishly, and
was thinking of a pretext to turn back, when the door of the
house opened, and the pale moon threw her soft ray upon a vene-
rable old man, in the garb of a huntsman, who extended his
arms towards him; and “William,” said a kind and well-known
voice, and the next instant the young forester found himself
folded to the bosom of his beloved uncle.


DER FREISCHUTZ. 85
e
Ah! magic of early ties, dear recollections, and filial gratitude!
William felt them all; his heart was full of joy, and all other
thoughts were forgotten. Suddenly spoke the warning voice to
the tranquil happy dreamer. The midnight hour struck, and
William, with a shudder, remembered what he had lost. “But
one night more remains to me,” said he, “to-morrow, or never.”
His violent agony did not escape the eye of his uncle, but he
ascribed it to fatigue, and excused himself for detaining him
from his needful rest, on account of his own departure, which
he could not delay beyond the following day. “Yet grieve not,
William,” said the old man as he retired to rest;” grieve not
for this short hour thus spent, you will only sleep the sounder
for it.” William shivered, for to his ear these words conveyed
a deeper meaning. There was a dark foreboding in his heart,
that the execution of his plan would forever banish the quiet of
sleep from his soul.
But day dawned—passed—and evening descended. “It must
be now or never,” thought William, “for to-morrow will be
the day of trial.” The females had been busied in preparations,
for the wedding and the reception of their distinguished guest.
Anne embraced William when he returned, and, for the first
time, saluted him with the dear name of son. The tender joy
of a young and happy bride glittered in the sweet eyes of
Catherine. The supper-table was covered with flowers, good
food, and large bottles of long-hoarded wine from the stores of
Bertram. “Children,” said the old man, “this is our own fes-
tival; let us, therefore, be happy: to-morrow we shall not be
alone, though you may, perhaps, be happier. I have invited
the priest, dear William, and when the trial is over” A loud
skriek from Catherine interrupted the forester. Kuno's picture
had again fallen from its place, and had struck her severely on
the forehead. Bertram grew angry. “I cannot conceive,”
said he, “why this picture is not hung properly; this is the
second time it has given us a fright: are you hurt, Catherine?”
“It is of no consequence,” replied the maiden, gently wiping
away the blood from her bright curls; “I am less hurt than
frightened.” - , -
William grew sick when he beheld her pale face, and fore-
head bathed in blood. So he had seen her in his distempered
dreams on that dreadful night: and this reality conjured up all
those fearful fantasies anew. His determination of proceeding
in his plan was shaken: but the wine, which he drank in great-
er quantities than usual, filled him with a wild courage, and
ennerved him to undertake its execution. The clock struck
nine. Love and valor must combat with danger, thought Wil-
liam. But he sought in vain for a decent pretence to leave his
Catherine. How could he quit her on the bridal eve? Time
flew with the rapidity of an arrow, and he suffered agonies even
8


86 DER FREischutz.
in the soft arms of rewarding love. Ten o’clock struck: the
decisive moment was come. Without taking leave, William
started from his bride, and left the house to range the forest.
“Whither go you, William?” said her mother, following him,
alarmed. “I have shot a deer, which I had forgotten,” an-
swered the youth. She still entreated, and Catherine looked
terrified, for she felt that there was something (though she knew
not what) to fear, from his distracted manner. But their sup-
plications were unheeded. William sprung from them both,
and hastened into the forest.
The moon was on the wane, and gleamed a dark red light
above the horizon. Gray clouds flew rapidly past, and some-
times darkened the surrounding country, which was soon
relighted up by the wild and glittering moonlight. The birch
and aspen trees nodded like spectres in the shade; and to Wil-
liam the silver poplar was a white shadowy figure, which solemn-
ly waved, and beckoned him to return. He started, and felt as
if the two extraordinary interpositions to his plan, and the
repeated falls of the picture, were the last admonitions of his
departing angel, who thus warned him against the commission of
an unblessed deed. Once more he wavered in his intention.
Now he had even determined to return, when a voice whisper-
ed close to him, “Fool! hast thou not already used the magic
balls, and dost thou only dread the toil of laboring for them?”
He paused. The moon shone brilliantly out from a dark cloud,
and lighted up the tranquil roof of the forester's humble dwell-
ing. William saw Catherine’s window shine in the silvery ray,
and he stretched out his arms towards it, and again directed his
steps towards his home. Then the voice rose whisperingly
again around him, and, “Hence!—to thy work!—away!” it
murmured; while a strong gust of wind brought to his ear the
stroke of the second quarter. “To my work,” he repeated;
“ay; it is cowardly to return half way—foolish to give up the
great object, when, for a lesser, I have already perhaps risked
my salvation. I will finish.” -
He strode rapidly forward. The wind drove the fugitive clouds
over the moon, and William entered the deep darkness of the
forest. Now he stood upon the cross road; the magic circle was
drawn; the skulls and bones of the dead laid in order around it;
the moon buried herself deeper in the cloudy mass, and left the
glimmering coals, at intervals fanned into a blaze by the fitful
gusts of wind, alone to lighten the midnight deep, with a wild
and melancholy glare. Remotely the third quarter sounded
from a dull and heavy tower clock. William put the casting
ladle upon the coals, and threw the lead into it, together with
three balls, which had already hit their mark, according to the
huntsman's usage: then the forest began to be in motion; the
night ravens, owls, and bats, fluttered up and down, blinded by


DER FREISCHUTZ. 87
the glare of light. They fell from their boughs, and placed
themselves among the bones around the circle, where, with hol-
low croakings and wild *. they held an unintelligible
conversation with the skulls. omentarily their numbers in-
creased, and among and above them hovered pale cloudy forms,
some shaped like animals, some like human beings. . The gusts
of wind sported frightfully with their dusky vapoury forms, scat-
tering and re-uniting them like the dews of the evening shades.
One form alone stood motionless and unchanged near the circle,
gazing with fixed and woful looks at William; once it lifted up
its pale hands in sorrow, and seemed to sigh. The fire burned
gloomily at the moment; but a large gray owl flapped its wings,
and fanned the dying embers into light. William turned shivering
away; for the countenance of his dead mother gazed mournfully
at him from the dark and dusky figure. -
... The bell tolled eleven; the pale figure vanished with a groan;
the owls and night ravens flew screeching up into the air, and
the skulls and bones clattered beneath their wings. William
knelt down by his hearth of coals. He began steadily to cast,
and, with the last sound of the bell, the first ball fell from the
mould. -
The owls and the skulls were quiet; but along the road an
old woman, bent down with the weight of age, advanced towards
the circle. She was hung around with wooden spoons, ladles,
and other kitchen utensils, which made a frightful clattering.
The owls screeched at her approach, and caressed her with their
wings. Arrived at the circle, she stooped down to seize the
bones and the skulls; but the coals hissed flames at her, and
she drew back her withered hands from the fire. Then she
paced round the circle, and, grinning and chattering, held up
her wares towards William. * Give me the skulls,” she gab-
bled; “give me the skulls, and I will give thee my treasures;
give me the skulls, the skulls; what canst thou want with the
trash? Thou art mine—mine, dear bridegroom; none can help
thee: thou canst not escape me; thou must lead with me in the
bridal dance. Come away, thou bridegroom mine!”
William's heart throbbed; but he remained silent, and hasten-
ed on with his work. The old woman was not a stranger to
him. A mad beggar had often haunted the neighborhood, until
she found an asylum in the mad-house. Now, he knew not
whether her appearance was a reality or a delusion. In a short
time she grew enraged, threw down her stick, and chattered
anew at William. “Take these for our nuptial night,” she
cried: “the bridal bed is ready, and to-morrow, when evening
cometh, thou wilt be wedded to me. Come soon, my love; de-
lay not, my bridegroom; come soon.” And she hobbled slowly
away into the forest. -
Suddenly there arose a rattling like the noise of wheels, min-


88 DER FREISCHUTZ.
gled with the cracking of whips and shouting of men. A car-
riage came headlong, with six horses and outriders. “What
is the meaning of all this in the road?” cried the foremost horse-
man. “Room there!” William looked up. Fire sprung from
the hoofs of the horses, and round the wheels of the carriage:
it shone like the glimmering of phosphorus. He suspected a
magical delusion, and remained quiet. “On, on, upon it!—
over it! down! down!” cried the horseman; and in a moment
the whole troop stormed in headlong upon the circle. William
plunged down to the earth, and the horses reared furiously
above his head; but the airy cavalry whirled high in the air
with the carriage, and, after turning several times round the
magic circle, disappeared in a storm of wind, which tore the
tops of the mightiest trees, and scattered their branches to a
distance. -
Some time elapsed ere William could recover from his terror.
At length he compelled his trembling fingers to be steady, and
cast a few balls without further interruption. Again the well-
known tower clock struck, and to him in the dreadful solitary
circle, consoling as the voice of humanity, rose the sound from
the habitations of men, but the clock struck the quarter thrice.
He shuddered at the lightning like flight of time; for a third
part of his work was hardly done. Again the clock struck, for
the fourth time!—Horror!—his strength was annihilated, every
limb was palsied, and the mould fell out of his trembling hand.
He listened, in the quiet resignation of despair, for the stroke
of the full, the terrible, midnight hour. The sound hesitated—
lelayed—was silent. To palter with the awful midnight was
too daring and too dangerous even to the dreadful powers of
darkness. Hope again raised the sunk heart of William; he
hastily drew out his watch, and beheld it pointing to the second
quarter of the hour. He looked gratefully up towards heaven,
and a feeling of piety moderated the transport, which, contrary
to the laws of the dark world, would otherwise have burst forth
in loud and joyous exclamations. Strengthened, by the ex-
perience of the last half-hour, against any new delusion, Wil-
liam now went boldly on with his work. Every thing was si-
lent around him, except that the owls snored in their uneasy
sleep, and at intervals struck their beaks against the bones of
the dead. Suddenly it was broken by a crackling among the
bushes. The sound was familiar to the sportsman, and, as he
expected, a huge wild boar broke through the briers, and came
foaming towards the circle. Believing this to be a reality, he
sprung hastily on his feet, seized his gun, and attempted to fire.
Not a single spark came from the flint. Startled at his danger,
he drew his hunting knife to attack it,-when the bristly sav-
age, like the carriage and the horses, ascended high above his
head, and vanished into the silent fields of air.


DER FREIschutz. . . 89
*
The anxious lover worked on steadily to regain the time he
had so unhappily lost. Sixty balls were cast. . He looked joy-
fully upwards; the clouds were dispersing, and the moon again
threw her bright rays upon the surrounding country; he was
rejoicing in the approaching end of his labors, when an agoniz-
ed voice, in the tones of Catherine, shrieked out the name of
“William!” In the next moment, he beheld his beloved dart
from among the bushes, and gaze fearfully around her. Fol- .
lowing her distracted steps, and panting closely behind her, trod
the mad beggar woman, extending her withered arms towards
the fugitive, whose light dress, fluttering in the wind, she repeat-
edly attempted to grasp. Catherine collected her expiring
strength in one desperate effort to escape, when the long-sought
soldier of the forest planted himself before her and delayed her
flight. The hesitation of the moment gained time for the mad
woman, who sprung wildly upon Catherine, and grasped her in
her long and fleshless hands. William could endure it no longer,
he dashed the last ball from his hand, and was on the point of
springing from the circle, when the bell tolled midnight, and
the delusion vanished. The owls knocked the skulls and bones
cluttering against each other, and flew up again to their hiding
places; the coals were suddenly extinguished; and William
sunk, exhausted with fatigue, to the earth; but there was no
rest for him in the forest; he was again disturbed by the slow
and sullen approach of a stranger, mounted upon a huge and
coal-black steed: he stopped before the demolished magic circle,
and, addressing the huntsman,—“You have stood the trial
well,” said he; “what do you require of me?” -
“Of you, stranger, nothing,” replied William; “ of that of
which I had need, I have prepared for myself.” -
“But with my assistance,” continued the stranger; “there-
fore a share of it belongs to me.” “Certainly not,” replied
the huntsman; I have neither hired you nor called upon you.”
The horseman smiled. “You are bolder than your equals
are wont to be,” said he. “Take then the balls which you
have cast: sixty for you, three for me. The first hit, the second
miss. When we meet again you will understand me.” -
William turned away. “I will not meet you again; I will
never see you more,” he cried, trembling. “Why do, you turn
from me?” demanded the stranger, with a horrible laugh: “do
you know me?” “No; no,” said the huntsman, shuddering;
“I know you not; I will not even look upon you. Whoever
you may be, leave me.”
The black horseman turned his steed. “The rising hairs of
your head,” cried he with gloomy gravity, “declare that you
do know me. You are right; I am he whom you name in the
secrecy of your soul, and shudder to think you have done so.”
At these words he disappeared, and the trees under which he
8%


90 DER FREISCHUTz.
**
had stood let their withered branches sink helpless and dead to
the earth. -
“Merciful Heaven! William,” said Catherine, on remarking
his pale and distracted look, on his return after midnight; “what
has happened to you? you look as if you had just risen from the
grave.” “It is the night air,” he replied; “and I am not well.”
“But, William,” said the forester, who had just entered, “why
then would you go to the forest: something has happened to
you there. Boy, you cannot thus blind me.”
William was startled; the sad solemnity of Bertram's manner
struck him. “Yes, something has occurred,” said he; “but
have patience for a few days, and all shall be explained to your
satisfaction.” “Willingly, dear son,” interrupted the forester;
“ question him no further, Catherine. Go to your needful rest,
William, and indulge in hope of the future. He who goes on
in his occupation openly and honestly, never can be harmed by
the evil spirits of the night.” - - *
William had need of all his dissimulation; for the old man’s
observations so nearly meeting the truth, his forbearing love,
and unshaken confidence in William's honesty, altogether dis-
tracted his mind: he hastened to his room, determined to destroy
the magical preparation. “But one ball—only one will I use,”
exclaimed he, weeping aloud, with his folded hands held up to
heaven; “and surely this determination will efface the sin of the
deed I have committed. With a thousand acts of penitence I
will make atonement for what is past, for I cannot now step back
without betraying my happiness, my honor, and my love.”
And with this resolution he calmed the tumult of his spirits, and
met the rays of the morning sun with more tranquillity than he
had dared to hope. -
The commissary of the duke arrived; he proposed a shoot-
ing party in the forest, before the trial of skill took place.
* For, though we must certainly retain the old form,” said he, ‘of
the essay shot, yet the skill of the huntsman is, after all, best
proved in the forest: so come, young marksman, to the woods.’
William's cheek grew pale, and he earnestly tried to excuse
himself from accompanying them. But, when this was refused
by the chief forester, he entreated at least to be allowed to fire
his trial shot before their departure. Old Bertram shook his
head, doubtingly: “William,” said he, “ should my suspicion
of yesterday be just” “Father!” replied the youth; and
no longer daring to hesitate, he departed with them to the forest.
Bertram had in vain endeavored to suppress his forebodings
and assume a cheerful countenance. Catherine too was de-
jected, and it was not until the arrival of the priest that she
recollected her nuptial garland: her mother had locked it up,
and, in her haste to open the chest, broke the lock, and was
obliged to send into the village for another wreath, as too much


DER FREISCHUTZ. 91
time had been wasted in endeavoring to recover the first.
“Let them give you the handsomest,” said Anne to the little
messenger, “the very handsomest they have.” The boy ac-
cordingly chose the most glittering, and the seller, who misun-
derstood him, gave him a death garland, composed of myrtle
and rosemary, intermingled with silver. The mother and daugh-
ter, beheld and recognized the mysterious intimation of fate;
they embraced each other in silence, and endeavored to smile
away their terror, in imputing it to the boy's mistake. Again
the broken lock was tried; it opened easily now; the wreaths
were changed, and the bridal garland was twined around Cathe-
rine’s brilliant locks.
The sportsmen returned from the forest. The commissary
was inexhaustible on the subject of William’s wondrous skill.
“It almost appears ridiculous,” said he, “after such proofs,
to require any further trial; yet, in honor of the old custom,
we must perform what appears superfluous; we will therefore
finish the business as quickly as possible. There, upon that
pillar, sits a dove, shoot it.” “For God's sake,” said Cathe-
rine, hastily approaching, “do not shoot that dove. Alas! in
my sleep last night I was myself a dove, and my mother, while
fastening a ring round my neck, on your approaching us became
covered with blood.”
William drew back his gun; but the chief forester smiled.
“So timid, little maiden!” said he, “that will never do for a
huntsman’s bride: come, courage! courage!—or is the dove a
favorite, perhaps?”
“Ah, no,” she replied; “it is but fear.”
“Well then,” replied the commissary, “have courage; and .
now, William, fire!” -
The shot fell, and in the same moment, Catherine sunk, with
a loud scream, to the earth. “Silly girl,” exclaimed the com-
missary, lifting her up: but a stream of blood flowed over her
face, her forehead was shattered, for the ball of the rifle was
lodged in the wound. William turned, on hearing loud shrieks
behind him, and beheld his Catherine pale, weltering in her
blood, and by her side the soldier of the forest, who, with a
fiendish laugh of scorn, pointed to his dying victim, and cried
aloud to William, “Sixty hit, three miss!”
“Accursed fiend!” shrieked the wretched youth, striking at
the detested form with his sword, “hast thou thus deceived me?”
His agony permitted no further expression, for he sunk senseless
to the earth by the side of the victim bride. The commissary
and priest in vain endeavored to console the childless heart-
broken parents. The mother had scarcely laid the prophetic
garland of death upon the bosom of the bridal corpse, when her
sorrow and life expired with her last-shed tear: the solitary
father soon followed her, and the miserable William closed his
life in the mad-house.


THE STORY OF JUDAR.
A CERTAIN merchant had three sons; the eldest was named
Sálih, the second Selim, and the youngest Judar. The latter
possessed particularly the love of his father; and that, in the
division of his inheritance, he might not be defrauded by his
brothers, who were very envious of him, his father resolved to
apportion his possessions in his lifetime. For this purpose he
directed an inventory of all his property to be made, and then
divided it into four portions, one for each of his three sons, and
the fourth for their mother; and this division had been made but
a short time, when he died.
The two elder brothers were dissatisfied with this division;
maintaining, that they ought to have a larger share than the
youngest; and carried the case before the cadi. After the wit-
nesses to the will had been examined, the decision was given in
favor of Judar; but the expenses of the suit fell equally on him
and on his brothers. They appealed to another tribunal, which
gave it in their favor; and Judar carried it before a third, and
thus they went on in law, from court to court, from sentence to
sentence, till they had spent the whole of the property they went .
to law about. The two brothers, who were of brutal tempers,
then attacked their mother, beat her severely, and robbed her of
the portion she had received as a widow's dower. She went
and complained to Judar, who offered her all the consolation in
his power, but reminded her, that having now no money to spend
in law, they must endure all with patience.
The mother, affected by the kindness of Judar, continued to
reside with him. By the use of his net, which he employed
sometimes on the lake of Birkah, sometimes on that of Bálák,
and at others at Old Cairo, he supported himself as a fisher-
man, and took care that his mother should not want at least the
necessaries of life. -
In the meantime, the two elder brothers soon wasted the prop-
erty of which they had robbed their mother, and, covered with
rags, subsisted by charity, and at times, when Judar was absent,
would go to their mother to beg a morsel of bread. Their moth-
er, who could not stifle the feelings of nature towards them, un-
grateful as they had been, gave them food, advising them always
to begone before the return of Judar, lest she might incur his
anger. One day, however, while they were there, he returned;


THE STORY OF JUDAR. 93
his mother, frightened at this detection, said not a single word:
but Judar, far from being angry, embraced his brothers, and
only blamed them for not visiting him more frequently. They
were confounded by this generosity of their brother, who insis-
ted on their remaining that night at his house. Night after
night, they still remained, and Judar, going out every morning
with his nets, supported now, not only his mother, but his
brothers also.
One day he cast his nets from morning till night without catch-
ing a single fish, and was at last compelled to take his way home-
wards with his basket as empty as in the morning, and reflecting
mournfully, that he and his family must go that night without food.
In passing the baker's shop where he usually bought his bread,
his sufferings were heightened by seeing the crowds who were
pressing towards it, and he stood by, wistfully surveying the
comers and goers. “Well,” cried the baker to him, “well,
Judar! do you not want some bread?” Judar made no reply.
“Help yourself,” continued the baker: “if you have no money
with you, here are ten loaves, the number you usually buy.”
Judar would have left his nets with him as a security. “God
forbid,” said the baker, “that I should deprive you of the means
of getting a livelihood! Here are ten loaves and ten aspers, I
lend them to you, and you can bring me to-morrow twenty fishes.”
Judar thanked the baker, purchased meat and vegetables, and
supped with his family as usual.
On the following day he was just as unfortunate in fishing as
before. He took his way homeward despondingly, and as he
passed the shop, the baker lent him ten more loaves and ten more
aspers, saying: “Be of good cheer, Judar! that which is de-
creed must come to pass; and what comes not to-day will come
to-morrow.” For seven successive days he went to different
places, but every where his exertions were in vain—he caught
not a single fish. At last, he determined to try the Birket ul
Kárán; here he was just preparing to cast out his nets, when
he saw a Mughribin approach, who was so wrapped up, that but
one eye was visible; he rode upon a mule richly caparisoned,
carrying upon its crupper a portmanteau. He saluted Judar,
who returned his politeness. “Judar,” said the Mughribin,
“if thou art in distress, I will assist thee, and load thee with
riches; but thou must, in return, render me a service.”—
“You need only say what it is,” replied Judar; “I am at your
command.”—“Begin, then, by saying the Fátihah,” continued
the Mughribin. After repeating it together, the Mughribin
drew from his portmanteau a silken girdle. “Dome the favor,”
said he, “to bind my arms fast with this girdle, and cast me into
the lake. If, after a short time, you see my hands above the
water, cast your nets quickly and draw me out; but should my
feet appear, it is a sign that I am dead. In that case, take the


94 - | THE story of Judah.
mule and portmanteau, go to the market, and inquire for Sham-
si the Jew, who, in return for the mule, will give you a hun-
dred dinárs; you may then return home, but be sure to tell no
one what has happened.
Judar did exactly as he was directed, cast the Mughribin into
the lake, and soon after saw his feet above the water. Taking
the mule, he immediately departed, and having reached the
market, he soon found out the shop of Shamsi the Jew. “Ah!”
cried the Jew, as soon as he beheld the mule, “he is dead!”
—“Yes, he is dead,” answered Judar. “His avarice has cost
him his life,” continued the Jew. “Here are a hundred dín-
ârs, take them, and keep the secret.” -
Judar now repaired to the baker to discharge his debt; he
then paid all the debts of his brothers, and giving them money
besides, soon became as poor as ever. He began fishing again,
and that he might not labor in vain, he proceeded to the Birket
ul Kárún, and, behold! a second Mughribin appeared, whose
mule was caparisoned, and portmanteau covered, more richly
than that of the first. The Mughribin accosted Judar, and be-
gan by asking him if he had not, a short time before, seen a
Mughribin, equipped as he was, come to the same place. . Judar,
fearing he might be called to account for the mule, denied round-
ly having seen the Mughribin. “How!” said the other, “do
I not know that you bound his arms together, that you threw
him into the lake, that you afterwards went in quest of Shamsi
the Jew, and that you sold him the Mughribin's mule for a hun-
dred dínárs?”—“Well,” replied Judar, “if you knew all this,
it was useless to ask me.”—“All that I require of you,” contin-
ued the Mughribin, “is, that you do exactly the same by me,
and upon the same conditions.” To this Judar willingly con-
sented, bound his arms, cast him into the lake, and, as soon as
he saw the feet come up, departed with the mule, for which, as
before, he received a hundred dínárs. This profitable employ-
ment of drowning Mughribins pleased Judar so well, that he set
forth again, the following morning, for the Birket ul Kārūn; ,
and no sooner had he reached it, than a third came, still more
splendidly dressed and mounted than the two first. “Have you
not seen my brethren?” said he to Judar. “Yes,” answered
he; “they are amusing themselves by fishing below, till you
join them.”—“You are right,” said the Mughribin, “that is
exactly what I desire to do.”—“With all my heart,” continu-
ed Judar, “I understand the business well enough now.” Say-
ing thus, he bound and cast the Mughribin into the lake; and
having waited a short time, saw his hands above the water.
Judar threw forth his nets and drew him out. -
The Mughribin held in his hand two fishes red as coral,
which he put immediately into two bowls, taken out of his port-
manteau. Kissing Judar on the forehead and cheeks, he thank-


THE STORY OF JUDAR. 95
ed him for saving his life, by casting out his nets just at the
proper time. “If you feel yourself indebted to me,” said Judar,
“you will perhaps, in return, let me know the history of your
two predecessors, and of these two fishes.”
“The two drowned Mughribins,” said the third, “were my
brothers; the one was named Abdussalím, the other Abdussa-
mad: the Jew, as you supposed him, but who is no more one
than you are, but a good Mussulman, is my third brother, and
named Abdurrahim. Our father was a profound magician, deep-
ly skilled in every branch of hidden knowledge. He left us an
immense fortune, which after his death we divided equally; but
could not agree to whom should belong his manuscripts, contain-
ing all the secrets of talismans, and the keys of all concealed
treasures. Dissensions began to arise among us, when the shaikh
who had been our father's instructer in the magic and cabal-
istic arts, offered himself as arbiter, saying: ‘My children,
this book belonged to me, and let him of you who would pos-
sess it, go and open the treasures of Shamardal, and bring me
from thence the artificial sphere, the sword, the box of kohol,
or collyrium for the eyes, and the seal; the seal is guarded by
a powerful genius. Over him who possesses it kings and princes
have no power; and, if he wishes, he can make the whole world
obey him. The sword destroys entire armies in a moment.
The artificial sphere shows what passes in every place on the
globe; you need only turn it round, to see all that you wish; if
you wish to burn a town, lay a spark of fire on the place where
it is marked on the sphere, and fire will consume it immediately,
and so on in every other respect. In the last place, he who
rubs his eyes with the kohol will see all the riches concealed
beneath the earth. But to open the treasures of Shamardal,
the children of the Red King must be first possessed, who, how-
ever, live in the depths of the Birket ul Kárán. Your father
sought to get them in vain; and it is only after long calculations
that I have discovered it to be indispensably necessary, that a
young man of Cairo, named Judar, should cast him into the
lake who wishes to get possession of those fishes. He who dies
in the attempt will float with his feet above the water, and he
who succeeds will show his hands above the surface first.
“We all three determined to try this adventure, our fourth
brother preferring to remain a merchant at Cairo; and agreeing,
in the event of our failure, to purchase the mule, which was to
be sent to him as a signal of our death. The fate of my two
brothers you know; and I, I have been fortunate enough to
catch the children of the Red King, who are powerful genii,
under the form of coral fishes, as you see. But, in order to
obtain the treasure itself, it is yet requisite for you to go with
me to Fez and Mequinez.”—“That,” replied Judar, “I
would willingly do, were I not bound to support my mother and


96 - {THE STORY OF JUDAR.
brothers.”—“If that be all,” answered the Mughribin, “here
are a thousand dínárs, to keep them from starving, and in four
months you will be at home again, with riches enough for your
whole life.” Judar gave the thousand dínárs to his mother,
bade her farewell, and set forth, seated on the mule behind the
Mughribin.
When they had travelled some little time, Judar remarked that
they had no provisions with them: “you have forgotten the
kitchen,” said he. “Are you hungry?” returned the Mughribin.
Judar replied in the affirmative. “Well, we will dismount, give
me the portmanteau. Say, now, what you will have?”—“Some
bread and a piece of cheese.”—“Bread and cheese!” said the
Mughribin, “have you no better taste than that?”—“Well
then, a roasted fowl—”—“Good!”—“Rice and boiled meat.”
—“Good!”—“Tarts.”—“Good again!” Thus Judar went
on, till he had named four-and-twenty different dishes, the Mu-
ghribin still crying “Good!” to every one. “That is enough,
surely,” said Judar, “let us now see where they are to come
from.” The Mughribin immediately drew from his portmanteau
a golden dish, with a roasted chicken upon it: and so, one after
another, brought out the whole twenty-four dishes which Judar
had called for; and after they had dined, having taken out also
a basin and ewer of gold, and washed, he replaced the whole in
the portmanteau, and mounted the mule again. “How far,
think you,” said the Mughribin, “have we got on our journey
now?”—“I know not,” replied Judar, “but we have been about
two hours on the way.”—“Right!” returned the Mughribin ;
“however, we have travelled over a distance that usually re-
quires a month. This mule is a genius, who in one day will
perform a twelvemonth's journey. For your convenience, I
have restrained his speed a little.” In this way, the portman-
teau supplying all they wanted, they proceeded till, on the fifth
day, they arrived at Mequinez. -
Every one courteously saluted the Mughribin, as he passed
to his own house; where a maiden, beautiful as the sun, and
languishing as a thirsty gazelle, opened the door to him; and
said to the mule, after taking the portmanteau from its batk,
“Return thither from whence thou camest.” The earth' in-
stantly opened, and then closed again upon the mule. , “God
be praised,” said Judar, “that I am well off the back of such a
steed!”. His eyes were dazzled at the splendor and immense
wealth displayed in the saloon they had entered. “Rahmah,”
said the Mughribin to his daughter, “bring me the bāgchah.”
From this he took a vest, worth at least a thousand dinárs, and
put it upon Judar, and then set out the table with twenty-four
different dishes, as before. Thus he continued for twenty days
to present his guest every morning with a dress of equal value,
* A kind of portmanteau, of cloth or leather.
f


THE STORY OF JUDAR. 97
-
and every evening to regale him with as well supplied a banquet.
On the twenty-first day, the Mughribin ordered two mules to be
saddled, in order to set out for the treasury of Shamardal. Ar-
riving at a marshy pool, they dismounted on its banks; a tent
was pitched, in which were put two cases, containing the coral
fishes; and the slaves being sent back with the mules, the Mu-
ghribin began his º which he continued till the cases
opened, and the fishes came forth, saying, “Master of the world!
what dost thou command?”—“I will destroy you both,” answer-
ed the Mughribin, “if you do not open the treasury of Shamar-
dal to me.”—“It shall be done,” continued they, “on condi-
tion that Judar, the fisherman, be there; for it is written in the
book of fate, that in his presence only shall it be done.” Upon
this, the Mughribin took a plate of onyx and a censer; he
... laid the fishes on the plate, and strewed perfumes upon the
censer. -
“Now,” said he to Judar, “now I must, before all things,
teach you what you have to do; for when I have begun to burn
the perfume in the censer, I shall not be able to speak to you.
As I continue to burn more and more frankincense, this water
will, by degrees, dry up, and at the bottom of the pool you will
see a gate of gold; knock at it three times, and you will hear a
voice call aloud, ‘Who knocks at the door of this treasury?’
Then answer, “It is I, Judar, the fisherman, by whom it is de-
creed to be opened. Upon this, the porter will come forth
and say, ‘Stretch out your neck, that I may strike it with my
sword, and see whether you be the true Judar.’ This command
of his you must obey; if you stretch out your neck, no harm will
happen to you; but if you are afraid, and refuse to do it, he will
infallibly kill you. ...When you have thus destroyed this first en-
chantment, you will find at the second door a horseman with
couched lance; present your bosom to him boldly, and you will
see the phantom vanish. At the third door it will be exactly
the same, nor must you seek to avoid the arrow which the keep-
er of it will aim at you. When you knock at the fourth, seven
monsters will rush out, and appear ready to devour you; fly not
before them, but offer them your hand; and they will immediate-
ly disappear. At the fifth door, you will find a black slave,
who will say, “If you be Judar, open the sixth door!” and this
will open of itself, as soon as you pronounce the names of
Moses and Jesus: two dragons, the one on the right, the other
on the left, will then cast themselves in your way, and open their
monstrous jaws: but if you step by them without fear, you will
reach the seventh door. Here you will see your mother come
out, who will say, ‘Welcome, my son! come, let me embrace
thee!’ But you must say to her, ‘Begone! or I will kill thee!’
then, drawing your sabre, threaten to slay her on the spot, if
- t -


98 THE STORY OF JUDAR. *
she does not strip off her clothing. When this has been done,
you can enter the treasury, where you will see the magician
Shamardal, sitting on a throne of gold, with a shining crown
upon his head, the sword in his hand, and the magic seal-ring
upon his finger; the box of kohol hangs before him from a gold-
en chain. You will possess yourself of these things without
difficulty, and return safely to me, provided you exactly follow
the directions I have given you. As for the rest, depend only
upon Divine Providence.” -
The Mughribin now began to burn the incense, with many
mysterious words. The water dried up, the first gate became
visible, and all happened exactly as he had foretold, till Judar
arrived at the seventh door, from which he saw his mother ap-
proach. All the preceding dangers and enchantments he had
... easily surmounted; but he felt that he should be moved, when
he had to strip his mother of her clothes. -
However, he took courage, and threatened to kill her if she
did not give him all her garments; she obeyed till she came to
the last, when she said, “My son! you will not surely deprive
me of this one covering; it would violate all decency; no one
can have commanded that!”—“You are right, mother!” replied
Judar, “keep it, that cannot do harm.” He had scarcely utter-
ed these words, when she cried, “Strike him!” and he felt
himself surrounded by the invisible genii of the treasure; their
blows fell on him thick as hail; in an instant he repassed the
seventh door, which closed behind him: the water returned,
and he was cast, half dead, at the Mughribin's feet. “Did I
not tell you,” said he to Judar, “that all would end badly, if
you yielded to false scruples?. All is over now for this year;
a new trial cannot be made till the next.” They returned to
Fez, and, at the same season the ensuing year, repaired to the
spot again. The Mughribin exhorted Judar anew to show no
delicacy to the deceptive form of his mother; and he according-
ly now made no scruple of compelling her to strip entirely, and
just as she was about to give up the last part of her dress, the
phantom vanished. Judar entered the treasury, took possession
of the artificial sphere, the sword, the ring, and the box of kohol,
and departed with them amid the acclamations of the spirits of
the treasury. He gave them to the Mughribin, who thanked
him, and requested him to say what he desired as his reward.
“I want nothing,” said Judar, “but your wonderful portman-
teau.”—“With all my heart, my child,” said the Mughribin;
“but as that only supplies food, I will give you another full of
gold and diamonds, which will enable you to provide for all your
family, and to begin trade yourself. I will give you a mule and
slave to conduct you home also; but on your return, be careful
to reveal nothing of what has passed.” Judar now took leave


-
*
THE STORY OF JUDAR. 99
of the Mughribin, and, after a long journey, arrived safe at
the door of his own house in Cairo. He found his mother sit-
ting, dejected and melancholy, in a corner, and the place strip-
ped of every piece offurniture. “What are you doing, mother?”
said he: her surprise and joy at the sight of him for some time
deprived her of utterance; at length she related to him, how
his dissolute, ungrateful brothers had squandered away the
money which he had given her, and left her almost to starva-
tion. “Ah! but to remedy that,” replied Judar, “I have here
a portmanteau, which supplies, whenever called upon, the most
delicious banquets in the world!”—“Is this a time to jest?”
continued his mother, “do I not see that it is empty?”—“Jest-
ing apart, dear mother,” said Judar, “what do you wish to
have?”—“Bread, my dear son!”—“Bread! you shall have a
better meal than that, mother—roast mutton, rice, gourd-sallad,
bakliwah, and sherbet.”—“Enough! enough!” cried his moth-
er, thinking he was mocking her. Judar repeated the words
which the Mughribin had taught him, and then drew out all the
different dishes he had named. His mother, to her great aston-
ishment, was now informed by him how this wonderful portman-
teau had been procured; but he begged her earnestly not to
divulge the story. His brothers came to welcome him home,
and were invited to take their places at his well supplied table;
after they had dined, they would fain have put by what remained .
for supper, but Judar ordered it to be given to the poor, promis-
ing them a fresh meal; and at night he entertained them sump-
tuously indeed. He kept them thus ten days successfully."
“Faith !” said the two worthless wretches, our brother has be-
come a magician, to entertain us thus, without the least supply
in the kitchen.” Taking advantage one day of his absence,
they drew the secret from their mother. The envy and vexa-
tion which they felt at this, inspired them with the idea of get-
ting rid of Judar, who they believed would be no longer neces-
sary to them, if they could but get possession of the portmanteau.
For this purpose they repaired to Suez, where they soon found
the master of a ship, who dealt in slaves, and having deceived
him with a story, of their having a worthless fellow of a brother,
who was ruining his family, agreed to sell Judar to him for forty
dínárs. It now remained to find a good opportunity of deliver-
ing Judar into his hands.
The two brothers therefore begged Judar to allow them to
bring three of their friends with them to supper. To this he
made no objection, but provided them an elegant repast; when
their mother had withdrawn, the three men, assisted by the two
brothers, fell upon Judar, gagged him, took him up, and carried
him to Suez, where he worked a whole year as a slave. In the
meantime, his brothers had made their mother believe that the


- - *
100 THE • STORY OF JUDAR.
- º - -
three guests were Mughribins, who had taken Judar away with
them to search for new treasures. She wept bitterly upon hear-
ing this, and they insulted and ill-treated her for the tears she
shed for Judar's absence. They divided between them the
gold and diamonds, but could not agree about the possession of
the portmanteau. In vain did their mother propose that they
should leave it with her, engaging to supply them from it with
whatever they desired at any time. They continued to wrangle
about it, and the dispute, in the course of the night, rose so
high, that the guard passing by, and hearing the noise, stopped
at the door and overheard every word the two brothers said to
each other. -
In the morning the officer of the watch repaired to the king
Shamsaddaulah; and informed him of the whole affair. The
king immediately ordered the two brothers to be brought before
him, took from them the portmanteau, and the gold and diamonds,
cast them into prison, and allowed a certain sum for the sup-
port of their mother. ... .
Meanwhile, the vessel on board of which Judar was detained
after having worked as a slave for a whole year, suffered ship-
wreck on the coast of Arabia. A merchant passing by felt com-
passion for his destitute condition, and took him with him to Jidda,
and from thence to Mecca. As he was performing his devotion
there, he met his old friend the Mughribin, shaikh Abdussamad.
Judar, with tearful eyes, recounted to him his unhappy fate.
The Mughribin listened to him with great commiseration; pre-
sented him with a handsome vest, º then proceeded to exam-
ine his magic tablets, to discover Judar's future destiny. “Be
of good cheer,” said he, “your misfortunes are over—your
brothers are in prison—your mother in health—and all will
henceforth prosper with you.” Upon this he took from his fin-
ger the ring of Shamardal, saying to Judar, “Here is some-
thing for you; you know that the genius of this ring is ready to
fulfil your orders, be they what they may: take it, you are now its
master.”—“I desire nothing more fervently,” said Judar, “than .
to be again at home.”—“Well,” replied the Mughribin, “you
need then only call upon the genius; and so farewell!” Ju-
dar called upon the genius of the ring, and was carried in a
moment to the door of his mother's house. Delighted as she
was at his return, she related, in great distress of mind, how
much she feared for the lives of his brothers, who were yet in
prison. “Be not concerned on that account, mother,” said he,
“you shall soon see them again in perfect safety.” He then
ordered the genius of the ring to bring his brothers thither.
When they appeared before Judar, they were in great confusion
and wept for shame.—“Weep not,” said he, “the demon of
avarice tormented you, and suggested this evil deed against
º


THE STORY OF JUDAR. - 101
your brother; but I forgive you, as Joseph forgave his brethren
for casting him into the pit.” He then recounted his adventures,
and inquired how the king had treated them. They told him
that, after taking from them the portmanteau and their gold and
jewels, he had ordered them to be bastinadoed. “We will soon
have all again,” said Judar, and, calling on the genius of the .
ring, he commanded him not only to bring all the treasures of .
the king to him, but to build him that night a magnificent palace,
and furnish it splendidly. The genius called together his com-
panions, and before the sun rose the palace was completed.
Quite satisfied with it, he gave it to his mother as a residence,
and ordered the genius to procure forty black, forty white, and
as many Abyssinian and Circassian slaves. The females he
appointed to attend his mother, and the males for the service of
himself and his brothers, who acted as his viziers, he himself
playing the part of a sovereign. In the meantime the keeper
of the royal treasure, on entering the rooms where it was kept,
was overwhelmed with surprise to find them utterly empty; for
the genius had not only carried off the portmanteau and jewels
that belonged to Judar, but also every other article in the .
treasury.
On being informed of this unaccountable discovery, the
king was equally surprised and enraged. He ordered the divan
to be assembled, and informed them that he had now not a sin-
gle piece of money in his possession. No one knew what to
advise: the officer of the police, who had given information of
the dispute of the brothers, alone ventured to speak. “Sire,”
said he, “still more extraordinary things have occurred; as I
went my rounds last night I heard the noise of mallets and
hammers, of saws and trowels, and, with the rising sun, beheld ,
a splendid palace, of which the evening before not a sign was
to be seen. I inquired by whom it was inhabited, and was told
by Judar, his mother, and his two brothers, who have escaped
from prison.”—“Let these wretches, this Judar and his broth-
ers, be immediately brought before me,” cried the king, trans-
ported with anger. “Will your majesty allow me to suggest,
that you should not take any precipitate step in this affair?” in-
terrupted the vizier. “What then would you advise to be
done?” demanded the king. “I should recommend you to
entrap him by apparent kindness,” replied the vizier: “let your
majesty invite him to court, and then call him to account respect-
ing his fortune, thus made in one night.”
Upon this the king despatched one of his emirs, who enter
tained a high opinion of his own ingenuity. When he arrived
at the gate of the palace, he found the chief of the eunuchs sitting
there upon a throne of gold; but he neither came to meet him,
nor even rose at his approach. This chief of the eunuchs was
9% -


102 - THE STORY OF JUDAR.
the genius of the ring himself. The emir, offended at this want
of respect, insulted him, and was about to strike him with his
steel mace, for he knew not that he had a genius to deal with.
The latter, however, soon forced the mace from his hand, and
applied it to his shoulders; the attendants of the emir unsheath-
ed their swords to defend their master, but the genius soon put
them to flight, and quietly resumed his place. The emir, with
one eye bound up, and his back sorely bruised, threw himself
at the foot of the throne. The king, filled with anger at the
sight, despatched first one hundred, then two, and at last three
hundred of his guards; but they were all baffled by the chief
of the eunuchs, who, however, did them no injury that he could
avoid. -
: “Sire,” said the vizier, “by force we shall never gain our
end; I will go myself to the palace as a minister of peace.” He
then, clad in white, and without any attendants or arms, ap-
proached the gate of Judar's palace. Having saluted the chief
* of the eunuchs, he requested to be announced to his master, to
whom he had brought, he said, an invitation from the king.
Judar received him courteously, and presented him with a robe
superior to any in the king's possession. On his return to the
• royal palace he reported all that had passed; the king said,
“Why then he is far greater than I am: I will go immediately
and pay him the first visit.” Mounting his horse, and surroun-
ded by his guards, he proceeded straightway to the palace of
Judar, who, when he was införmed of the monarch's approach.
called on the genius of the ring to supply him also with a well-
appointed guard, who were ranged in two lines in the court of
the palace. The king trembled when he observed their warlike
appearance; he passed through them, and entered the hall where
Judar sat, but he neither rose to receive him nor desired him to
he seated. “Your majesty,” said Judar, “should never forget
that a monarch degrades himself when he plunders and vexes
his people without cause.” The king, who was of a timorous
disposition, was much alarmed at the tone of these reproaches.
He however excused himself with as much eloquence, as he
could command, and Judar was mollified, gave him his own
kaftan, and requested him to dine with him.
On the king's return to his own palace, he closeted himself
with his vizier, to consult what was to be done with a man who
possessed such dangerous power. “I fear,” said he, “that he
will soon aspire to my crown itself.”—“Sire,” returned the vi-
zier, “you need not, I think, concern yourself much upon that
point; of what value can your crown be to him who is in power
above all the princes of the world? But if you fear him, unite
him to your family by the bands of marriage; you have a daugh-
ter of a marriageable age.”—“You are a good politician, my .
-
º


THE STORY OF JUDAR. 103
dear vizier,” replied the king, “ and I will confide to you the
direction of this delicate affair.”—“If your majesty,” said the
vizier, “will follow my advice, invite Judar to the palace, and
while he is with you let your daughter pass the door of the
chamber swiftly; swiftly I say, that she may the more excite
his curiosity. As Judar is of a romantic and vivid imagination,
rely upon it he will be desperately in love with a beauty of whom
he will have seen so little. He will ask me who she is, and I
shall tell him the princess your daughter. I shall then be able
to lead him on to ask her of you for a wife, and you will thus
be able to live in happiness with him as your son-in-law.”-
“You are right,” answered the king, and gave immediate or-
ders for preparations for a splendid feast, to which Judar was
invited. Dressed in all that could set off her natural charms,
the princess passed before the door of the room where Judar was
dining with the king her father. Scarcely had Judar seen her
when he gave a deep sigh, and appeared to be much agitated.
“What is it that disturbs you?” said the artful vizier. “Ah!”
replied Judar, “the beauty who passed just now has seized on
my heart, and bewildered my head!”—“That beauty,” returned
the vizier, “is the king's daughter; and I am certain that were
you to ask her of him, no difficulty would be found in effecting
the union; but should you feel any hesitation, I will take upon
myself to make proposals for you to the king.” Then turning
to that monarch, he addressed him thus:–“Sire! Judar wishes
to draw the bands of friendship which now exist between you
yet closer by those of relationship. He loves your daughter,
and will gladly give whatever you may require for a portion.”
—“My daughter,” said the king, “is at his command.” The
next day was then chosen for the marriage, which was celebra-
ted with great splendor.
Soon after this the king died, and the divan unanimously of—
fered the crown to Judar, by whom it was accordingly accepted.
He built a mosque and endowed it richly; and the quarter of
the city where his palace stood is yet called by his name. His
brothers, who were his viziers, however, still felt envy gnawing
at their hearts; they could not endure the thought of being their
brother's servants, and formed a conspiracy for his destruction.
For this purpose, having invited him to a superb feast, they
gave him poison. Hardly had it begun to operate when Selim,
taking the ring from Judar, called upon the genius to destroy
Salih, and then ordering the divan to assemble, declared him-
self, as possessor of the ring, possessor of the kingdom also.
The grandees, too timid to resist, paid him their homage and
proclaimed him king.
The first step of the new monarch's, after giving directions
for the funeral of the late king, was to order preparations to be
-


104 - THE STORY OF JUDAR.
made for his own marriage with the widow. The divan in vain
begged him to wait till the time of mourning was over. “I shall
not concern myself about that,” replied the tyrant, “she shall
this night comply with my wishes.” In consequence of this the
marriage contract was drawn up, and the princess was inform-
ed of the king's design. “Let him come,” said she, “I know
how to receive him.” Meeting him, therefore, with the great-
est apparent kindness, she handed to him a cup of poisoned sher-
bet, and then taking the ring from his finger, and the magic
portmanteau from the treasury, she reduced the former to pow-
der and tore the latter to pieces, that none might again abuse
the power which they conferred.


THE BOARWOLF.
“IN that mountainous region called the Bergstrasse, which
lies along the banks of the Rhine, it was formerly the custom
for the young men, when they came to a certain age, to enrol
themselves in a company of hunters, for the express purpose of
pursuing and destroying wolves; for which reason the band was
called the wolf-slaughterers. Indeed, that part of the country is:
... so craggy, so full of caverns, and so crowded with woods, that
it is the place in the world most fitted for the harbor of wild
beasts, and accordingly, there were in former times a vast num-
ber to be found there; so many, in fact, that had not the wolf-
slaughterers been very active, daring young men, it would have
been almost impossible to have resided there; and it was only by
their exertions, that the villagers of Fiendenheim were able to
preserve any cattle. Many ages ago, and long before the in-
vention of firearms, there were at the head of this band two
young men, who were particularly successful in their attempts
against the wolves. They were both strong, fearless, and well
skilled in the use of their weapons, and they were considered as
chiefs of the troop, because each had destroyed more wild beasts
with his own hands than any other two belonging to it, although,
between themselves, the number was equal; for if Hendrick,
(so one was called,) at any time had the advantage, Wolfgang,
the other, never desisted from the chase till he had brought
home the head of a wolf, to reduce their conquests to the same
level. This rivalry was, however, not the occasion of any en-
mity between these young men; for, as they had been brought
up from children together, they were accustomed to strive for
the same prizes, and engage in the same undertakings, so that w
they were always most pleased when both succeeded in the same
degree. Indeed, it is said, that when one had the superiority,
he always relaxed his exertions, till the other came up with him,
and that they retained this habit in the chase; for Wolfgang
has been known, after he had killed one beast, to miss the next
purposely, that Hendrick might strike it, and Hendrick has done
the same, when fortune was on his side. Another reason wh
there was no quarrel between them, perhaps, was, that they
were both equally handsome. Not that they were alike in fea-
ture, though they were of the same height; for Wolfgang's
beauty had a boldness in it, which Hendrick's wanted, but then


106 - THE BoARWolf.
Hendrick's countenance was calm and interesting, and as their
tempers agreed with their persons, each thought his own exte-
rior the best, so that envy did not threaten to render their friend-
ship of short duration. There is, however, always some stumb-
lingblock in the way of perfect happiness, and this the friends
met with.
“It chanced, one evening, whilst returning by themselves
from the chase, bearing on the points of their spears the heads
of two wolves, which they had just slaughtered, that they pass-
ed through a deep narrow glen, leading between high rocky
banks, from the clefts of which grew out birch and mountain
ash trees, in such numbers, as to overshadow their path, and
give a wild gloom to the space beneath. They had not reach-
ed half way, when they heard a loud growl, and looking care-
fully round, espied a hideous monster, partly concealed amongst
tall stones and low bushes. Wolfgang cried out, “a boar! a
boar!” and Hendrick exclaimed, ‘a wolf a wolf!’ both prepar-
ing instantly to attack it. But the brute, which was employed
in devouring its prey, after displaying a frightful pair of jaws,
and making show of resistance, turned its tail, and fled through
the underwood, hidden from their view, till it reached the mouth
of the ravine, when springing suddenly out, it escaped into a
more open country. The huntsmen, however, knowing that it
must choose to fly through the gorge of the pass, or remain in
the dell, had hurried that way, and were close at its heels,
when it darted from the thicket. This gave them hopes, and
giving full rein to their horses, they pursued it over a wide piece
of heathy waste. They had now a good opportunity for ascer-
taining the nature of the animal they followed; but, notwithstand-
ing their skill in the chase, they were unable to decide what.
kind of beast it was; for, though it had the straight back, bushy
tail, and long gallop of a wolf, still it had the thick, bristly, and
snouted head of a boar, and its feet were not similar to those of
any animal they had seen. They, therefore, supposed it might
be some mongrel brute, or one of the wild beasts brought from
..Syria, which had broken loose from the menage of the Arch-
bishop of Mentz. But, be it what it might, they pushed after it
with the greatest resolution, because, when they had started it
from its lurking place, they perceived it had been tearing in
pieces the body of a child. -
“The direction which the monster took led them across a
small stream, that divided their district from the neighboring
one, and brought them at last into a place dangerous for horse-
men, and difficult for the pursuit of game. It was an extensive
level, reaching from the rivulet to a distant range of hills, and
would have been a plain had it not been covered with huge
masses of detached rock, scattered about it, as if a large moun-
tain had been dashed to pieces, and strewed over its surface. ,
}


THE BOARwolf. 107
Many of the fragments were so large, that they resembled small
cliffs, and from their tops and sides grew out and hung down
trees and shrubs of every description. Several lay as if fallen
against each other, so as to leave caverns and arches between
their sides, and the red glare of the sun setting behind the hills,
gleamed through these openings in a wild and beautiful manner.
Other pieces were small and plentiful, lying in heaps, as well as
separately, amongst the larger masses; so that, though there
were many roads and passages between these rocks, still they
were rendered unsafe for horses by these lesser stones.
“The hunters had scarcely entered this region before they
lost sight of their game; but, hoping to regain the scent, they
dashed forward amongst the pathways, and, after a short time
saw the brute turning round the corner. This tempted them
still further, till, after bewildering themselves amidst the intri-
cacies of this desert, they gave over the pursuit, having ceased
for some time to see the monster, and, indeed it was growing
so dark, that they would not have been long able to view it had
it been before them. - -
“They now thought of returning home to Fiendenheim, and
turned their horses the way contrary to that which they had
come, and, as they rode along, wondering what kind of beast
they had chased, they found that their exertion had both fa-
tigued them and made them excessively thirsty. Accordingly,
they resolved to take a full draught from the stream when they
reached it, and agreed to ask permission of the lord of that do-
main to bring their whole troop on the following day, to give full
pursuit to so dangerous a monster. They were talking about
the dogs and weapons they would bring with them, when they
caught a glimpse of a light at a short distance, and wishing to
obtain, if possible, something better than a draught of water, to
quench their thirst, they made towards it, and arrived at the
door of a residence, half cottage and half cavern, which stood
under the side of one of the largest masses of rock; and they
recollected that this place was the habitation of a hermit, a re-
cluse so austere that he hardly ever suffered himself to be seen
by any body.
“They knocked at the door, however, and it was opened,
not by an old man, with a white beard, as they expected, but by
abeautiful girl, of about sixteen, whose face and figure far excelled
those of all the daughters of their native hamlet, and, in truth,
of any other place they knew. She blushed at first, and seemed
inclined to close the door again, but Wolfgang asked, in a tone
pf compliment, that she would give him a draught of milk, and
Hendrick seconded him, with such gentle supplication, that she
felt almost compelled to speak; and, then, not liking to refuse
so small a request, she brought out a large jug, not of milk but
of true Rhenish wine, which she poured out into horns, and of-


108 THE BoARwolf
fered to each of the huntsmen. They accepted her gifts with
many thanks, which she received with smiles; and by way of
prolonging the conversation, they inquired whether she had
seen or heard of any strange beast near her habitation. She
replied, that, within the few last days, her father had told her
that he had seen an animal that he had never seen before, and
had bidden her be careful that she was not surprised, for that it
was very ferocious, and had carried off the child of one of the
inhabitants of the village of Grifhausen. She then invited them
to alight, saying that, perhaps, her parent could tell them more
concerning it. -
“The young men were both so fascinated with this beauty,
that they would willingly have spent some hours in gazing at
and conversing with her; but, for some reason or other, they
obstinately refused, although she pressed them to enter the cot-
tage. After a little more conversation she wished them good
night; and though they both intended to see her again, neither
of them mentioned a word of his intention, either to her or to his
companion. Indeed, from that moment they became so des-
perately jealous of each other, (which was the reason why they
would not stop that night, each looking upon the othèr as a rival,)
that they scarcely spoke all the way back to Fiendenheim; and
the next day, instead of summoning the troop to give the beast
chase, each rode separately in search of the cottage, where they
met, and quarrelled for the first time; and so bitter was their
enmity afterwards, that it would have been a pleasure to either
of them to have run the other through with a boar spear.
“Meantime the wild monster committed great ravages through-
out the surrounding country, and it became unsafe for men un-
armed, and women and children, to pass from one village to the
other; so that there was a general alarm spread round about,
for a great distance. The wolf-hunters made many attempts to
destroy it, but in vain; for though it did not keep out of the way
by day, yet it was so swift, and so artful in eluding pursuit that
, all their endeavors were fruitless. Even Wolfgang and Hen-
drick could gain no advantage over their companions, except
getting a little closer to the beast than the rest. At length, the
lords of three villages, which this animal infested, fancying that
there might be some want of energy in the attempts to destroy
it, or, perhaps, a little fear, offered a reward of a piece of land
to the man who should produce its head, ‘to belong to him and
his heirs for ever,” besides the privilege of choosing the fairest
maiden within their domains as a wife, to whom they also prom-
ised a portion.
“This offer produced a great commotion among the young
men of the three villages, as well as among the maidens; all of
them being willing to obtain the reward; but upon Wolfgang and
Hendrick it had a very strong effect. Since first beholding the
$
t
t


THE BOARWOLF. 109
oung beauty among the rocks, they had both striven to gain
}. as a wife, but, though she gave them equal audience, she
declared positively in favor of neither of them. But when the
reward was offered for the head of the beast, she said she would
willingly give her hand to the huntsman who should obtain it.
Thus, besides the hope of obtaining the reward, and the beauty,
there was the fear that another should gain her, and Wolfgang
said, that he would rather the beast should tear him to pieces,
than that Hendrick should become possessed of her, and Hen-
drick said much the same of Wolfgang. Nevertheless, the mon-
ster continued his ravages, though all the country was in arms
against him, and it was at length reported, that Count Albert of
Fiendenheim was going to invite all the knights and warriors of
his acquaintance, to come and make a graud attempt to rid his
lands of such a scourge.
“When it came to be known that Wolfgang and Hendrick
had quarrelled, the inhabitants of their village were anxious to
know the cause of disagreement between two such strict friends,
and they soon found it out. But when the young men of Fiend-
enheim had seen the damsel, they said they could find nothing
in her so enchanting, that there were many girls in their own
hamlet far superior to her, and in fact, that she was more disa-
greeable than pleasing. On the other hand, the two huntsmen
had told their sisters that there could not be a greater beauty
among women, that her countenance was delightfully fascinat-
ing; her eyes of the most brilliant black, her lips glowing coral,
her nose finely formed, her complexion radiant with health, and
her curling tresses of the loveliest auburn. This, of course,
tempted many of the young women to make an opportunity of
seeing her, and they agreed with the young men, that she was
any thing but agreeable. They found her features sharp and
vixen-like, her eyes too small, and glowing more like live coals
than diamonds, her nose hooked, her complexion of a peculiar
sallow, and her locks elfish, snake-like, and of a fiery red color.
Her shape, which they had been told was exquisite, they thought
too flimsy, and her dress was so gaudy and scanty, that they
agreed she resembled one of the lost girls who wandered about
the streets of Mentz, to tempt young men to their ruin, more
than a modest inhabitant of the district of Brockencragg; and,
in fine, they all agreed that she had infused some philter into
the wine she had given to Wolfgang and Hendrick, and there-
by deprived them of the right use of their senses and understand-
ing. But, what displeased them more than any thing else, was
that she refused to tell from whence she came, or who her father
was, nor would she listen to any inquiries about her family,
saying, that those who liked her need not know her friends, and
that those who disliked her should not. ... •
“Wolfgang, as I have already said, was of a temper some-
a 10 -


110 THE BOARWOLF.
what impatient, and when he heard that Count Albert purposed
calling his friends to assist him, fearing he should lose an op-
portunity of at once acquiring the beauty, he mounted his horse,
and set out on the chase, swearing he would never return with-
out the head of the monster; and, accordingly, he tried every
art he was acquainted with, to surprise it unawares, for when
it was conscious of being pursued no body had any chance of
coming up with it. All his address and toil, through the heat of
the day, was, however, of no avail to him. Twenty times had
he been on the point of plunging his short sword between its
ribs, and as often had it slipped aside, and disappointed him. At
last, towards evening, when all the rest, similarly engaged, had
given up the chase, he fancied that the animal appeared lame,
and exhausted with fatigue. Although he was scarcely other-
wise himself, this idea dissipated all his weariness, and hoping
that he might now run him down, he borrowed a fresh horse
from the nearest house, and returning to where it lay, hid in its
lair, he forced it to rise, and betake itself to that same plain
over which he had first pursued it, in company with Hendrick.
He had now no doubt that it was maimed, for it ran with a limp-
ing gait, and with less speed than before. . However, it manag-
ed to keep him at too great a distance behind to wound it, and,
taking the same course it had formerly done, it led him across
the boundary stream, and among those wildly-scattered crags
where it had once escaped before. But as Wolfgang had now
more advantage than at that time, both in the freshness of his
horse, and in the knowledge of the roads, which he had acquir-
ed by visiting the cottage, he was able to keep the boarwolf,
(for so the monster was called by the peasantry,) in sight.
“The red glare of the setting sun was now again gleamin
through the uncouth archways, and along the narrow passes .#
the rocks, as the impatient huntsman followed the brute into the
centre of the great level. Here, entering upon a small sandy
space, scattered over with fragments of stone and dead wood,
Wolfgang lost sight of the animal, for, as it reached the plain
before him, he could not decide the way it had taken. His tem-
per, which had long been giving way during the pursuit, now
totally forsook him, and throwing himself from his horse, he
rolled upon the sand, cursing and blaspheming every thing that
came in his mind. He lay thus employed, at last with his face
towards the ground, when, fancying that he felt a strange gust
of heat pass over him, he turned his head, and beheld the figure
of a being somewhat human, but more resembling a devil. It
had horns and a tail, its horns curled round its ears, and its tail
was short and turned up like a hook. It was hairy all over,
and its feet ended in hoofs, like those of a hog.
“Wolfgang was in too great a rage to tremble.
“‘Wolfgang,” said the being, “if you will give me power


, THE BOARWOLF. 111
over you for four and twenty hours, you shall cut off the head of
the boarwolf.”
“‘ I agree,’ said the huntsman, without stopping one moment
to consider. - -
“‘Then kiss my hand, in token of obedience,” said the stran-
* @rer.
g “Wolfgang kissed the hand held out to him, and whilst he
started back, for the touch of the being burnt his lips, it vanished,
saying, ‘chase the boarwolf to-morrow.’
“The huntsman now remounted his horse, and without al-
lowing himself to think of what he had done, he hastened to the
cottage of the beauty, with whom he staid conversing till day-
light, for both she and her father treated him as if they could
not treat him too well. -
“At daybreak he saddled his steed, and set off to dislodge
the boarwolf from its lurking place, impatient both to make sure
of the rewards and to return home, for, as he had vowed not to
go back without the head, so he had kept his word.
“When Wolfgang reached the glen, where he expected to
meet the boarwolf, he found Hendrick there with some com-
panions, who had risen early that morning to try the powers of
two large dogs, which they had procured from a great distance.
These were bloodhounds of a fine breed, and were now engag-
ed by Hendrick, because all the other dogs that had been em-
ployed in the chase of this monster refused to follow it, being
so terrified, that, whenever they were put upon the scent, they
howled and slunk away in fear. Wolfgang, elated with the kind-
ness so lately shown him by the beauty and her father, and re-
lying on the promise that he should cut off the head of the boar-
wolf, could not refrain from uttering a loud laugh of contempt,
when he saw the pains taken by his former friend and his associ-
ates. He even bid him, with a sneer, ‘go home and look out
for a wife, for that he meant to marry the beauty that night him-
self.’ Hendrick was too intent on endeavoring to get scent of
the wild beast, to reply to these insults, and having ascertained
that it was not in the dell, he hurried over the hills in search of
it; and his rival notwithstanding his security, not being willing
that he should first start the game, set off to another spot, where
he once or twice had met the animal. ' -
“About an hour after this, Wolfgang unearthed the boarwolf.
It sprung from beneath the root of an old withered yew-tree,
which grew over a low dark cave, in the side of a bank, just as
the sun rose brilliantly from behind some opposite hills; and
when the ferocious brute opened its jaws, to utter a hindeous roar,
its long tusks gleamed in the morning-rays, and the white foam
spirted from its mouth like flakes of snow, while its bristly hide
seemed to glitter in the light, as if throwing out sparks of fire.
The eager huntsman rushed forward after it, eyeing with joy the
*


-
112 THE BOARWor, F-
hastly grinning head, which he expected soon to sever from
its huge, ill-fashioned carcass, and which was to form the foun-
dation of his fortune, and the pledge of his union with his mistress.
He forgot that Hendrick was also in the field with his friends,
and their unerring dogs, or, if he thought of him, it was only to
enjoy the anticipated mortification of his former friend, when he
returned to the village, bearing with him the spoil for which
they both thirsted so ardently.
“The boarwolf, however, as if conscious that its existence
was to terminate that day, seemed resolved to exercise the
strength and perseverance of its pursuer. It took wider and
more intricate circuits than it ever had done before, it turned
more frequently to bay and almost appeared to enjoy the eager
onsets which the huntsman made to overcome it: but the horse. .
of Wolfgang could only be brought to ride at it by the most stren-
uous endeavors of its master, exhibiting such evident marks of
dismay at its glaring eye-balls, and erected bristles, that he
could scarcely keep its head towards it; and when he offered
to dismount, for the purpose of attacking it with his sword, the
monster took the opportunity of making off at full speed.
“In this manner the chase continued till long past noon, by
which time Wolfgang had become so faint, with hunger and ex-
haustion, that he could scarcely keep his seat; for he had been
extremely fatigued the day before, and had not closed his eyes
during the night, having been too much engaged with his mis-
tress to think of sleep. Besides, he had scarcely tasted food
since the morning of the day before, for he took nothing but
wine at the hermitage, and this day he would not stop one mor
ment to assuage his hunger at the cottages of his acquaintances,
near which he passed, lest the boarwolf should escape, or have
time to renew his strength by rest. However, he recollected
that his mistress, when she heard that he intended to renew the
chase early in the morning, had given him a small cake, which
she had prepared during his stay, for she said that she was cer-
tain his eagerness would not allow him to think of refreshment,
and that her gift would quell his appetite, and support his
strength, till he had slain the monster. Upon this he drew the
loaf from his pocket, and eat it, with many mental thanks for
the kind attention of the giver, and he felt his desire to slaugh-
ter the boarwolf increase with his wish to obtain the hand of so
amiable a girl. As she had said, so the cake, though small,
satisfied his hunger, and renewed his spirits, or, rather, made
them more buoyant than before. Indeed, so much did he feel
elated, that he spurred on his horse as if just set off in the pur-
suit, and the monster was obliged to fly more quickly than it
had ever done. But the weather, which had hitherto been bril-
liant and enlivening, now suddenly altered; large masses of
dark clouds rolled up from behind the distant mountains, the
*


THE BOARwolf. * 113
wind rose, and swept along the edges of the woods with violence,
full drops of rain fell at intervals, and the distant waters of the
river were heard rushing along their rocky bed. Wolfgang was
too much accustomed to the field not to know that these signs
presaged a storm; but his ardor would not permit any idea of
relinquishing the pursuit to enter his mind; besides, he fancied
these signs were but preludes to the death of the boarwolf, and
he gazed at it with exultation as, for the third time that day, it
hurried through the dell where he and Hendrick had first discov-
ered it. His spirits, now high, and free from fatigue, bore him
along with a feeling of triumph, and though the wind shook the
branches of the trees over his head, and sighed in the most.
threatening manner, he paid no attention to the impending
tempest. - *
“At length, as he once more spurred along to the rocky
level, the clouds burst above him, and a deluge of rain and hail
surrounded him instantaneously; he seemed almost as if enclo-
sed in a moving mass of water, and as the drops struck against
the ground they broke into a fine mist, which rose up on the
wind like a second shower, or as if the earth were heated and
being quenched by the rain, while large hailstones flew and
danced about in every direction, causing his horse to start re-
peatedly. - -
“So thick and heavy was the shower, that Wolfgang lost
sight of the boarwolf for a short time, though it still kept at the
same distance before him. But an unusual darkness now began
to add to the horrors of the storm, not like the approach of night,
but a deep gloom, as if the sun were losing its light. Thunder
burst in loud peals amongst the hills, and flashes of lightning at
times shot along before him. Yet all these combined terrors
had no effect on the mind of the huntsman; at least he laughed
at them with the feelings of a man intoxicated, for the few mouth-
fuls he had taken had produced a state of idea almost similar to
the effect caused by liquor, without impeding his capability of
bodily action. A #. times he blessed the providence of
the beauty, in providing against his fatigue, and he heard the
swollen waters of the boundary stream foam amidst the stony
windings of its channel, without one impression of fear, or sug-
gestion of prudence.
“The boarwolf chose the widest whirlpool over which to
leap, and Wolfgang sprung boldly over the boiling vortex. . He
heeded not the laboring breath and staggering limbs of his
courser, but spurred him violently, as he entered the district
of Brockencragg, along the path which led to the hermitage,
for in that direction the monster proceeded before him.
“The storm raged with peculiar fury in this wild and des-
olate region. The wind roared hideously, as it rushed along
the numerous passages amongst the rocks, and the summits of
-3.
10%


114- THE . BOARWOLF.
the tall trees, that grew upon them, were bent below the crew-
ices in which their roots found nourishment. Twice did Wolf.
gang escape the fall of trunks, which were torn with harsh
crashes from their beds, and many times was he nearly struck
from his saddle by pieces of stoné, broken from the margin of
cliffs by the lightning, which now darted closely around him.
But his spirit and his persuasion that the head of the monster
would soon become his spoil, were unabated and unalloyed, till,
just as he was approaching the cottage of his mistress, the
boarwolf uttered a tremendous yell, which was answered by
the distant bay of dogs. “That fiend Hendrick!’ muttered
Wolfgang, as the idea that his hated rival might rush in be-
tween him and his reward glanced across his mind. He spurred
on his steed, more unmercifully than before, and was in an in-
stant close by the hermitage. The beauty, as if fearless of
wild beasts, of lightning, or of thunder, stood at the door, wav-
ing her hand in encouragement to her lover, and he thought she
seemed to enjoy the flashes of fire that glanced along before
her; her face was bright, and her eyes shone, her hair floated
in the wind. He heard her say, “Do you hear Hendrick?”
and in a moment was out of her sight and hearing, for, having
turned a corner, the brute led him directly to the centre of the
level. All the fury of the storm seemed likewise to tend that
way, for the violence of the wind, rain, and hail, behind him,
was almost intolerable. His horse rushed along, as if borne
by a rapid stream, striving more to keep itself steady than to
maintain its speed; the lightning flashed round every crag, and
the thunder seemed rolling along upon the earth, and jarring
at every instant with the scattered fragments of rock.
“Even these he fancied tottered as he passed them, and
shook their crumbling edges on his head;—tittering and grin-
ning whispers seemed to mock his ears, as he listened to the
deep mouthings of Hendrick's blood hounds; and the boarwolf
growled and tore up the earth, as it fled before him. However,
he gained upon it, and, only intent upon the accomplishment of
his wishes, drew forth his short sword, to make a desperate at-
tack, for he perceived by its agitation and furious howls that
it would soon turn to bay. He was close at its heels, as it
entered upon the sandy space in the centre of the level, and at
the instant the monster turned and offered resistance, his horse
fell dead close beside it. The boarwolf sprung upon Wolfgang,
and ripped up his thigh with its tusk; but the huntsman, though
writhing with pain, struck a tremendous blow at its brawny neck,
which cleft the spine, and the head hung from its shoulders.
Another blow severed it completely; but at that instant a dense
smoke, mingled with flame, issued from the carcass, and the
boarwolf was changed into that fiend-like being whom he had
seen in that same place on the day before.


THE BOARWOLF. 115
“‘Wolfgang, it exclaimed to the terrified hunter, ‘ thou hast.
cut off the head of the boarwolf; for twenty-four hours thou
art mine.—Aye, and forever!—Be thou now a boarwolf'
“‘Not now,” cried Wolfgang, gasping with horror at the
thought, ‘Hendrick is coming, he will slay me.’ -
“‘I mean it,” replied the demon laughing ferociously, ‘I
brought him here, his dogs are mine—see he comes!'
“Wolfgang turned his head and saw Hendrick rushing to-
wards him; he felt his figure change, his hands became feet, his
head grew large and bristly, he sunk down towards the earth,
and stood like a four-footed brute, but bewildered and unable
either to fly or resist.
The most bitter feelings of terror and despair overwhelmed
his faculties. He sprung into the air, and attempted to scream
with rage, but he only uttered a harsh hoarse roar, like a boar-
wolf. It was answered by Hendrick, who at that moment fix-
ed his eye upon him, with a wild shout of joy; his friends also
shouted, and the blood-hounds, giving a tremendous yell, sprung
upon him and held him firmly with their teeth. Hendrick leap-
ed from his horse, and raised his sword, and while Wolfgang
vainly strove to exclaim, “Spare me, Hendrick! spare me!’ his
rival and former friend smote off his head at a blow. His spirit
fled with a groan, a dreadful clap of thunder shook the earth, a
flash of lightning enveloped the group, and scathed the bleeding
body of the huntsman; but Hendrick nevertheless lifted up the
head, and with his companions gave three victorious shouts; he
then thrust the point of his spear into the neck, and, remounting
his horse, rode away from the plain with his associates, bearing
before him, unconsciously, the head of his once dearest friend.
“They made their way directly to Fiendenheim, and were
received joyfully by the villagers, who ran to inform Count
Albert. The lord received the spoil in form, admiring its ghast-
ly look, and directed his seneschal to make out the deed of gift,
of four acres of land, to Hendrick the wolfslayer, to him and
his heirs forever. He then bade the unfortunate huntsman choose
the maiden he liked best for his bride, and bring her to him on
the following morning, as he intended to bestow upon her a
marriage portion.
“Hendrick, notwithstanding the fatigue he had undergone
since daybreak, could not resist the pleasure of communicating
his success to the beauty, and of claiming her promise. He
therefore quitted Fiendenheim, and took the direction of the
Brockencragg level, with almost as much speed as if engaged
in another chase. The weather was now calm and serene, the
wind had subsided, not a drop of rain fell from the unclouded sky,
and a pure and beautiful evening had succeeded to the tempes-
tuous afternoon; nor would it have been suspected that such a
storm had so recently occurred, had not the swollen streams, that
º


- w
I 16 i. THE BOARWOLF.
rushed amongst the rocks, and over the pathways, been unu-
sually large, and their waters turbid, and loaded with fragments
of branches, and the spoils of their banks.
“By the time the eager lover arrived within sight of the cot-
tage of his mistress, the first stars of evening had appeared,
and a gentle gloom had fallen on all the surrounding objects.
A calm stillness was spread over the vast desert of shattered
rocks, only interrupted by the croak of the raven, which sat
among the overhanging trees, by the shriek of the owl, which
floated forth from the recesses amongst the cliff. But of a sudden,
as Hendrick spurred his horse up to the door of the hermitage,
a strange wild shout of mirth burst from within the dwelling,
composed of sounds and voices he had never heard before. The
chimney, too, smoked violently, and a bright gleam of light shot
from the casement across the pathway, and small rays issued
from beneath the caves and crevices in the walls.
“Impatient and alarmed, Hendrick, with a lover’s privilege,
hastily opened the door, and entered; but what was his amaze-
ment to find himself in the midst of a company of beings of the
most appalling description. There sat in the old chair, which
the beauty’s father was wont to occupy, the same fiend who had
tempted Wolfgang to his destruction. Before him, in the midst
of the floor, was a large fire, blazing up to the ceiling in blue
flames, mingled with green and yellow. Around this danced a
circle of devils, of all figures and sizes, throwing themselves into
the most distorted attitudes, and shrieking at alternate intervals.
There lay on the floor a human carcass, the head of which was
concealed by a black veil, and the old fiend had his feet placed up-
on it, while his hoofs, now lengthened into claws, penetrated
the flesh, and when the demon contracted his talons, the body
gave convulsive throes, and dashed its limbs about, to the great
diversion of the assembly.
“Hendrick, stood and stared aghast at this sight, for a crowd.
of fears and suspicions overwhelmed his soul. He looked around
for the beauty and her father, but in vain; till at length a tall
slender fiend sprung from the circle towards him, and seizing
his hand in her burning grasp, drew him forward, saying, ‘Why,
Hendrick my betrothed, do you not know your bride?’
“Hendrick gazed upon her, and saw in her sharpened ſea-
tures, parchment skin, and glowing eyes, some appearance of
the girl who had been the sole object of his and Wolfgang's love;
but with a shuddering start he endeavored to free himself from
her grasp. She, however, held him tightly, and drawing him to
the circle, another fiend caught him by the hand, in the same
manner, and he was thus forced to dance round the fire, as one
of the group, whilst the demons grinned and chattered at him,
with fearful and malicious joy. -
“Although the heart of Hendrick sunk within him, at the


THE BOARWOLF. 117
hideous figures and grimaces of his companions, his senses still
remained collected, and his thoughts were bent on finding some
method of escaping from this detestable spot. His love and
hopes were converted into the utmost disgust and dread, and
his eyes wandered from side to side, to avoid the diabolicalleers
and hellish mockery of the fiend who pretended to be his bride.
She, however, seemed not to regard his hatred, but telling her
crew that he was impatient for the conclusion of his nuptials,
stopped opposite to the frightful demon who sat in the chair—
“‘Father,” said she, “this is my bridegroom, he wishes you
to unite us forever.’ -
“‘Have you the ring?” said the old fiend, in a harsh and
hollow voice. s
“‘This is the one he gave me,’ said the pretended bride,
holding forth one which Hendrick knew he had presented to
her, some days before.
“‘Is he willing to bind himself to you and yours?” said the
residing devil of this infernal ceremony. -
“‘You shall hear him promise,’ answered the bride. “Speak,
Hendrick, love, speak,’ continued she to the astonished hunts-
man, whose hair now stood on end, and whose limbs quaked
beneath him, whilst the sweat stood cold upon his brow, although
the room felt like a furnace.
“‘If he will not speak, let him kneel and do homage,’ ex-
claimed Satan. -
“At this the fiends on either side of the terrified hunter,
strove to pull him down; but Hendrick, aware that by that pros-
tration he should yield up his soul to the powers of darkness,
resisted with his utmost strength, whilst he groaned loudly and
wrestled with the demons.
“‘Show him, then,’ cried the arch-demon, stamping with
passion, “show him what he shall become, unless he obeys.
Let him see! let him see!—up Wolfgang up!” continued he,
shouting hideously. Upon this the corpse that lay at the foot
of the chair started from the floor, and as the black cloth fell
from its head, Hendrick recognised the pale and bloody corpse
of his friend Wolfgang. The head was resting on the shoul-
ders, but there was a deep red gash round the neck, as if it had
been divided.
“‘Dost thou know him?’ cried the fiend-bride, as she saw
her lover tremble involuntarily.
‘‘ ‘Yes, he knows him,” cried the old demon, ‘ and shall be
like him, unless he joins in the chase.’ He then vociferated,
‘the boarwolf: the boarwolf!’ and the body of Wolfgang was
changed into the resemblance of that monster, and began to run
round the cottage, whilst all the imps and demons, uttering
tremendous yells, pursued it, darting fire from their nostrils,
and piercing the howling brute with their burning claws. A Hen-
-


118 THE BOARWOLF.
drick's two companions endeavored to pull him forward after
the rest, and the principal fiend exclaimed, ‘Force him! tear
him! drag him!'—but the huntsman's feelings were wound up
to a pitch of horror, and struggling violently, he exclaimed,
“God and St. Hubert protect me?” The fiends instantly scream-
ed, and let him go, and he sprung through the fire, his only way
to escape, and out at the door. In an instant he was on his
horse, and in good time, for the whole legion of devils poured
out of the cottage, with the boarwolf at their head.
“Hendrick dashed his spurs into the sides of his beast, and
fled, and the frightful crew followed, filling the air with their
vociferations. At every instant one or other of the demons
seemed on the point of pulling him from his horse; they snatch-
ed at him, at his arms, at his neck, at his legs, and at his long
flying dress, that floated on the air behind him. They called
on him to stop; his bride offered to throw her arms round him,
she shrieked in his ears, and blew fire from her mouth, she
cursed and reviled him. But the huntsman still fled, and called
on the saints to assist him, till reaching the boundary stream,
he leaped his horse over its rapid current, and found himself
free from his hateful persecutors. Nevertheless he checked
not his bridle, but kept on his way till he reached the village of
Fiendenheim, where he rushed in dismay up to a crowd of the
inhabitants. \
“The men of Fiendenheim shouted when they saw the suc-
cessful huntsman, who had ridden forth in the anticipation of
happiness, return so terrified, and the women screamed as they
gazed at the man and horse, black with smoke, and dripping
with perspiration. ‘Is this the bridegroom?' cried they.
‘Where is the bride?' Hendrick, for a long time, could not
speak; at length, after drinking a deep and long draught to
clear his throat, he told what he had seen. All the hamlet was
in agitation. They ran to the castle of Count Albert, and
clamoured to see the head of the boarwolf. The warder called
for torches, and led the way into an inner court; but instead of
the grim visage of the rapacious monster, they beheld the pale
and withered features of Wolfgang the huntsman, slowly drop-
ping gore, as it stood on the end of a pike. Hendrick fainted,
and lay long in a trance, and when he did recover he retired
into the monastery of St. Hubert, where he shortly died.
“Ages have passed away since this event is said to have
occurred, and generation after generation has sunk into the
tomb, but the tradition survives, and the peasant of the Berg-
strasse, when he hears the howls of the wolf, redoubled and
prolonged by the echoes of his mountains, starts with horror,
and recollects the fate of Wolfgang the hunter; and it is still
asserted that, on the anniversary of the fatal night, when he was
slain, the boarwolf is seen to run yelling amid the hills, pursued
by the demons to whom he so unhappily bound himself.”
º


THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
“How awful is the approach of night amid these dreary
shades!” cried the brave Sir Albert, as he traversed the most
desolate part of the Black Forest. These were the first words
that escaped his lips, since, about mid-day, he had entered that
wild desert: and they were heard with satisfaction by Mau-
rice, his Esquire and only attendant, whom respect had for some
time with difficulty restrained from breaking the silence, which, ,
terrupted only at intervals by the shrieks of the owl, or the flutter
of the bat, seemed to deepen the horrors of that gloomy scene,
and impressed on his mind a superstitious dread, which had mo
visible object, yet rose to the most agonizing height.
“Ah, sir!” cried he, “what courage less intrepid than yours
would at this hour of darkness thus rashly penetrate the recesses
of this forest?”
“I have seen thee bold in battle, Maurice,” said Sir Albert:
“what mighty danger dost thou apprehend in this solitude,
which thou canst deem it rashness in me to encounter?”
“Such scenes as these,” returned the Esquire, “bring every :
deed of horror to one's thought: in gloom like this, the daemons
of the air, and spirits of the dead, have power.”
“My conscience is clear from every deed,” said Sir Albert:
“which should make me dread the vengeance of departed spir-
its; and I trust that Heaven and good Angels will defend me from
the malice of the Powers of Darkness. For any mortal foes I
am armed, and fear not to encounter them.”
“Would to heaven I had turned my back,” cried Maurice,
“before I had reached this dismal place!”
“And how could we have avoided it?” demanded the knight.
i Thou hast thyself been my guide towards the Castle of Dorn-
eim.” - -
“I expected you would have reached it ere sunset, sir,”
returned the Esquire: but you have rode so slowly”—
“It is true,” said Sir Albert: “my mind has been too much
occupied with the thoughts of her on whose account, as to thee
only I have confided, I have travelled hither, to leave me any
leisure to recollect the tardy pace of my wearied horse.”
He was then beginning to relapse into his former musing; but
Maurice, who, in the sound of a human voice, had found some
relief from the terrific phantasms which haunted his imagination,
sº-


120 THE CAver N of DEATH.
º
was eager to engage him in further discourse; and though alrea-
dy acquainted with the story of his love, yet, since he knew the
satisfaction with which on that subject his master would always
enlarge, he would not miss the opportunity of introducing it.
“Did you not tell me, sir,” said he, that it was three years
since last you saw the Lady Constance?” -
“It is more,” replied Sir Albert. “My heart would per-
suade me I had been separated from her during countless ages.
—Ah! could I but know with what aspect she would review
me!” -
“It is impossible, sir,” said Maurice, that to merit and con-
stancy like yours, she can be insensible.”
“While I was at a distance from her,” said Sir Albert, “I
was pleased at being thus flattered; my own heart flattered me.
I knew indeed, that for me she had never acknowledged any
affection; but I knew that towards all others she had shown the
most marked indifference; and even from the solicitude with
which she would often shun me, I could then draw a favorable
inference, since, had she not been conscious that I adored her,
she could have had no cause to treat me with less courtesy
that others; and love so carefully concealed as mine, what but
reciprocal love could have discovered? What other motive, have
I vainly fancied, could have so frequently suffused her cheek
with blushes, if I gazed on her, perhaps too eagerly? What
else could have occasioned her emotion when we parted? Had
I been indifferent to her, would she not—after so long an ac-
quaintance with me, would she not have bidden me adieu ? But
the unfinished sentence died upon her lips; and, though she hasted
from my presence, I had seen the tear that was starting from
her eye.” -
, “I have often wondered, sir,” said Maurice, “how, with so
strong an attachment to the Lady Constance, you could resolve
to quit Prague, where she resided, without declaring to her
your sentiments and endeavoring to obtain the avowal of hers.”
“I have told thee, Maurice,” returned Sir Albert, “that I
had rather have died than have engaged her whose happiness I
prized above my own, to share the fortunes of a man who had
so little prospect of being able to place her in a rank worthy of
her merit.—I do not now entertain any such presumptuous
views: I wish but to see her: of what further I desire, my own
heart is unconscious. Perhaps, since my sword has purchased
me some portion of renown; since I have received the honor of
Knighthood from the imperial Frederic Barbarossa, and have
acquired several noble friends who have promised me their ser-
vices—perhaps, at some future period, I may find myself in a
situation—But I have already said I will not indulge these
thoughts. How far distant, Maurice, is the Castle of Hertz-


THE CAverN of DEATH. • 121
wald, where she now resides, from that of the Baron of Dorn-
heim” *
“It is little more than a league,” replied the Esquire. “I
was frequently there while I dwelt at the Castle of Dornheim.
It was then occupied by her uncle; at whose death, a few
months since, it devolved to her father.”
Another interval of silence now ensued; but Maurice, again
solicitous to break it—Did you never, sir, acquaint Lord Fred-
eric with your love?” said he. -
“No, never,” replied Sir Albert; “for though, from the time
when it was my fortune to save his life in battle, he always pro-
fessed for me the warmest friendship, yet his own insensibility
to the softer passions, deterred me from placing in him the same
confidence on that subject as I readily should on any other. It
was by accident that he mentioned to me the arrival of the
father of Constance to settle so near the Castle of Dornheim,
whither he had before so frequently invited me. Had he ever
experienced a passion like mine, I have often since reflected, that
the eager emotion with which I then aceepted his invitation
might sufficiently have discovered to him the secret of my soul.
“From his childhood,” said Maurice, “Lord Frederic was
ever of a haughty and violent temper—a stranger to tenderness
and pity; and, though I had received from him many favors,
and was yet more secure of the protection of the Baron his
Father, I account myself fortunate in my removal from But
whence this sudden stream of light upon our paths?”
“Is it not the moon emerging from behind a cloud?” said Sir
Albert. -
“The moon is already set,” returned the Esquire, trembling
with renewed fears.
Sir Albert looked up—the thick interwoven branches of the
trees in that spot obstructed his view; but, advancing a few
paces to a more open place, he perceived a small black cloud,
which seemed to hang lower than the rest, and hovered over
his head with a tremulous motion, from the broken edges of
which darted forth flashes of light sufficiently strong to dissipate
the darkness, which by this time completely overspread the
earth. Sir Albert gazed on it with wonder, and with that awe
which any supernatural appearance necessarily impresses on
the mind. The terrified Maurice dropped the reins, and in
speechless agony expected some event of horror.—Presently
they heard in the air a loud shriek, which seemed uttered by
no mortal voice; and at the same moment the clouds burst asun-
der; and while the darker parts faded away, and mixed with
the surrounding air, all the rays of light which had streamed
from it, seemed to unite in one large ball of fire, and, descend-
ing towards the earth with a rapid course, sunk amid a thick
cluster of trees, and still continued to gleam behind their branch-
11
*
t


122 THE CAveRN of DEATH.
es. Sir Albert instantly spurred forward his horse, and has-
tened towards the spot. Maurice, with a trembling voice, urged
him to forbear; but regardless of his fears, the Knight advanc-
ed, and, forcing a passage through the trees, saw that the me-
teor still appeared suspended over the entrance of a deep dark
Cavern, which was illuminated by its splendor: but ere he could
come quite up, it sunk into the abyss, and every object was en-
veloped in a thicker darkness than before.
Sir Albert, for some moments, hesitated how to act: his mighty
courage, which always impelled him to attempt every peri-
lous adventure, strongly urged him to enter the Cavern, and
explore the mystery which some inward and inexplicable pre-
possession concurred with the appearance of the meteor to
persuade him he should discover within its recesses; yet the
darkness of the night, which seemed to preclude the possibility
of such a discovery, and the probability that the cavern might
be the abode of savage beasts or venomous serpents, to whose
fury should he, in that dismal place, expose himself, he might
F. ingloriously, the victim of an unjustifiable temerity, at
ast determined him to defer the attempt till the morrow, when
he purposed to return with lights; and for the present to pur-
sue his journey to the Castle of Dornheim, where he was already
apprehensive he should arrive too late for admittance. On re-
turning to Maurice, he found him so overcome with terror, that
he seemed scarcely to retain his senses: he talked wildly of a
Spirit who pursued him, and of voices issuing from the Cavern.
Sir Albert, though seldom moved to anger by any trivial cause,
was at last impatient of fears he deemed so groundless, and re-
proved his folly with a harshness which seemed in some degree to
recall him to himself. -
They had not proceeded far, before they discovered a light
through the trees; Maurice started, and would have turned
back; for the meteor still haunted his imagination, and left him
no recollection of the vicinity of the Castle of Dornheim, whence
Sir Albert concluded the light to proceed, and he soon found
that his conjecture was just. On approaching nearer, he per-
ceived that the whole front of the Castle was illuminated; and,
amid many voices which he heard within its walls, he could dis-
tinguish the strains of mirthful music. Though the soul of Sir
Albert was little disposed to share in this apparent festivity, he
was pleased to find that the drawbridge was not yet raised, nor
the porter retired to rest; which had he found to be the case, it
had been his intention rather to take up his lodging for that
night in the Forest, than to disturb the family at an unseason-
able hour. On sounding a horn which was suspended by the
gate, it was instantly unbarred, and a Seneschal came forth, and
invited him to enter, telling him, that on that day admittance
was free to all. Sir Albert could not but demand what pros-


"THE CAveRN of DEATH. 123
perous event was the occasion of the rejoicing which he per-
ceived in the Castle. The Seneschal replied, that it was to
celebrate the approaching nuptials of the Baron with a lady
whom he had for some time courted, and which, it had been
that morning settled, should take place in three days time.
The knight then demanded to speak with Lord Frederic; he was
conducted into a spacious apartment, where he had not waited
long before Lord Frederic came. --
Sir Albert, having raised the vizor of his casque, advanced.
to accost him; but he no sooner recognised the Knight, than,
not allowing him time to speak, he embraced him with an
eagerness sufficiently expressive of his joy. “Is it possible, my
friend!” cried he, “that I behold thee here?” Thy arrival at
this juncture was the object of my most ardent wishes; it was
an happiness to which my hope durst scarce aspire.”
“I consider so kind a welcome, my Lord!” replied Sir Al-
bert, “as an additional proof of your friendship towards me;
and it enhances the pleasure this meeting has afforded me.”
“Ascribe not my joy to friendship only,” replied Lord Fred-
eric: “my own interest has too principal a share in it.—To see
thee at any time I should rejoice; but now, when to valor like
thine I may owe the felicity of my life, thy fortunate arrival has
recalled me from desperation.” - -
“What mean you, my Lord?” said the Knight; “what cause
can have reduced you to despair? and in what manner can I be
so happy as to serve you?” - -
“It is not now a season to explain myself more fully, said
Lord Frederic: “among the crowds who now enter promiscu-
ously every apartment in the Castle, I know not who may over-
hear me. To-morrow morning we will walk together in the
Forest. Meanwhile I will lead thee to the feast: after thy jour-
ney hither, refreshment may be welcome to thee; but, amid the
sports and folly of my father's servile train, let the recollection
of our mutual amity possess thy mind; and let me find thee to-
morrow, as thou hast ever hitherto appeared to me, a friend on
whom I may rely.” -
Lord Frederic there presented his newly arrived friend to his
father, who was encircled by a crowd of the guests who were
come to partake of his festival. The Baron on hearing his name
announced, turned hastily round; but, instead of bidding him
welcome, he for some moments regarded him and continued
silent.
Sir Albert, who had expected a different reception, was in
some degree confused at this; and Lord Frederic, visibly of
fended at his father’s coldness towards a friend to whom he
owed so much—“I thought, my Lord,” said he, “I had already
informed you, that it was this valiant Cavalier who exposed his
own life to the most imminent danger, to rescue me from the


124 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
enemies against whom, wearied, and fainting with loss of blood,
I was no longer able to defend myself.
“And I will eagerly embrace every opportunity, my son!”
returned the Baron, starting as if from a deep musing, to prove
to him and to the world, how dearly I prize that life which he
then preserved.—Most valiant sir!” continued he, addressing
himself to Sir Albert, “I must entreat your forgiveness, if, at the
moment of your approach, my thoughts were so far engrossed
by other matters, that I did not, immediately on the mention of
your name, recollect the vast obligation I was under to you. It
is with unfeigned joy that I embrace the deliverer of my son,
and personally express to him the gratitude and esteem which I
long have borne him. You are most welcome to my castle; and
I flatter myself that you will show, by the length of your abode
in it, your persuasion of the satisfaction your presence affords
me.”
Sir Albert made a suitable reply to this compliment; and, af.
ter a few more expressions of courtesy, the Baron entreated him
to disarm. The Knight at first refused; but on being further
pressed, he complied; and retiring to a private chamber, he
was attended by his own Esquire, and by one of the domestics
of the castle, who, by the Baron's command, brought him a rich
robe to put on, after he should have quitted his arms.
As Maurice was unbuckling his corslet, Sir Albert perceived
that his hand trembled—“Thou hast not yet,” said he, “recov-
ered from the terror which seized thee in the forest.”
The Esquire acknowledged he had not. -
“Did you meet with any alarming adventure there, sir?” said
the Baron’s domestic.
“We passed near the mouth of a Cavern,” returned Sir Al-
bert: “what terrific visions Maurice might behold there, him-
self can best inform you.”
“The mouth of a Cavern?” exclaimed the domestic; “and
near this castle?”
“Scarce a furlong distant,” replied the Knight.
i. And did you then see nothing there, sir?” rejoined the
Other. -
“What should you suppose me to have seen?” demanded
Sir Albert, with some emotion.
“So many sights of terror have been seen in that spot,” re-
turned the domestic, “that it is long since any of us have dared
to approach it. That Cavern is assuredly the habitation of the
infernal spirits. Sometimes there have been heard in it hollow
groans, or shrieks of anguish; sometimes, noises resembling
the rushing of torrents, or the rumbling of pent-up vapors.
There is a report, that some murder was formerly perpetra-
ted there, and that it is the avenging spirit of the dead who still
haunts the place where he was disunited from his body.”


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 125
“Were these opinions current, Maurice,” said Sir Albert,
“during the time of thy abode at this castle?”
“I have heard some mention of them, sir,” returned the
Esquire, paler than before. -
“And how long is it since these strange noises and appear-
ances were first noticed in the cavern?” said the Knight. -
“I have been told, sir,” returned the Baron’s domestic,“ that
the first portentous circumstance observed there, was a light
which shone round the mouth of it, some four or five and twenty
years ago, nearly about the time when the castle came into the
possession of the present lord. But I can aver nothing on the
subject with any certainty, as it is scarcely three months since
I came hither myself.”
“Thou, Maurice, camest hither with the present Baron,” said
Sir Albert—“Dost not thou remember any further particulars?
Did no tradition point out who this murdered person was sup-
posed to have been º’’ -
“Some traveller, wandering in the forest, sir,” replied Mau-
rice; “but indeed the murder was only a vague report; and the
Cavern had been dreaded equally by the neighboring people,
from a period far earlier than that of the accession of the Bar-
on.” -
“Has this cave any particular name?” demanded the Knight.
“It is called the * Cavern of Death?” returned the domes-
tic. w
Sir Albert made an end of attiring himself in silence; for this
account of a place where he had himself witnessed a circum-
stance which he believed to be supernatural, had made a deep
impression on his mind.—His desire to penetrate the inner-
most recesses of the Cavern was now stronger than ever: he
judged it, however, expedient to forbear mentioning the design he
had conceived, since he knew not who might have an interest
in preventing the dire discoveries to which he was inwardly per-
suaded it would lead. -
As soon as he was ready, he returned to the great Hall,
where the Baron and his son received him with new demonstra-
tions of joy., . A magnificent banquet was now spread. The
Baron placed Sir Albert in the most honorable seat, nearest him-
self, and treated him as a guest of the highest distinction. Sir
Albert, however, could not but observe, that from time to time
he fixed his eyes on him with a remarkable intentness, but they
were instantly averted if his encountered them. For Lord Fred-
eric, his stern and frowning brow sufficiently expressed the dis-
turbance of his mind; he joined in no discourse with any of the
guests; and if ever a momentary smile dispelled the gloom of his
- * Die Hole des Todes, is the name which it still retains; and the neighbor-
ing peasantry at this day dread to approach it, and entertain many wild and
superstitious ideas respecting it. - -
1.1%


126 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
countenance, it was when he looked towards his newly arrived
friend. As Sir Albert extended his hand across the table the lus-
tre of a ring he wore on his finger caught the Baron's eye. He
praised its richness, and requested permission to view it more
closely. Sir Albert immediately took it off, and presented it
to him. It was a large ruby, encircled with brilliants. The
Baron examined it with great attention, and declared the ruby
to be the most valuable he had ever seen.
“I am myself, Sir Knight,” added he, “well skilled in jewels;
and you have shown yourself to be equally so, by the purchase
of so fine a stone.”
“I assure you my lord,” returned Sir Albert, “I am totally
unqualified to judge of its value: it bears, indeed, an high one
to me—not on account of its own richness, but because it is
the only relic I retain of my deceased father.”
The Baron again praised the beauty of the ring, and returned
it to its owner. -
The banquet was not ended till a very late hour. At last,
when it was almost morning, the guests departed, well satisfied
with the hospitality they had experienced; and the Baron him-
self conducted Sir Albert to the chamber he had caused to be
prepared for him, where, after many expressions of courtesy,
he'left him. In his way thence he met Maurice, who was going
to attend upon his master. He immediately knew him, and ex-
pressed his satisfaction at his return to the castle.
“I was sorry,” added he, “that you should receive any
cause for displeasure in the service of my son: but though
you chose to quit him, you may remain assured of my friend-
ship and protection.”
The Esquire thanked him for this assurance; and the Baron,
telling him he would gladly speak further with him, desired
him to repair to his apartment in the morning, as early as he
should rise.
Maurice then attended his master, who soon dismissed him,
and retired to rest; but it was long before sleep closed his eyes.
Lord Frederic's mysterious expressions and visible melancholy,
rendered him anxious for further discourse with him; but he
was yet more impatient to enter the Cavern, of which such
strange accounts had been given him.
His imagination seemed already to have exhausted every
possible circumstance which might relate to it; yet he continued
retracing each idea, till, overcome by weariness and watching,
he at last fell into a slumber.
His dreams did not correspond with this latest subject of his
meditations: they were dismal, mysterious, and terrific.—He
imagined himself again seated at the Baron’s festive board;
the strains of musick again sounded in his ears; mirth sparkled
in the eyes of every guest, and the light of innumerable torch-
º


The caveRN of DEATH. 127
es diffused an artificial day: when suddenly their brightness was
eclipsed by the interposition of a dark shadow, which skimmed
along the table, and sometimes seemed to rest hovering over the
centre of it. Sir Albert and all the guests looked up, and beheld a
most hideous spectre, of a gigantic size, traversing the air above
their heads with a slow and melancholy flight; his stern and
threatening aspect appalled every heart. As they regarded him,
an hollow voice proclaimed,
—“The fated hour is come!
And the fell powers of vengeance are abroad!”
The castle shook from its foundations: the spectre waved his
wings, and immediately a thick mist arose, which in a few mo-
ments enveloped all who were present. Sir Albert could no
longer distinguish any object; but, amid the general darkness,
his ears were thrice assailed with shrieks of horror. On a sud-
den, a vivid ray of light streamed from the east upon the spot on
which he stood; he turned his eyes, and beheld a cloud resem-
bling that which the preceding evening had directed his steps to
the Cavern of Death; and by degrees he discerned, seated in the
midst, a warrior, clad in refulgent arms, and bearing on his
breast the ensign of the cross. The radiance which surrounded
him dispersed the mist and Sir Albert found, that of all the com-
pany who had been assembled at the feast, himself alone remain-
ed. The horrible spectre had also disappeared at the approach
of this less terrific phantom, who, descending from the cloud,
and regarding Sir Albert with a look of celestial benignity, ex-
tended his arms to embrace him. Sir Albert with an emotion
which he had never before experienced, hastened towards him;
but no sooner did the phantom meet his touch, than its substance
seemed to fade away; its shining arms dropped off, and the
Knight perceived that he had folded a skeleton to his breast.—
He started, and unclosed his arms with horror! yet it fell not to
the ground; but, waving in the air a bloody sword, which at first
it had not weilded, it distinctly uttered, in a thin faint voice
these words:
“From this cold hand thou must receive this sword, º
Ere I can be avenged, or thou restored!”
and immediately vanished.
The horror it had inspired awoke Sir Albert. A dewy chill
had invaded his limbs;–for some moments he scarce durst raise
his eyes, lest they should meet some shape of terror; and the
fear which now possessed his soul, was perhaps the more pain-
ful to him, because it was the first time he had ever experienced
its power. By degrees, he became sensible that it had no other


128 THE CAVERN OF DEATH,
object than a dream; but though he then soon shook it off, yet
still the impression continued which that dream had made on
his mind; and he was persuaded that it was some vision of
mysterious import, and not any common creation of fancy, which
had thus deeply moved him.
The words of the apparition, who had so suddenly assumed a
form so ghastly, still resounded in his ears; and he felt a strong
conviction that some event of futurity would unfold to him their
oracular meaning. He was unable to guess who the person
should be whose spirit thus seemed to call for vengeance; yet
he was sometimes inclined to suppose it might be the same
whom popular report averred to have been murdered in the
Cavern of Death.
His thoughts were still wholly occupied by conjectures on
this subject, when a message was brought to him from the Bar-
on, inviting him to breakfast with him in his apartment. . He
complied, and found the Baron alone, and was received by him
with the warmest expressions which courtesy could dictate.
The compliments he paid to his character, and former heroic
actions, were indeed such as gave pain rather than pleasure to
Sir Albert, whose modesty was such as rendered all praises of
himself extremely irksome to him. He therefore availed him-
self of the earliest opportunity to turn the discourse on other
subjects, and readily answered such questions as the Baron put
to him, relative to the countries he had visited in his travels.
He asked him, at last, of what place he was a native?
“I was born in the city of Prague, my lord,” returned the
Knight. -
“Was your father, then a Bohemian?” demanded the Baron.
“It may seem strange, my lord,” replied Sir Albert, “to
say, that I know not with any certainty what was my father's
country: my mother, Isabella Von Glatzdorff, was of one of the
most ancient families in Bohemia; but I lost both my parents'
too early to retain any recollection of them. I am only ac-
quainted with their misfortunes, and my own share in them, from
the report of an uncle, to whom I owed my education.”
“Your words excite my curiosity,” said the Baron: “may I
inquire what those misfortunes were, in which you were so early
involved?” -
“I can relate the story but imperfectly, my lord,” returned
the Knight. My uncle, in his youth, assumed the cross, and
engaged in the service of Baldwin the second of Jerusalem, at
that time much straitened by his enemies; and in the battle in
which that Prince was unfortunately taken prisoner by the
Turkish Emir Balac, he was generally reported to have been
slain; but fate had reserved him for severer sufferings: he also
had fallen alive into the power of the infidels, among whom he
remained in a rigorous captivity during eleven years. At last


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 129
he contrived means to escape; but on his return to Prague,
when he expected to have been received with joy by his family,
he experienced the most cruel disappointment. His parents,
and his elder brother, were dead: the latter, believing him no
more, had bequeathed all his estates to a distant relation, omit-
ting to make any reservation in his favor, in the event of his
return. His sister alone survived; but it was many days before
he could discover the miserable place of her abode; and, when
his search was at last successful, what were the feelings of his
generous heart, when he found her bereſt of reason, and sup-
ported by the charity of strangers? from them he learned, that
after the death of her parents, she had disobliged the brother on
whom she was left dependent, by her marriage with Rodolph Won
Fahrenbach, a young stranger, of whom they could give no
further account than that he had distinguished his valor in a
contest with a Bohemian nobleman, who also courted her favor;
and that shortly after their marriage, he had quitted her, to en-
gage in a crusade, in compliance with a vow he had made pre-
vious to his acquaintance with her: that he had been absent
two years: at the end of which time certain intelligence of his
death was brought to her, the shock proved greater than she
was able to support; it threw her into a delirious fever, from
which, for many days, the utmost danger was apprehended; her
life was however preserved, but her senses never returned to
her. She had been for some months in this deplorable situation,
when she was visited by her brother, who immediately took her
and me (who had not been born till after my father's departure)
to his own house, when he employed every means for her re-
covery which the advice of the ablest physicians could suggest;
but his cares were unavailing; the deep melancholy which con-
tinually preyed upon her mind, soon threw her into a decline;
and within a year-after his return, she died, the unhappy victim
of despair. From that time, all the affection which my uncle
had borne her, seemed transferred to me. He made many in-
quiries after my father's family, wishing to obtain their protec-
tion for me; but he could not discover in what part of Germany
they were settled. My mother, in a moment of frenzy, had
destroyed all the letters she had received from my father, and
indeed every memorial of him, except this ring, which you, my .
lord, last night observed: it had been his first gift to her; and,
till the latest moment of her life, she would never suffer it to be
taken from her finger. But, if my uncle failed in discovering
my other relations, he never permitted me to feel their loss.
His income was small; but he abridged his own expenses, that
I he might be enabled to defray those of my education; and, as
soon as I was at an age to bear arms, he led me himself into
the paths of glory. Unacquainted with my real father, I always


130 THE GAVERN OF DEATH.
venerated this generous kinsman as such. He has now been
dead some years.
The Baron heard this narrative with much attention; and the
various changes of his countenance expressed how deeply he
interested himself in the misfortunes of the unhappy Isabella.
Sir Albert observed his concern, and felt himself under an ob-
ligation to him for it. They continued in discourse for some
time longer; when the Knight, recollecting the desire Lord
Frederic had expressed to see him, thought it time to go in quest
of him: he rose, and bade the Baron adieu for the present; and
with mutual courtesy they parted. -
In a long gallery which he passed through in his way from
the Baron's apartment, he found Lord Frederic, walking to and
fro with hasty steps. -
“What interesting discourses can have detained you so long
with my father?” said that impetuous youth: “I have been
here almost an hour, waiting till you should quit him.”
“I staid longer with him,” replied Sir Albert, “ because I
expected you would meet me in his apartment: as you came
not thither, I concluded you were otherwise engaged. I was
now about to seek you; but I did not imagine I should find you
here awaiting me.”
“I could not just now appear before my father,” said Lord
Frederic; my mind is too much agitated to allow me to dissem-
ble. But this is not a place for private conference; let us go
where we may discourse without danger of being overheard.”—
And, as he spoke, he took the arm of Sir Albert, and led him
out of the gallery.
They passed onwards to the castle gate: Lord Frederic threw .
it open, and went forth into the forest.—Sir Albert still accom-
panied him; and neither broke silence till they reached a deep
glade, entirely excluded from all view of the castle. Here they
stopped—Lord Frederic quitted Sir Albert’s arm, and regard-
ing him earnestly, “I would know,” said he, “whether I might
indeed accost thee by the title of my friend?”
“Can you think so meanly of me, my lord,” returned the
Knight, “as to suppose I should ever afford him for whom I had
professed a regard, any cause to question its sincerity? I shall
certainly never be unmindful of the many courtesies I have re-
ceived from you; and I trust I may appeal to more than words,
to prove the reality of the friendship I have borne you.”
“It is true, dear Albert!” cried Lord Frederic; “I have not
forgotten that to thy friendship I have owed my life, while mine .
towards thee has hitherto had no opportunities of showing itself
but in words and vain professions: hereafter, I trust, I may be
able to give thee more solid proofs of gratitude. But first, I
must again have recourse to the valor to which I am already so
much indebted, for a service, which, if it refuse to render me,


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 131
it were better it had never been exerted in my cause—Life is
only a blessing to the happy!”
“And what unexpected calamity, my lord,” said Sir Albert,
“can have rendered you otherwise? Your perturbed looks,
and many expressions which have fallen from you, lead me to
apprehend some dreadful evil.” -
“But for thee,” said Lord Frederic, “ and I must endure the
greatest; I must behold the mistress whom I love to distraction,
in another’s arms.” º -
“And have you then felt the power of love, my lord?”
cried the Knight;-but who is your fair mistress? and how can
I preserve her to you?” . -
“Before I disclose further, Sir Albert,” said the youth, “you
must solemnly promise me that you will assist my views.”
“It were unnecessary to bind myself by any promise,” retur-
ned he, “since, without that additional tie, I shall undoubtedly
act on this, and on every future occasion, as friendship and the
laws of honor shall require of me.”
Lord Frederic pressed him further; but Sir Albert liked it
not. His intimacy with that young nobleman had arisen, not
from any similarity of sentiment or of temper, but solely from
their having been companions in war; and it had assumed the
name of friendship, since Lord Frederic, preserved by Sir Al-
bert from the most imminent danger, and therefore considering
him as the bravest of men, had eagerly courted his society, and
had, on every occasion, professed for him the highest regard.
When Lord Frederic found that he persisted in his refusal to
engage himself by the promises he required, he at last ceased
to insist on it, and, telling him that he would evince to him how
great a dependence he placed on his friendship, he proceeded
to relate the circumstances which had induced him to demand
his aid.
“Thou mayst remember,” said he that I was sent for by my
father from the camp, in a manner which led me to conclude
that he had some motive of importance for requiring my re-
turn.—I came hither by hasty journeys; and, on my arrival, was
informed of his intended marriage, which I found he was desir-
ous of communicating to me in person, lest, hearing of it from
others, I might be induced to suppose my own interests endan-
gered, and to attempt some opposition to his designs. I was
the less surprised at this intelligence, because I knew, that,
since the death of his other sons, it had been a constant subject
of uneasiness to him to behold in me the last of his race: I have
heard that he suffered himself to be alarmed by some prophecy
or dream, I know not particularly what, which had denounced
some dreadful fate to his family, whenever one male should be
the only survivor of it. He never clearly explained himself to
me on this point; but he had often pressed my marriage with a
e


132 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
degree of earnestness which was very irksome to me, and had
always appeared displeased at the invincible reluctance I had
discovered. When, therefore, he acquainted me with his wish
to present me to the lady to whom he expected me to pay the
duties of a son, I attended him to her abode, not without some
satisfaction that he had rather chosen to offer her his own hand,
than to attempt to compel me to give her mine. But how can
I express to you, Sir Albert! the sudden change which the sight
of this peerless beauty effected in my heart? That heart hith-
erto, so insensible, in a moment confessed the power of her
irresistible charms. I had been too little interested in her to
make any previous inquiries respecting her; I had not been
even told she was fair:-judge, therefore—if ever your temper,
softer than my own, has felt the influence of beauty—judge what
were my emotions, when in her to whom I was introduced as
to my future step-mother, I beheld the most lovely creature
that the world certainly ever saw! With the idea of my father's
wife, I had connected that of proportionable age; but her’s ap-
peared not to exceed my own. Her form—her eyes—I cannot
describe them, Sir Albert!—If my hopes in you deceive me not,
I trust you will ere long behold her; and believe me, I do not
mean to underrate your services, when I tell you that the sight
of such charms were alone a recompense worthy of them. The
only embellishment of which her beauty was capable, it received
when I was presented to her; she was desired to consider me
as the son of him to whom her hand was destined; she sighed
as she regarded me; and her cheek, before almost colorless,
was suffused with a blush, as she permitted me to take her hand,
which, with an eagerness which banished from my remembrance
every idea of the character in which the salute was permitted
me, I pressed to my enraptured lips. She sighed more deeply
than before, and drew her hand suddenly from me; her eyes
filled with tears, and she turned away.—I do not surely flatter
myself, Sir Albert, when I impute these marks of sorrow to the
impulse of sentiments with which my appearance had inspired
her: she regretted that it was to my father, and not to myself,
that she was promised; and it was her apprehension lest this
emotion should be remarked by those in whose eyes it would
be deemed a crime, which made her so hastily quit a situation
in which, if I may judge from my own feelings, she would have
found it so difficult to dissemble hers. It was probably fortu-
nate for me that her discretion, or perhaps her timidity, exceed-
ed mine: I should questionless have otherwise betrayed to her
father and my own the new-born passion, which, as soon as I
had recovered from that kind of trance into which the first view
of her charms had thrown me, every motive so strongly urged
me to conceal. Yet I think some infatuation, rather than my
dissimulation, must have so far blinded their eyes as to prevent


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 133
their discovering it—I have reason to be persuaded it has en-
tirely escaped their observation.
To attain the possession of this incomparable fair, I would
joyfully resign any riches, any honors; but the thought of be-
holding her in the arms of another, of seeing her sacrificed to
one whose age and gray hairs ought to have forbidden him to
aspire to the possession of so lovely a maid—Sir Albert! it drives
me to distraction! madness will seize my brain, if thou deny
me thy compassion.—Dost thou hesitate? Canst thou refuse to
succor me?” -
“I most sincerely compassionate you, my lord!” returned
the Knight; “and I must grieve that you have resigned your
soul to a passion which involves you in so many difficulties.”
“It involves me in no difficulties,” cried Lord Frederic
eagerly, “from which thou canst not extricate me.”
“Is it in any plan for carrying off this lady,” said Sir Albert,
“that you require my assistance? Let me entreat you my lord,
to consider coolly the peculiar circumstances in which—”
“I have considered,” interrupted lord Frederic; “ and I
know that there is but one possible means by which, without ruin-
ing my fortune, I can attain the secure possession of my love.
—It is to the Baron of Dornheim that her hand is promised by
her ambitious parent.—Could it be possible for me to elude his
vigilance, and to steal her from his castle, I might be well assur-
ed that the estates of my incensed father never would be mine;
but were that title, were those estates now mine—Sir Albert!
canst thou term thyself my friend, and not recollect that thy
hand might render them such?”
Sir Albert started! he regarded lord Frederic with a look of
surprise and apprehension, and read on his gloomy brow the
confirmation of the fears his words had suggested.
“I would myself be baron of Dornheim,” said Lord Frederic,”
after a pause; “dost thou not understand me?”
“I dare not imagine I do,” replied the Knight, turning from
him with horror.
“Hadst thou ever loved, Sir Albert!” resumed Lord Frederic,
“ thou wouldst have felt, that to know in any man a rival, suf-
fices to obliterate from the mind every former sentiment with
which he may have been regarded.—I see thou hast understood
me; that thou knowest I wish my rival removed, and that thou
art shocked at the idea of the relationship he bears me: but
he is not thy father!—I mean not to lift my own arm against
him ; but thou—thou, who art my friend, and who art bound to
him by no tie of kindred or of duty—when thou considerest that
the whole future happiness of my life depends on this short antic-
ipation of the fate which his years announce cannot be far dis-
tant—”
“What have you ever observed in my character, my lord,”


w
I34 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
said Sir Albert, looking sternly round, “which can authorise you
to offer me this insult? Am I an assassin’” w
“Do not suppose me capable of insulting you, my friend!
returned Lord Frederic; “ ". your high sense of honor;
and trust me, I would employ your valor in no enterprize un-
worthy of it. Could the Baron be surprised at any disadvan-
tage, I should never have had recourse to your arm; among my
own followers, I could have found those who would faithfully
have executed my purpose. But that were impossible—he nev-
er, even for a moment, is alone. I know not what is his motive;
I have not heard that he has any enemy of whose designs he is
apprehensive; yet his conduct is such as might induce such a
supposition. Throughout the day, some of his attendants are
always with him; and at night, a priest and two domestics con-
stantly sleep in his chamber. This circumstance, as you will
perceive, must render vain every hope of surprising him; and, ,
if he has leisure to defend himself, your prowess only were a
match for his. In his youth, you may have heard he was a war-
rior of the first renown; nor has age yet unnerved his arm. ... I
know you would scorn to contend with an enemy of inferior
might; but be assured, my friend—”
“Call me no longer such!” cried Sir Albert; “I disclaim the
friendship of a parricide!”
Lord Frederic was provoked at the reproach; but, having
already so far put himself in Sir Albert's power, he durst not
express his indignation, but rather sought, by new entreaties,
to bend him to his purpose. “Were my love less ardent,” said
he, “my schemes would be less desperate; but who, under the
dominion of so irresistible a passion, could forbear the only
means of attaining that felicity, which otherwise, within three
short days, must be forever placed beyond his reach? If I loved
a meaner beauty, it might perhaps be possible I should resign
her; but who that adored the Lady Constance—”
“Constance!” exclaimed Sir Albert, starting wildly: “Is it
Constance?”
“Constance of Hertzwald, is the lady destined to my father's
arms,” returned Lord Frederic, “if thou refuse, in pity to her
and to thy friend, to rescue her youthful charms from such a sa-
crifice, and to give her to a lover more worthy to enjoy them!”
“And does the Lady Constance return thy love?” said Sir
Albert, trembling, and scarcely able to pronounce the ques-
tion. -
“I cannot doubt it,” replied Lord Frederic: “I have never
indeed received from her lips the transporting assurance, since
I have never been able to obtain an interview with her but in my
father's presence; but one of her women, who is my only con-
fidant, assures me that she is very averse to the marriage pro-
posed, and that many circumstances have rendered it very evi-


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 135
dent that she secretly loves another. That I was the man so
blest, I durst not positively assure myself till the last time I vis-
ited her father's castle; but then, her looks, her whole demean-
or, where such as it were impossible to misinterpret. She seem-
ed unable to avert her eyes from my person; yet if I, or any
other, appeared to notice the earnestness with which she re-
garded me, she was covered with confusion; and many times a
'sigh escaped her, which still more strongly spoke the tender
sentiments which occupied her soul.”
While Lord Frederic was thus speaking, the countenance of
Sir Albert was flushed with a thousand conflicting passions.
Twice he laid his hand upon his sword; and twice, even amid
the transports of jealous fury, he recollected that he was the
guest of him on whom he would have drawn it; that he was him-
self armed, and that his rival was not—he recollected, and he
was master of the emotion.
“We may meet again, Lord Frederic!” cried he—“if we do,
remember that we meet no more as friends!” And, as he spoke,
he turned from him, and walked with hasty strides towards the
thickest shades of the forest.
Lord Frederic, astonished at his demeanor, for which, igno-
rant that he had ever seen the Lady Constance, he could assign
no adequate cause, stood for a moment surprised. He would
then have called him back; but Sir Albert only quickened his
pace.—ºired with rage, he would then have followed him, to
demand an explanation of his words, and still more of the men-
acing air with which they had been uttered; but he was now
lºst among the trees, and Lord Frederic sought him in vain.
Sir Albert, meantime, careless whither he went, walked on.
When he had reached a part of the forest considerably distant
from the spot where he had left Lord Frederic, he threw him-
self heavily on the grass, and adandoned his soul to the des-
ponding thoughts which the discourse he had heard suggested
to him." ."
“Lord Frederic is then beloved by Constance!” said he to
himself: “the modest maid, whose eyes were cast down if mine
too fondly gazed upon her, has looked on him with tenderness!
False changeful Constance! yet why do I accuse her? what
right had I to her affection? what encouragement did she ever
afford to my hopes? To the love which I never avowed to her,
what return could I expect?
Sir Albert continued to dwell on this idea with infinite anguish,
and would gladly have given years of his future life to recall
but a few of the moments which he had formerly passed in the
presence of Constance, when certain of her indifference to
every other, his heart had secretly flattered him she was not
without some prepossession, in his favor, and had not his gener-
osity forbidden him every attempt to improve that prepossession,


136 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
he might possibly have gained the love, of which one whose
black and murderous designs rendered him so unworthy of her,
now boasted that he was the object. By degrees, as Sir Albert
repeated to himself Lord Frederic's words, a faint hope arose
in his breast, that the confidence with which that fierce youth
had spoken of the favor of Constance, might have little other
foundation than his own vanity; but the satisfaction which this
idea afforded him, was almost instantly lost in the recollection,
that, whatever might be the state of her affections, the Baron
of Dornheim was within three days to receive her hand. He-
started from the ground, and stood for some moments almost
bereſt of thought and reason. A wish presently rushed upon
his mind, to see her once more ere that fatal event forever tore
her from his hopes. -
Animated by this design, he walked on; but he knew not
which path would lead him to the castle of Hertzwald, and in
that wild forest he had little chance of meeting with any one
from whom he could obtain directions. He was provoked, to
think that he might possibly have taken a road which would lead
him a contrary way from that which he intended; yet he still
walked on. At last he descried some turrets through the trees:
but much was he disappointed, when, on a nearer approach, he
knew them for those of Dornheim. He turned away with hor-
ror from the abode of his rivals, and struck into another path;
in which fortunately he had not proceeded far, when he per-
ceived a peasant before him. He hastened to overtake him,
and inquired the road to the castle of Hertzwald. The man
was himself going part of the way thither, and offered to be his
guide. As they walked together, the peasant asked Sir Albert
many questions; but his answers were short, and often foreign
to the purpose: yet when his conductor demanded of him where
he meant to lodge that night, it suddenly occurred to him, that
in the event of his not being so fortunate that day as to obtain
an interview with the Lady Constance, it would be his wish to
remain in the forest till the next; and he asked the peasant wheth-
er he dwelt near, and would afford him a lodging in his cottage?
The peasant replied, that he dwelt not far from the spot where
they first had met; and readily agreed to give him such accom-
modation as he was able. They soon came within sight of the
castle of Hertzwald: Sir Albert parted from his guide, and pro-
ceeded towards it.
He knew but little of the father of the Lady Constance, who
during the time of his former acquaintance with her, had been
absent on a journey, and her mother, with whom she had then
resided at Prague, was since dead. He was hesitating what
motive he should assign for his visit, when he observed a do-
mestic at the gate: of him he asked some questions, and learned
from his answers, that the Baron of Dornheim was at that time


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. - 137.
at the castle, and was to dine there. This intelligence was
sufficient to deter Sir Albert from seeking admittance till after
his departure; for he felt that it would be impossible for him to
command his emotions in the presence of his rival. He there-
fore quitted the gate, and determined to wait in the vicinity of
the castle till the evening. He began to walk to and fro, often
looking wistfully up at the windows, wishing he could know
which were those of the apartment of Constance.
At last, the reflection that he might be bbserved by the do-
mestics, and incur suspicion, induced him to quit the front of
the castle, and turn into a path which wound behind it. The
castle of Hertzwald was much inferior in size and strength to
that of Dornheim: pleasure, rather than defence appeared to
have been the object of its founder. A magnificent garden lay
behind it, fenced from the forest by a high wall, surrounded with
battlements. Sir Albert walked on under this wall, with no
other view than to pass away the time till the departure of his
rival, whose happiness mean while, in enjoying the presence of
the Lady Constance, distracted his soul with jealous pangs.-
At an angle of the wall was erected a square turret, of which
the windows looked out upon the forest. Sir Albert was passing
by it, when a voice caught his ear. He looked up; and a win-
dow being open, he could distinguish two female figures in the
chamber within; but their faces were not turned towards him.
With an involuntary curiosity he approached nearer; and could
then hear, that she who spoke was endeavoring to comfort the
other, who was weeping violently, and with many of the argu-
ments so unavailing to those whose affliction is real, was urging
her to restrain her tears.
“Suffer me to weep!” returned at last agentle voice—it was
the voice of Constance; and the heart of Sir Albert instantly
acknowledged the sound. -
“You have never yet, madam,” rejoined the other, “so to-
tally resignéd yourself to grief as you do this day.” "
“This is perhaps the last time,” replied Constance, “when
. I may be permitted to indulge my sorrows. Hitherto, indeed,
they have been mitigated by a faint hope that I might be able to
move my father's heart, and to obtain at least a little longer res-
pite from this dreaded marriage; but now that hope is lost!”
“But, if this marriage be indeed so hateful to you, madam,”
said the other, “why will you submit to it?” -
“Alas! Elinor,” cried Constance, “how canst thou ask me
such an idle question? Have I not already done all that maiden
modesty would permit me, to avoid it? Have I left any means
untried to gain my father from his purpose? Have not my un-
wearied supplications repeatedly awakened his fiercest anger,
and provoked him to treat me with a harshness, which, but a
few months since, I could not have supposed I should have sur-
- 12%


138 THE CAverN of DEATH.
vived? Thou knowest how little he regards my tears; and if
to-day I have obtained this small indulgence to withdraw myself
from the Baron's presence, I have owed it rather to the fear
lest he should too plainly perceive, by my demeanor, my reluc-
tance to the marriage, than to any pity for my sufferings: but
the Baron does know my reluctance to the marriage. I one
day collected sufficient boldness to avow it to him, in the hope,
that, if his soul were capable of any generous feelings, he would
of his own accord reiect the hand of a maiden whose heart was
averse to him; but I soon found-that I have judged too highly
of him; and that the only effect of my avowal was, that he pres–
sed the marriage with greater eagerness than before, lest delay
should afford me time to devise some means of escaping it.”
“And I still think, madam,” said, Elinor, “that those means
might be found. You are not watched—why should you not
fly from the castle?” - -
“And whither should I fly?” returned Constance. “Were
any place of refuge open to me, thou mayest assure thyself I
should be watched. What friend have I, in whose protection I
could trust? In what convent should I find a secure asylum,
should the Baron of Dornheim require me to be given up?—
Thou knowest how far his power extends.—And what dangers
more dreaded than death might I not apprehend, should I, an
helpless maiden, encounter singly the terrors of this wild forest?”
“I must entreat you, madam,” said Elinor, “to forgive me
for what I am about to say: the interest I feel in your concerns
could alone urge me to a question, which I trust you will be too
well assured of my attachment, to ascribe to impertinence or
curiosity. The Baron of Dornheim is not indeed a man who
could ever have been very likely to gain your love; but yet,
pardon me if I imagine, that, so submissive as you have ever.
hitherto been to the will of your father, you would not, in this
only instance, have expressed so much reluctance to obey him,
had not your aversion to the alliance proposed, originated in
some stronger motive than any personal dislike to your suitor.
May I then avow to you the suspicion which I have long en-
tertained, that, had your affections not been otherwise engaged,
the Baron of Dornheim would more easily have obtained your
hand? And may I presume to solicit you to repose in me a con-
fidence, of which you might be assured my fidelity were worthy,
which would certainly greatly ease your mind, and might pos-
sibly enable me to render you some service?”— • *
Elinor paused—and the lady Constance did not immediately
return an answer.—At last,“ If I had hitherto confined such
a secret within my breast,” said she, were this a moment to
declare it?”
- **
“This were the only moment,” returned Elinor; “another
may not be allowed you!” -


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 139
“Thou sayest true!” said Constance, bursting afresh into
tears: “after to-morrow—Heavens! what a thought!—after to-
morrow, it will be criminal to recollect that ever I have seen
him?”—
“I have then judged.rightly,” cried Elinor; “but, madam,
since you have avowed thus far, may I not ask further, to whom
is it that your affections are so deeply engaged?”
“And what would it avail to tell thee?” returned Con-
stance;—“I cannot! my lips dare not pronounce his name.”
i. Will you permit me to name him, madam?” said the dam-
Sel. -
“Thou canst not,” cried Constance.
“And yet I have at times fancied I had discovered him,”
rejoined Elinor. - *
“Heavens! exclaimed Constance,” and how have I then be-
tººd myself? What unguarded expression has ever escaped
me - 33
“Your lips, madam,” returned the damsel, “ have indeed
never betrayed you; but of the language of your eyes you have
been less conscious—when last Lord Frederic was here, you
looked at him with an earnestness”—
“Is it possible Ishould have been observed?” cried Constance:
“O! Elinor, durst I have spoken to Lord Frederic! Could
I but have asked him one question!—I had once almost collec-
ted sufficient courage; but I met my father's eye, and I dreaded
lest I should inspire him with any suspicion. Methought, could
I have spoken with Lord Frederic apart”—
hº Albert listened, and the paleness of despair overspread his
cheek.
“It would not be difficult to find an opportunity of speaking
with Lord Frederic,” said Elinor;-‘‘ many such”—
“Will occur in the castle of Dornheim,” said Constance im-
patiently; but it will be then too late.—I cannot, it is true, give
my heart to the Baron; but never, when my hand shall be his,
will I indulge it in any voluntary recollection of another—yet,
could I but know he lived!”
“Who lived, madam?” cried Elinor; of whom are you
speaking? -
“Didst thou observe the casque Lord Frederic wore that
day?” said Constance: - -
“Of which the crest was a dragon with expanded wings?”
demanded Elinor. w
“I would I could know,” said Constance, “how that casque
came into his possession?” - *
“And in what manner could that interest you?” rejoined the
damsel.
Sir Albert listened more eagerly than before.


-
w
me; yet I have not forgotten him
140 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
“If I mistake not greatly,” returned the Lady Constance
“that casque had once another owner.”
“To whom then did it belong, madam?” said Elinor.
- º
“To one whom thou hast never seen,” replied Constance; ' ' '
—“ to one whom I shall never see again!”
“Was he then the lover who gained your affections?” deman-
ded the damsel. -
“He loved me once,” said Constance, “but he knew not with
what sentiments I regarded him. I was persuaded that my fa-
ther would never consent to our union; and I purposely slighted
him, in the hope of eradicating from his breast a passion which
could only render him miserable. It is now some years since I
have seen him: and by this time he has questionless forgotten
122
“And how can you imagine it possible he can have forgotten
you?” replied the enraptured Albert, presenting himself before
the window—“Ah! loveliest Constance! how little are you ac-
quainted with the power of your own charms, if you suppose
that the heart which once confessed it, could ever know a sec-
ond love! - -
At the sound of his well-known voice, Constance flew to the
window; but when she beheld him, she trembled, and had near-
ly fainted; and, when she would have spoken to him, his name
was all that she was able to pronounce. -
“My adored Constance!” exclaimed he, “How infinitely am
I repaid at this moment for all the sufferings of my tedious
absence!—though banished from your presence I have been
insensible to every pleasure; though equally unconscious and
undeserving of your lové, every anxious fear, every jealous
doubt has distracted my soul!” * -
“But whence—” cried she, with a hastening and interrupt-
ed voice—“ how came you—? in this remote forest I had not
expected—I thought you far distant:—what chance has brought
you hither?” -
“My impatience to review you,” returned he, “was the sole
motive of my journey. I could no longer support the anguish
of my separation from you.”— - -
“Heavens!” exclaimed she, “and have you then heard what
I have carelessly spoken?” -
“Can you forgive me, dearest Constance?” said Sir Albert:
“I expected to have heard you avow your preference of my ri-
val; the apprehension was too painful to be borne; and I could
not resolve to tear myself from the spot where your voice first
caught my ear, till the dreadful certainty should free me from
the torture of suspense.” -
“If you have occasioned me any displeasure,” returned she,
“it has been by the suspicion which impelled you to listen.”
. &


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 141
Overcome with joy at this unexpected meeting, Sir Albert
spoke freely of the love which, for so many years, he had buried
in unbroken silence; and the Lady Constance, forgetful of
the reserve which had formerly induced her to reject even his
most distant courtesies, acknowledged the affection with which
he had long since inspired her heart. She was, however, the
ſ
first who awoke from this dream of transport; she recollected
her situation, and burst into tears.—He eagerly demanded their
Cause.
“Alas!” cried she, “we have only met, that we may the more
severely feel the pain of our eternal saparation!”
“Never!” exclaimed he; “never, my Constance! shalt thou
be torn from me!” -
“But how,” said she “can I escape the dreadful fate to which
they destine me?”
“Fly from their power?” returned Sir Albert: “this arm shall
shield you from pursuit!—It is not my own interest,” pursued
he, “which could ever have induced me to urge you to such a
step. I know the delicacy of your mind; and I know how un-
availing the splendor of the situation to which the Baron of Dorn-
heim could raise you, would be to constitute your felicity.—I can
offer you no riches; nor would I, even at this moment, my ador-
ed Constance, ask your hand, could I any otherwise than by re-
ceiving it, be entitled to the character of your protector.”
The Lady Constance listened, and her heart acknowledged
the generosity of those sentiments, of which the former conduct
of Sir Albert had left her no room to doubt the sincerity: yet
she hesitated to comply. Never had she hitherto disobeyed
her father; unless it had been by the involuntary affection she
entertained for him whose merits deserved her tenderest love,
but whose situation, she well knew, would preclude him from
any chance of his favor. And now to fly the marriage enforced
by his commands, and to give her hand in opposition to his
will;—she was alarmed at the idea, and her strict sense of duty
forbade her to consent. But Elinor, who had hitherto taken no
part in the discourse, now interposed, and in the strongest terms,
supported the proposal of Sir Albert. She urged every excuse
which the peculiar situation of the lady Constance offered for
her compliance; reminded her in how short a time her escape
from the Baron would be impossible; and placed before her in
the most odious colors, every circumstance of the projected
marriage, which she knew inspired her with the greatest dread.
Against these arguments, against the persuasions of Sir Al-
bert, and the pleadings of her own heart in his favor, the Lady
Constance was unable to defend herself-she yielded to their
force, and consented to entrust herself to the protection of her
lover. Transported at her compliance, he would have had her
instantly throw herself from the window where she stood, which


142 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
was not so high but that she might have done it without danger;
for he was anxious to avail himself of the present moment, as
well because he feared lest she should recede from her inten-
tions, as because many circumstances might intervene to render
her escape, at any future time, less easy. But Elinor earnest-
ly dissuaded her from this: she said that many of the Baron’s
attendants were wandering in the forest, awaiting the time of
his departure; and she was urging many other difficulties, when
Sir Albert himself recollected a circumstance which obliged him
to give up the idea; he had left his horses at the castle of Dorn-
heim; and it was impossible for Constance to proceed so far on
foot as to the nearest town where others might be procured.
He therefore concurred in the arrangement proposed by Eli-
nor, who offered, when all the family should be retired to rest,
to admit him into the garden, towards which looked the cham-
ber of the Lady Constance, who, on seeing him, should let her-
self down from the window, and should be conveyed by him to
his horse. Elinor entreated that she might be the companion
of her flight; to which she, with much satisfaction, agreed.
It afterwards, however, occurred to the damsel that it would be
better if Sir Albert had the key of the garden, and were to ad-
mit himself; since then she need not quit her mistress at the
moment when her presence might be of so much avail to sup-
port her spirits, and confirm her resolution; she could not at
that time go in quest of it, because it lay in the room in which
the Baron of Dornheim was entertained; but, as soon as he
should quit the castle, she said she could easily possess herself
of it; and she requested Sir Albert to tell her where he might
be found by her, when she should bring it to him. He describ-
ed the situation of the cottage of the peasant who had offered
him a lodging: and there she promised he should see her soon
after sunset. -
After a little further discourse between him and the Lady Con-
stance, which they terminated by the interchange of the most .
solemn promises of affection and fidelity, the necessity of his
hastening to recover his horses, or to procure others in their
stead, obliged him to tear himself from her. Ere he departed,
she drew a white plume from her hair, and threw it to him from
the window.
“Wear this in your casque,” said she: “I shall distinguish it by
-the light of the moon; and I shall fly without apprehension of
mistake, to the only protector in whom I would confide?”
Sir Albert kissed the plume, and placed it in his casque.
“May I ever give you cause to continue that confidence in me,
my beloved Constance!” cried he:—“And be assured that I shall
value this pledge of your affection more highly than my life.
Good Angels guard you till we meet again!—till we meet!— -
transporting thought!—to part no more!” -
======= - -


THE CAver N of DEATH, 143
Even that idea did not enable Sir Albert to quit the window
without pain; but Elinor repeatedly reminding him of the impor-
tance of the expedition, he at last complied with her instances,
and bade the Lady Constance a final adieu.
It had been his intention to repair to the cottage of the pea-
sant, and to procure some messenger whom he might thence
despatch to the castle of Dornheim (whither he had resolved he
never would himself return,) to order his Esquire to hasten to
him immediately with his horses. He deemed it unnecessary
to make any excuse to the Baron for his abrupt departure, since
Lord Frederic, whose more immediate guest he had been,
might well suppose that it was in consequence of their confer-
ence in the forest; and he left it to him to place it in what light
he should choose, to his father. His purpose, however, was
anticipated; for he was not yet out of sight of the castle of Hertz-
wald when Maurice met him. The Esquire expressed great joy
to review his master; and recounted to him, that on his not re-
turning with Lord Frederic, he had been much troubled; and
after waiting some time without being able to procure any intel-
ligence of him, he had at last concluded he must be gone to visit
the Lady Constance, whom he well knew his impatience to re-
view; and that he had therefore taken that road in quest of him.
Sir Albert commended his diligence, and imparted to him the
happy result of the conference he had had with her, and her prom-
ise to fly with him that night from her father's castle: he added,
that it was his intention to carry her to Vienna; and, as soon as
the rites of the church should have rendered her indissôlubly
his, to demand the protection of the Emperor, whose former
marks of favor left him no doubt of obtaining it, against any
exertions which might be made by the Baron of Dornheim to
force her from him; and he flattered himself that the interces-
sion of so powerful a mediator might dispose her father to an
earlier reconciliation than could otherwise be reasonably expec-
ted.
While he was speaking he heard the trampling of horses;
and he retired behind some trees to avoid them. It was the
Baron and his troop, returning to the castle of Dornheim.—Sir
Albert felt a degree of satisfaction, that he had quitted that of
Hertzwald without having had time to see the Lady Constance.
After they had passed, he walked on with Maurice; and inquir-
ed of him for his horses, the Esquire replied, that he had left
them at the castle of Dornheim, not knowing his intention to
return thither no more. Sir Albert ordered him to go immedi-
ately and bring them to him at the peasant's cottage; whither he
hastened himself, imagining that, since the Baron was already
departed, Elinor would speedily visit him with the key which
was to admit him into the garden of Hertzwald.
His generous temper never open to mistrust, induced him to


144 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
place a full confidence in the interest she had expressed in her
mistress's concerns. The assertion of Lord Frederic, that one
of the damsels of the Lady Constance was in his pay, had not,
in those moments of joy, recurred to his memory; nor, though
it had, would Sir Albert ever have suspected that damsel to be
Elinor. Yet Elinor had for some time been won by the gifts of
Lord Frederic, to convey to him private intelligence of ever
confidence her mistress reposed in her. She had hitherto flat-
tered him with the persuasion, that the Lady Constance slighted
his father on account of the preference she felt for himself; and
it was with a view of leading her to an avowal of this that she
had begun the conference, which contrary to her hopes, had
drawn from her the confession of her love for Sir Albert. Dis-
appointed by this, and still more by his sudden appearance,
Elinor had only listened to the discourse which ensued between
them, with a view of betraying their mutual interests to Lord
Frederic; and, having formed a scheme which she was persuad-
ed would be very acceptable to him, she possessed herself of the
key, and set out, not for the cottage where Sir Albert awaited
her, but for the castle of Dornheim. She was closely veiled, lest
any of the domestics of the Baron should know that she belong-
ed to the Lady Constance; and, as it had been her custom in
former visits she had made there, she inquired for one whom
she knew to be particularly attached to Lord Frederic, by
whom she was immediately and privately conducted to his
chamber. -
On his return from following Sir Albert, he had found that
his father was gone to the castle of Hertzwald, whither himself
had received no invitation; and he had passed the day alone,
freely indulging the wild distraction of his mind, and forming new
schemes of violence.—At the entrance of Elinor, his counte-
nance was brightened by a gleam of hope; and he eagerly asked
her what news she brought him?
“Such, my lord,” returned she, “as I trust when you shall
have heard it all, you will deem deserving of some thanks: but
the first circumstance I must impart to you, will be little wel-
come—you have a rival, hitherto unthought of.”
“Who?—what rival?” exclaimed he. -
“Let me first, my lord,” said the damsel, “request you to
tell me whence you obtained the casque you wore when last you
visited our castle?” -
“I had it from a Knight in the imperial service,” replied
Lord Frederic: “he lent it to me once, when I was sent upon
a sudden expedition: I liked it—was lighter than my own;–and
I gave him another in exchange for it.—but what of that casque?”
ri Was that Knight named Albert, my lord?” demanded
tnor.
“He was,” returned Lord Frederic.
3.


THE CAveRN OF DEATH. 145
-
“Then know in him,” said she, “the favored lover of the
Lady Constance.”
Lord Frederic started from his seat in fury; he recollected the
manner in which his conference with Sir Albert had terminated
in the morning, and he wondered he had not before discovered
what he was now so incensed to learn. His rage vented itself
in many horrid imprecations; and scarcely could Elinor re-
strain him from going instantly in quest of the rival, on whom
he thirsted to avenge himself. -
“Were you more calm, my lord,” said she, “I could direct
you to a surer vengeance than your sword could give you.”
“What vengeance,” cried Lord Frederic: “tell me of ven-
eance, and I will listento thee.”
“This night,” returned Elinor, “Sir Albert is to steal away
the Lady Constance. I know not whether she would have con-
sented to this measure, had not I persuaded her: but I over-
came her scruples; and I have promised to admit him into the
arden, where she is to meet him.
“Thou, Elinor!” exclaimed Lord Frederic: “is this the
friendship thou didst promise me?”
“I shall leave that to your own decision, my lord,” replied
she. “Here is the key of the garden-gate; and here is a white
plume, which if you place in the front of your casque, Constance
will fly to you as to Sir Albert, and you may bear her whither
you will.”
“My excellent Elinor?” cried he: “in this device I recog-
nize thy genius. This will indeed avenge me on them both!”
“Nor is this all, my lord,” resumed the damsel—“When
once before, unsuspicious of this pre-occupation of her heart,
I would have counselled you to propose to the Lady Constance
a flight with you, to avoid the marriage to which I knew she
was averse, you objected the detriment which might arise to
your own fortunes, from an action which would so greatly irri-
tate your father.”
“I care not for that now,” exclaimed the impetuous youth:
“I would sacrifice my fortunes, nay my life, rather than miss this
glorious opportunity.”
“But you need endanger neither, my lord,” returned the
damsel—“I have offered to attend the Lady Constance in her
flight; let me therefore return the following morning to the cas-
tle, and I will throw the imputation on Sir Albert, with such
circumstances as shall not only prevent any suspicion from fast-
ening on you, but shall determine both her father and your
own to wreak on him the rage which the wrong they will sup-
pose him to have done them will inspire.”
However satisfactory Elinor had imagined the plot she had
thus treacherously laid, would prove to Lord #. his
transports still exceeded her expectations. He promised her
13


146 The caveRN or DEATH.
-
the most boundless rewards, and as an earnest of them, pre-
sented her with a rich jewel he wore on his finger.
She then quitted him, and hastened to the cottage, where Sir
Albert had long waited in anxious expectation of her. When he
saw her approach, he went hastily out to meet her, and demand-
ed whether she had brought him the promised key?
“Alas! no, sir!” returned she, with a well-dissembled con-
cern—“the Lady Constance has sent me the reluctant bearer
of a message, which, I fear, will greatly disappoint, you: it will
be impossible for her this night to leave the castle.” * -
“Impossible!” exclaimed Sir Albert: “O Elinor! what cruel
tidings dost thou bring me! Will Constance violate her prom-
ise?” - - -
“Not willingly, valiant sir!” replied the damsel; “nor indeed
are you to consider this any other than a short delay of a measure
in which her happiness is, if possible, more concerned than your
own. To-morrow night you may assure yourself she will be
yours.” -
“But why not to-night?” cried he. -
“Sir,” answered Elinor, “when, after the Baron's departure,
I went in quest of the key, I found that it had been removed from
its customary place, and the Lady Constance soon learned, with
great disquietude, that her father was gone from home on some
sudden business, and that, uncertain at what hour he might re-
turn, he had taken with him the key of the garden, meaning to
readmit himself that way, without obliging his family to watch
for him.” a
“But if he has taken the key,” cried Sir Albert impatiently,
“why cannot I scale the wall?” -
“Alas! sir,” replied she, “and do you not then consider the
danger of his returning at the moment to surprise you? should he
meet you in your flight with the Lady Constance, what but eternal
ruin to your hopes could be the consequence? He would certainly
attempt to force her from you; and, should you defend her, think
what would be her sensations should her father fall by your
hand!”
Sir Albert was by no means disposed to content himself with
this delay of his hopes, but Elinor said so much, and with such
an appearance of a sincere attachment to his interests, that he
was at last obliged to submit, and to consent to wait till the fol-
lowing nightº The damsel promised to revisit him in the morn-
ing, to bring him word whether he might safely attempt another
conference with the Lady Constance during the course of the
day, and likewise to arrange with him finally the mode of her
escape. She then quitted him, and went back to the castle of
Hertzwald; when to her mistress, who had longed for her return,
she accounted for the length of her absence, by feigning that Sir
Albert had detained her with innumerable questions respecting


THE CAveRN of DEATH. 147
:
all that had befallen the object of his love during their tedious
separation. The deceived Constance was pleased at every
instance of the tender interest he took in her concerns: yet, du-
ring the absence of Elinor, her resolution had begun to waver,
and her apprehensions of the guilt she should contract, by a
marriage contrary to the will of her father, had almost determin-
ed her to stay, and suffer him to sacrifice her happiness forever.
But the crafty discourses of the damsel revived so strongly in
her breast her horror for the Baron, and her love for the valiant
Albert, that she was confirmed in her former intentions; and
with a kind of dread lest further reflection should finally oblige
her to renounce them, she awaited the hour appointed for her
flight.
§. retired earlier than usual to her chamber; for her con-
sciousness of her intended disobedience overwhelmed her in the
presence of her father, with all the confusion of guilt; and,
unaccustomed to dissemble, she fancied that her every look
betrayed the hidden purpose of her heart.
In her own chamber she wept for some time without restraint;
while Elinor was busied in preparing such things as it was ex-
pedient she should be provided with on her journey.
In the meantime the family retired to rest, and the hour ap-
proached, at which Sir Albert was to arrive. The heart of
Constance palpitated with expectation, and her tears ceased to
flow. Nor had she expected long, before she descried a figure
in the garden; his arms, as he advanced, glittered to the moon-
beam; and he was soon so near, that she distinguished the white
feather in his casque. He came under her window; and Elinor,
appr: hensive lest her mistress should observe that his voice was
not that of Sir Albert, hastily desired him, in a whisper, not to
speak, lest he should be heard by any one who might yet be
stirring in the castle. He comprehended her meaning, and
made her a sign of obedience. For Constance, it had been un-
necessary to enjoin her silence;—for the first time in her life,
she was about to commit an action, of which she doubted the
propriety; and on that action the whole of her future fate was to
depend:—her emotion was so strong, that it hardly left her the
power of speech; and she would even yet have receded from her
purpose, and remained at the castle, but Elinor reproached her
irresolution, and represented to her, that if she neglected the
present moment, escape at any future one would be impossible.
She had previously provided a ladder of ropes, and the trem-
bling Constance descended from the window.
Ere she reached the ground, her transported lover caught her
to his breast; she was offended at a boldness so new to her, and
disengaged herself frem his arms, in a manner sufficiently ex-
pressive of her displeasure. Apprehensive of too soon alarm-
ing her, he restrained his passion, and with a respectful air, led


148 - THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
her towards the gate of the garden, where a confidential servant
was waiting with two fleet horses. He vaulted on one, taking
before him in his arms his lovely and unsuspecting prize: his
servant, in the same manner, took charge of Elinor: and apply-
ing spurs to their horses, they sat out with the utmost speed.
Meantime the real Sir Albert, little imagining for what pur-
pose his name and crest had been assumed, had sat for some
time, after the damsel had left him, indulging his disappointment
at the message she had treacherously brought him. Maurice
was not yet returned with the horses: Sir Albert wished for his
arrival, that he might have with him one to whom he could speak
freely on the subject which occupied him; and at last, impatient-
ly rising, he walked forth into the forest, where for awhile he
strolled, disquieting himself with inventing new obstacles which
might arise to prevent the accomplishment of his hopes on the
morrow. The night was now set in, and its shades seemed to
offer some relief to the trouble of Sir Albert; for they revived
in his memory the reflections which had agitated his mind, when,
at a similar hour, he had traversed that part of the forest the
preceding night; and when he recollected how invaluable he
should then have thought the certainty which he now possessed,
of the love of Constance, he was ashamed of having so far suf-
fered the delay of the promise, which she still meant to fulfil,
to prey upon his peace: he endeavored to divest himself of every
desponding fear, and earnestly recommended the object of his
affections to the protection of every Saint and holy Angel.
He then recollected, that, by wandering at so late an hour,
he was detaining from rest the peasant to whose courtesy he
was indebted for a lodging; but he had attended so little to his
way, that he was at a loss to determine which path would lead
him back to his cottage. He was still hesitating, when he de-
scried at some distance, a light, glimmering through the trees.
He hastened towards it; but soon perceived that it was brighter
than could proceed from a candle in a peasant’s window. Still
he advanced:—it seemed to recede before him. Surprised and
struck with some emotion of dread, he still followed it; when
suddenly it sunk into the earth, and Sir Albert perceived that
he was at the mouth of the Cavern of Death. -
His dream, the strange accounts he had received at the castle
of Dornheim, and the determination he had formed to explore
the mysteries of that dismal place, of which the various events
of the day had suspended the remembrance, now rushed at once
upon his mind; the disappointment which had prevented his
quitting the forest that night, now appeared to him the interpo-
sition of that destiny which had reserved him for the discovery
of some dire secret; and he resolved immediately to attempt
the adventure, to which the inward presages of his soul so strong-
ly impelled him
º


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 149
*
The night was not dusk; but, in that spot, the thick shadow
of the trees diffused a gloom through which objects were scarce
discernible; yet a few gleams of light were reflected by a nar-
row but rapid stream, which having its source in the innermost
part of the Cavern, forced its passage through the rocks, a little
below the only entrance it presented to human feet. That en-
trance, for many years untrod, was half overgrown by briars,
amid which screamed the birds of night. Sir Albert attempted
to separate the branches; but the want of a light embarrassed
him; and, but a few paces beyond the mouth of the Cavern,
the darkness was total. He judged it necessary to return to the
peasant’s cottage to procure a torch: as he now knew in what
part of the forest he was, he found the way thither without diffi-
culty. - -
'. the door he was met by Maurice, who was arrived then
with his horses, and who had wondered at his absence, knowing
that it was already the hour at which he had appointed to repair
to the castle of Hertzwald. Sir Albert acquainted him with
the alteration that had taken place in his schemes, and with his
intention to enter immediately the Cavern of Death. Maurice
heard him with visible consternation, and would have remonstra-
ted; but Sir Albert interrupted him—
“Be satisfied,” said he, “that I require not thee to follow
me. Wert thou, less superstitiously fearful, thy company on
such an adventure, would to myself diminish the sensation of awe
with which my mind is even painfully impressed; but coward
as thou art, thou couldst afford me no assistance. Remain
here with my horses, and await my return.—If no evil befall me,
thou shalt see me ere the morning dawn.” -
He then went into the cottage, and demanded a torch. When
the peasant heard the purpose for which he required it, he ex-
pressed the same horror which was visible in the countenances
of all in whose presence the Cavern of Death was named.
“Alas! valiant sir!” cried he, “what desperate project have
you formed? No human being has ever entered it, and return-
º
ed to the regions of the living.”
Sir Albert continued unshaken in his resolution.—The peas-
ant reluctantly gave him a torch, and he returned alone to the
mouth of the Cavern.
When he reached it, he again attempted to disentangle the
briars which obstructed his entrance: but finding it difficult, he
drew his sword, and with that soon opened himself a passage.
The birds, which had long been accustomed to roost undisturb-
ed among their branches, now roused, flew out in such num-
bers, that Sir Albert found it necessary to retire a few steps, lest,
as they all made towards the light, the motion of their wings
should extinguish his torch. When they were dispersed, he
again advanced; and finding the passage now clear, he com-
13%


º
150 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
mended himself to the protection of his tutelary saint, and en-
tered the Cavern. For a few paces he proceeded with his
sword still drawn; but his path soon became so difficult, by rea-
son of the large fragments of the broken rocks over which he
was obliged to climb, that he found it necessary to sheath it,
that he might be at liberty to assist himself with his hand; and
indeed of no encounter with such enemies as it might avail
against, had he, in that place, any apprehension.
As he advanced, the horrors of the Cavern seemed to deepen.
The chill damp air froze the current of his blood: the silence
was only broken, at distant intervals, by droppings from the
roof, encrusted with half congealed vapors. At every step he
trod more lightly; and if sometimes his foot slid upon a smooth
and slippery stone, his heart at the sound beat with a quicker
motion. By degrees, he approached the bed of the subterra-
neous stream which he had observed issuing near the mouth of
the Cavern; and the death-like stillness of the place was inter-
rupted by the noise of its current, first, murmuring at a distance,
then, as his path wound nearer to it, roaring with impetuous
fury over the rough rocks which obstructed its course.
Sir Albert now found himself obliged to stoop, for the roof -
was too low to permit him to walk upright. He advanced, and
it became still lower; but, after he had proceeded a few steps
on his hands and knees, it suddenly widened, and he found him-
self in a spacious and lofty part of the Cavern; though neither
of its extent nor height could he form any accurate judgment,
for its bounds were lost in impenetrable darkness. In that thick
and obscure air, his torch cast no light but on the hand which
bore it. Only when he climbed the steep banks which overhung
the stream, the white foam of its waters enabled him to trace.
its course, where it fell from a high rock in a broken cataract.
The deafening noise of the torrent filled the soul of Sir Albert
with an unknown horror: he descended precipitately from the
bank, and retreated to a rock, which seemed on one side the
boundary of the Cavern; against which he leaned, while his im-
agination, unrelieved by any visible object, and wholly occupied
in the recollection of his dream, was left at liberty to represent
him, now, the hideous phantom hovering in the dusky air, and
now, the fleshless warrior, shunning his embrace, and waving
high the fatal sword. -
Sir Albert did not long give way to these visionary fears, but
strove by reflection to recall the firmness, which, at no mo-
ment of real danger, ever had forsaken him. He was ashamed
of his weakness; and recollecting that no circumstance which
could authorise it had as yet occurred, he withdrew his arm
from the rock, and would have proceeded to explore farther when
he felt himself suddenly drawn back;-his heart gave a fearful
beat; he turned his head with perturbation, but saw nothing
º
*
t


*
*
º
*
THE CAveRN of DEATH. 151
near him; he looked eagerly on all sides, and at last, concluding
his own terror had deceived him, he would again have advanced
from that spot, when again he felt himself drawn back; and in-
stantly a form, to which even his fancy could assign no certain
shape, flitted by him through a chasm in the rock, which the
darkness had before prevented his observing, but which, when
he approached it, opened to his view a long narrow passage,
leading downwards with a steep descent, at the further extremi-
ty of which he descried a small red flame; it resembled the dog-
star, when he sets bloodily in a misty horizon. -
Sir Albert now summoned all his resolution, and descended
the path.-Hitherto, the ground on which he had trodden had
been hard and rocky; but now, at every step his feet sunk into
a loose dry sand. Guided by the flame, which grew larger and
brighter as he advanced, he soon reached a small and nearly
circular vault, entirely illuminated by its radiance; and beyond
this no further path appeared.
In this spot, thus supernaturally pointed out to him, Sir Al-
bert was persuaded he was to meet the conclusion of the adven-
ture. He crossed himself, and implored the protection of the
holy Angels; then, fixing his eyes on the flame, which hung in
the air considerably above his head, he observed that it darted
downwards, in a spiral ray, on a spot where the sand rose in a
little hillock: and he heard around him a faint sound, like the
, fluttering of distant pinions. He regarded the hillock, and ob-
served somewhat glittering beneath the surface: he stooped,
and removing a little of the sand, discovered the blade of a .
sword; but what were his emotions, when he perceived that
the hilt was grasped by the dry cold hand of a skeleton!
The words of the phantom who had visited him in his sleep,
were instantly present to his remembrance: and he dropped
kneeling on the earth.
“Yes, injured spirit?” exclaimed he; “thou whom I know not
by what name to address, but who hast questionless led me
hither, and art now invisibly present to my invocation! I receive
thy gift! and I swear to allow myself no rest, till the vengeance
shall be completed, in which, though by what mysterious con-
nexion as yet I comprehend not, thou hast taught me to believe
my own destiny involved!” -
As he uttered these words, with an awe which half checked
his voice, he extended his hand to take the sword; and instant-
ly at his touch, the bony fingers which held it unclosed them-
selves, and left it in his grasp. At the same moment the flame,
with a vivid flash, disappeared; and a sudden whirlwind arising
extinguished the torch, and involved Sir Albert in an eddy of
the sand. -
His soul, already worked up to the highest pitch of horror,
now fainted within him; and he sunk on the ground, almost


º
º
a
º
sº
152 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
as lifeless as the ghastly form which lay beside him. He con-
tinued for some time devoid of all sensation; and, when his
recollection returned to him, as he unclosed his eyes in total
darkness, he felt that his hand was laid on that of the skeleton.
—He drew it back with hasty terror.—He again made an effort
to recover his fortitude; and, rising, he listened to the rushing
of the torrent, and hoped, by following that sound, to find the
passage between the rocks by which he had entered that recess.
But suddenly it was rendered visible to him by a light which
streamed through it from the outer part of the Cavern. He ap-
proached, and perceived several lights moving in different direc-
tions across the further entrance; and he imagined he heard,
the steps of feet, and the clash of arms; when, in an instant, a
cry of horror, uttered by many united voices, assailed his ear;
and amid the inarticulate shrieks of some, he could distinguish
that others, exclaimed, “blood! a cataract of blood.”
: The Cavern now shook from its foundations, and the voices
were at once lost in a crash, which seemed as if the whole frame
of nature were violently rent asunder. The sound was rever-
berated from the hollow sides of the Cavern in repeated echos,
which by degrees died away, and again no noise was heard, be-
side the rushing of the torrent.
The lights had disappeared, yet still a faint glimmering re-
mained, which enabled Sir Albert to discern the passage. Still
grasping the fatal sword, he now reascended his former path,
and, on issuing out into the open part of the Cavern, he per-
ceived that the glimmering he had observed was that of a torch,
which lay unextinguished on the ground. Rejoiced to recover
a light, he took it up, and soon discovered that the violent noise
he had heard, had been occasioned by the fall of a huge frag-
ment of the rock, under which, on a further examination, he
perceived the mangled bodies of two men, whom its enormous
weight had crushed.—Struck with new horror, he was regarding
these wretched victims, when he heard behind him a deep and
agonizing groan.—He started!—and after some interval, it was
repeated.—He turned, and looking round, he at last descried an
armed figure, lying prostrate on the earth.-As he approached
him, this unknown person groaned again.
“Who art thou?” cried Sir Albert, bending over to regard
him; “ and what purpose led thee hither?”
The stranger, at the sound of a human voice, half raised his
head, and discovered to Sir Albert the features of the Baron of
Dornheim?—Astonished, and scarcely crediting his eyes, he
stood for a moment silent; while the Baron, on beholding him,
shrunk aghast! and again turning his face to the earth, liſted up
his arm, as if to shroud himself from the view of some terrific
object.
t
*
|


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 153
“Whither wouldst thou drag me, avenging spirit?” exclaim-
ed he, with a faint and trembling voice.
Sir Albert, accosting him by his name, demanded to whom
he addressed himself, and what had thus strangely agitated him;
but to all his questions he returned such disordered answers, as
induced the Knight to believe that distraction had seized him.
At last the baron, with a sudden start, again raised his head,
and leaning on his arm, regarded Sir Albert with a fixed hor-
ror.
“Why do you thus wildly gaze on me?” cried the Knight;
“do you not know me?” .
“Know thee!” exclaimed the Baron; “Ah! too well I know
thee!—And that sword? The moment threatened by the phan-
tom is arrived, and already is my family extinguished on the
earth!”
“My lord!” said Sir Albert, “ these words bear no common
meaning; and circumstanced as I am, they concern me too near-
ly to suffer me to forbear insisting on an explanation of them.
—Rise! and prepare immediately to answer the demand which
the events of this night sufficiently authorise me to make.”
The Baron rose, as if awed by some power he durst not dis-
obey; but presently starting with new affright—“Yon ghastly
vision!” exclaimed he; “that crimson torrent!—Save me—hide
me from the view!” -
“These are the terrors of guilt my lord!” cried Sir Albert;
“ and vainly would you strive to escape the visions created by
your own accusing conscience.”
“Vainly indeed!” replied the Baron—“yet, if thou wouldst
hear the dire disclosure I must make to thee, in pity lead me
from this scene of horror!—here I cannot!—it is impossible?—
they haunt me—the daemons of vengeance haunt me, and the
unappeased spirit of the dead hovers around me, and urges them
to seize their prey!”
Sir Albert saw, that in effect his mind was too much disor-
dered-to permit him to make any connected narration in that
dreary place, which impressed with dismay the heart even of the
innocent; and he led the way towards the mouth of the Cavern
while the Baron followed him with unsteady steps.
They were in the narrowest part of their passage, when the
light of Sir Albert's torch was reflected by the gleam of armour;
he looked, and beheld a man half hid in a cavity of the rock.
On finding himself discovered, the stranger came forth trembling,
and falling on his knees, petitioned for his life. The Knight
demanded wherefore he had sought to conceal himself? He ac-
knowledged that he was one of the vassals of the Baron of Dorn-
heim, by whom he had been brought into the Cavern to assassi-
nate Sir Albert.


154 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
“Is this true, my lord?” said the Knight, looking sternly
around.
“It is most true,” replied the Baron—“such was indeed my
purpose; but the agents of an invisible world have interposed,
and I have vainly striven to resist the decrees of fate.”
Sir Albert ordered the man to rise and follow them; and soon
emerging from the Cavern, though night still reigned profound
amid the forest, her shadows, to the eyes of those who had so
long been buried in that region of subterranean darkness ap-
peared almost the refulgence of day.
At the earnest entreaty of the Baron, Sir Albert advanced
some paces, till they had reached a spot, out of hearing of the
sound of the murmuring current: there pausing—“ and now,
my lord!” said he, “I will proceed no further, till you shall have
fully explained to me, as I know you are well able to do, the
mysteries which the recesses of yon Cave enfold. Why are
you thus aghast when you behold this sword? And who was the
murdered warrior in whose fleshless hand I have found it?”
“That murdered warrior,” replied the Baron, “was thy
father!” - -
Sir Albert started!
“And in me,” continued the Baron, “thou viewest his mur-
derer!”
Sir Albert’s hair stood erect with horror, and his eyes spark-
led with unutterable fury.
“Suspend thy vengeance till thou hast heard me further.”
resumed the Baron: “I feel that the hour of retribution is arrived,
and a power more than mortal compels me to unfold the tale I
tremble to pronounce.
“Rodolph, Baron of Dornheim, was thy father. He was my
brother—my elder brother; and from the Holy Land was he
returning, to claim the inheritance which, at the death of our
common parent, devolved of right to him, when I, covetous to
possess it, met him in this forest, with a band of ruffians devot-
ed to my interest. He was alone; but, with his native valor,
and with that sword, which had often drank deeply of the blood
of Infidels, he long defended himself against his assassins. At
last, overpowered by numbers, he fell; and, in the convulsions
of death, he so strongly grasped the hilt, that one of my men,
unable to force it from him, was about to strike off the hand
which held it, when I forbade him. To none of the brave Knights
who had Warred in Palestine was the sword of Rodolph un-
known; and, should it be found in my possession, or in that of
any of my people, a discovery that he had perished by our hands
might have ensued:—I therefore commanded them to forego the
rich spoil, and to conceal it, with the body, in the innermost
recesses of yon gloomy Cavern. A report of his death upon the
Journey was then circulated; and no suspicion of my concern
*


THE CAVERN OF DEATH. 155
in it arising in the minds of any, I succeeded to the vacant Bar-
ony, of which I have ever since, in the opinion of the world,
been the undisturbed possessor. But the world has not known
the secrets of my own guilty heart. Often, at the still and
solemn hour of midnight has the spirit of my murdered brother
visited me; sometimes in silence pointing to his wounds, and
waving his bloody sword, sometimes threatening me with ven-
geance, in a voice, of which, even in the hours of apparent fes-
tivity, the sound has ever continued in my ears.-Of five former
sons whom I have lost, the untimely deaths were announced to
me by this phantom; but the great and final stroke which was
to complete the measure of my punishment, and forever cut off
my family from the earth, he taught me to expect at the moment
in which his sword should pass into the possession of his own
rightful heir.—With what terror I have awaited that moment,
those only can know, who, like me, have known the guilt of
blood:—from a faint hope to evade the menance, I have made
repeated efforts to regain the sword; but the fear lest I should
expose my crime to detection, forbade me to employ for that pur-
pose any but those who had been my former accomplices; they
severally attempted it; but their courage proved unequal to en-
counter the horrors of the Cavern. Meanwhile, I had recourse
to every means, to discover who was that heir to whom the
sword was destined, I could obtain no further information, than
that Rodolph, ere he went to the Holy Land, had espoused a
lady at Prague, under a feigned name, lest my father, who had
destined him for another alliance, should be made acquainted
with the marriage; but what afterwards became of that lady, or
whether she had borne him another son, I could never learn,
but continued in a state of the most painful uncertainty till yes-
ternight, when, on your first entrance, I for a moment fancied
you the visionary object of my nightly terrors:—Your name was
repeated by my son, and I strove to suppress my strong emo-
tions; but still your resemblance to the noble Rodolph had
filled my mind with dire forebodings, and your ring too certain-
ly confirmed them, for well did I remember it in the possession
of my brother. This morning, your own narration explained to
me every circumstance which could yet give rise to any doubts.
From that moment, your death was determined; and already had
I concerted the plan of your assassination, when with dismay I
learned that you were gone to explore the recesses of the Cav-
ern of Death. The moment which was to restore to you the
sword of your father, seemed now at hand:—by one desperate
effort could I only hope to avert the fate impending o'er my
house;—and to that effort some supernatural impulse seemed to
urge me on, and to overpower the dread, with which even the
distant view of a place which I fancied conscious of my crime,
had hitherto inspired me.—I armed as many of my vassals as I
*


156 THE CAVERN OF DEATH.
durst confide in, and at their head I entered the Cavern, hoping
to find you, bewildered in its labyrinths, ere you should have
seized the sword on which my destiny depended. Animated by
this idea, neither I, nor two of my accomplices in the murder of
your father, the only two who still survived, seemed to remem-
ber our former guilty dread, till we reached the spacious vault
in which you found me. There the awful rush of the torrent
struck upon our souls, and in a moment revived our terrors.
We ascended its bank—we beheld the foaming cataract—to our
eyes it seemed a cataract of blood!—those of my attendants
whose consciences accused them of no former crimes, uttered
a cry of dismay at the dire prodigy, and fled; but we, whose
hand had been crimsoned with the blood of Rodolph, stood,
rivetted by horror to the spot—but we stood not long, before
the fall of the impending rock overwhelmed my two companions,
of whom one was Maurice, your Esquire, but my ancient vas-
sal.”
“Maurice!” exclaimed Sir Albert; “was he disloyal?”
“From the moment when I acquainted him with your birth,”
returned the Baron, “his fears concurred with his former attach-
ment to me, and with the rewards I offered, to induce him to
betray to me your every design. It was from him I learned
your purpose of entering the Cavern.”
The Baron was proceeding, when the trampling of horses
interrupted him:—he paused; and Sir Albert, looking round,
descried a troop of men, who guided by the light he bore, were
hastening towards him. On their nearer approach, it was dis-
cernible that four among them, who were on foot, bore a corpse,
on a bier made of interwoven boughs. The Baron’s mind mis-
- gave him; he eagerly questioned them, and, while they hesitated
to answer, he forced a passage through them, and rushed to
meet the corpse; he recognised the pale and blood-stained
features of his son. -
The bearers sat down their load.—The Baron uttered not a
word, but threw himself on the bier, and in convulsive sobs,
gave vent to the passions which agonized his soul.—Sir Albert
drew near, and with strong emotions beheld the face of Lord
Frederic.—The Baron suddenly turned, and before he was
aware of his purpose, snatched from his hand the sword of Ro-
dolph, and plunging it in his own breast, sunk expiring on the
body of his son.—The horsemen alighted, and crowded round
him; but succor was too late;—pointing to Sir Albert, in a faul-
tering accent he bade them regard in him their rightful lord;
and then, drawing forth the weapon from the wound, his life
issued with it, in a stream of blood.
. Sir Albert, falling on his knees, awfully adored the severe
Justice of the Almighty Avenger of the crime of mortals.
Those who surrounded the bier, all vassals of the Barony of
* - *
-


… THE GAVERN OF DEATH. 157
Dornheim, were struck with consternation at this fatal catas-
trophe, and eagerly inquired of each other the meaning of their
late master's dying words. Sir Albert, in succinct terms, and
without expatiating on the guilt of him who lay lifeless before
them, acquainted them with the discoveries which that night
had brought forth; a narration confirmed by him who had been
found concealed in the Cavern, and who had been present at
the Baron's confession; and all most readily acknowledged the
son of Rodolph as their lord, and entreated him to suffer them
immediately to conduct him to the Castle. He complied with
their request, and proceeded thither with them; whilst those
who had before borne the body of Lord Frederic, now bore that
of his father with it on the same bier. -
On their way, Sir Albert demanded the particulars of the
death of the former.—They confessed, that the Baron had sent.
them with orders to lie in wait for Sir Albert himself; but that
the similarity of the arms and vestments of Lord Frederic had
deceived them, and assaulting him, they had not discovered
their mistake till he had fallen beneath their swords.
When they reached the castle, where the chief officers and
most, of the domestics were in waiting to readmit their lord,
the tidings they brought of his death at first diffused a general
dismay; but Sir Albert convened the vassals in the great hall,
and in a modest, but forcible address, stated to them his claim
to the succession, and adduced such proofs as left them no room
to question his right to the domains of his ancestors. Many
of the older men who were present, remembered Lord Rodolph,
and loved his memory; and they, with acclamations of joy, re-
traced his features in those of his son; and, as the character of
the late Baron had not been such as to engage the affections of
any of his people, there were none who did, not receive their
new lord with demonstrations of unfeigned gladness. -
Sir Albert now wished to be alone, that he might reflect at
leisure on the extraordinary events of the night, and compose
the agitation of spirits into which so many unexpected discov-
... eries had thrown him. But, as he was proceeding along a pas-
sage, in his way to a private apartment, the seneschal followed
him, and demanded what he would have done with regard to
two ladies who had been brought that night to the castle, by the
order of the late Baron. Sir Albert, demanded who they were:
the seneschal unlocked the door of an apartment on one side of
the passage, and Sir Albert beheld the Lady Constance! Sur-
prised and delighted, he flew towards her; but her astonish-
ment and joy seemed even to exceed his own. -
“By what miracle art thou preserved?” cried she: “What
Guardian Power has delivered thee from the foes by whom,
'when they tore me from thee, I left thee encircled?” -
Her words seemed at first mysterious to Sir Albert; but Eli-
* 14 -


158 - THE CAveHN of DEATH.
nor, finding it impossible to avoid the discovery of her treason,
threw herself at their feet, and voluntarily confessed it; and
then it appeared, that after the Lady Constance, deceived by her
arts, had betrayed herself into the power of Lord Frederic, she
was still unconscious of her mistake, when they were assaulted
by the troop which the Baron, informed by the similar treachery.
of Maurice of her intended flight with Sir Albert, had sent
out to intercept them: that Lord Frederic had been obliged to
set her down in order to defend himself; and that two of the
troop, in compliance with the orders they had received, had
immediately seized herself and Elinor, and had borne them to
the castle, which they had reached about an hour before; dur-
ing which interval she had abandoned herself to the bitterest
grief, and had incessantly wept the inevitable death of the im-
aginary Sir Albert.
The morning now began to dawn; and Sir Albert immediately
despatched a messenger to her father, to inform him of the death
of the late Baron, and his own succession, in right of his father,
Lord Rudolph—to acquaint him that his daughter was at the
castle; and to invite him thither, to learn such further particu-
lars as it was expedient he should know. -
The invitation was immediately complied with; nor was Sir
Albert deceived in his hope, that he who had been about, from
motives of interest, to sacrifice his only child to a man so un-
worthy to possess her, would, with equal readiness, consent to
bestow her on himself, who now enjoyed the power and dignities
of his late rival. His proposals were received with manifest
joy; and, till the marriage could be celebrated with proper mag-
nificence, the Lady Constance returned with her father to the
castle of Hertzwald, where, during that interval, Sir Albert, now
universally acknowledged Baron of Dornheim, daily visited her.
He caused the bodies of the late usurper and his son to be
privately interred: but the remains of his unhappy father, him-
self, at the head of a large body of his vassals, reentered the
Cavern of Death to bring forth; and mourning his untimely fate
with the deepest expressions of filial sorrow, he caused them to
be deposited, with the most solemn rites of the Church, and
every funeral honor, in the chapel of the castle: erecting over
them a magnificent tomb, above which was suspended the fatal .
sword.
Shortly after, he espoused the Lady Constance; and in the
hand of her who had been the object of his earliest affections,
he received the completion of that felicity to which his virtues
entitled him.


THE MYSTERIOUS BELL.
IT was a dead calm : the sun beamed bright and beautiful
upon the ocean, in setting glory, and all life and animation had
given place to that overpowering listlessness, which none can
form any conception of, but they who have experienced a long
continued calm at sea.
I was leaning against the taffrail, gazing upon the dark waters
below, in that state of apathy, in which thought, itself, becomes
almost too great an exertion, when suddenly a gentle breath
of wind, that swept along so lightly as to cause no ripple upon
the glossy surface of the waveless deep, wafted to my awakened
sense, a tinkling sound, like the ringing of a small bell at an
immense distance. The unusual circumstance aroused my dor-
mant faculties, and I listened with breathless attention; but the
flaw had passed, and all was again silent and death-like.
I remained upon the same spot nearly an hour, but it came
not again; and at length overcome with drowsiness, I retired
to my birth. The next morning when I came upon deck, I found
that the calm still continued, and the Captain was of opinion
that it would last some days. I mentioned to him the incident
that had attracted my attention; but he laughed, and said I had
been dreaming. He knew we were too far from land for any
sound to reach us, and no vessel he said could have been near
enough for me to hear the ringing of the bell, without also being
in sight. The mate agreed with him, but I observed one weather
beaten tar who was standing near, to shake his head doubtfully,
and his rugged countenance betrayed great anxiety; but he
said nothing. The morning passed away, still the sea was un-
ruffled by any breeze. After dinner, to while away the tedious
hours, the Captain and I sat down upon the quarter deck to
cards. We had scarcely commenced playing, when I was startled
by hearing the same bell-like tones, so faint and far, that “no-
thing lived 'twixt them and silence.” I called to the Captain
to listen; he sat a moment without speaking, and then started
up, exclaiming, “I hear it, too.”. The sailors seemed to have
noticed it also, for they were hushed, and listening. The Cap-
tain went aloft with his glass, and looked in every direction. “I
hear it,” said he, “distinctly, but I can see nothing ; it cannot
be from shore, for we are more than fifty leagues from any
º
* *
º


160 • THE MYSTERIOUS BELL.
land.” The attention of all on board was now fully awake. The
sailors stood upon the forecastle in anxious groups, all but the
old man, the singular expression of whose features I had re- .
marked" in the morning. He sat upon the windlass, with his
hands' folded, and his eyes intently fixed upon the deck: but
still he spoke not. Various conjectures were hazarded among
us, but none that satisfactorily accounted for the noise.
The afternoon passed, and the sun again set, while the tink-
ling sound still came floating over the waters. It was late be-
fore sleep closed my eyes that night. When the morning of
the next day dawned, the Captain went again to the mast head
with his glass, but no sail appeared upon the horizon; yet still
the ceaseless bell was plainly to be heard, while not a breath
of wind could be felt. Noon came, and still the calm continued,
and the sound approached nearer and nearer, when on a sudden,
the Captain from the top cried out, “I see it now, but what
it is, God only knows: it does not look like any craft that ever
the hand of man fashioned.” We all rushed to the forecastle,
and in silence awaited the approach of this strange navigator.
It came careering over the waters with a rapid motion, and as
it drew near, exhibited to our wondering gaze a single black
mast, rising from the centre of what seemed a square and solid.
block of wood, but without yard or sail, nor did any living crea-
ture appear upon it. I proposed to take the boat and board it ;
but the sailors shook their heads, and the Captain was silent.
Determined to discover the meaning of this phenomenon, I
jumped into the boat, intending to scull towards it, when the old
sailor, seeing my resolution, declared that he would go with me;
and the Captain, after a moment's hesitation, also joined us.
We rowed swiftly onwards to meet the object of our curiosity,
which was now within half a mile of the ship, and in a few min-
utes, were sufficiently near to perceive the bell at the top of
the mast, the ringing of which had announced its coming. It
was green and rusty as if with age, and the sides of the non-
descript barque were covered with barnacles, and tangled mas-
ses of seaweed. Immediately beneath the bell, which still swung
from side to side with deafening din, was attached a deep sea
line, passing over the side and descending into the water. The
moment our boat touched this strange vessel, the bell ceased to
toll, and the floating mass became immoveable. We gazed
upon it, and upon each other in amazement ; and at length, the
Captain in a low and tremulous voice, proposed to return, but
the sailor said “No –it was an evil hour when we met this
accursed” (his voice sunk, and I could not distinguish what
he uttered) “but we have met it, and we must not leave it thus.
Let us haul upon this line.” We did so for nearly twenty min-
utes, but with great difficulty, for it seemed as if some pond-
rous body at the extremity, resisted our efforts.


The Mysterious bell. " 16I
At length the profound stillness that had hitherto prevailed
amongst us, was broken by the Captain, who looked down into the
water, and exclaimed, “Great God! what have we here P’’ We
followed with our eyes the motion of his hand, and saw a large
object glistening white beneath the waves, and appearing like a
gigantic corpse, wrapped in a white cloth and bound with cords.
“Now may heaven shield us!” said the seaman, in a husky voice,
“it is the shrouded Demon of the Sea.” As hº spoke he drew
his knife from his belt, and in an instant severed the line. The
body turned its white sides flashing through the dark waters,
and with the rapidity of lightning, disappeared from our view


THE DERWISE ALFOURAN.
ALFourAN, by the sanctity of his manners, and the abste-
miousness of his diet, had gained the hearts of the whole pro-
vince of Eyraca : but none was more captivated with the holy
Dervise than Sanballad, the son of a merchant in Bassora,
whose father intended to bring him up in the mercantile busi-
ness, which he himself professed. The hermitage of Alfouran
was situated in a wood, near the suburbs of the city: it was
formed out of a stupendous rock, in the inside of a mountain;
and contained two cells, the outermost of which served for the
common purposes of life, and the innermost was set apart for
the private devotions and religious ceremonies of the sanctified
Dervise. -
A small spring, which ran trickling down the rock, supplied
him with the purest water, and fell into a basin, which the in-
dustrious Alfouran had scooped out of the bottom of the rock,
from which the water overflowing, descended in a gentle rill to
the wood, and ran purling among the trees; sometimes discov-
ering itself by its glittering surface, and sometimes gliding im-
perceptibly through the thickest bushes, which grew upon its
banks. A little plain opened before the door of the cell, which,
by the shade of the lofty trees that surrounded it, and the con-
stant attention of the sage to sprinkle its surface, ever preserved
a most beautiful verdure. The tall and straight cedars and
palms which overshadowed this delightful retreat, at once secured
it from the scorching sun, and afforded a most beautiful and
majestic appearance, mixed with an awful solemnity, which
struck the heart, and demanded the reverence of every be-
holder. . - - -
To this habitation of Alfouran did thousands resort, at the
rising of the sun, to hear the instructions of his mouth, and
dwell upon the sweet accents of his persuasive tongue; even
the labours of the day were forgotten while he charmed their
ears; and the º: subjects of Bassora refused not to follow
the sage Alfouran, though the work of their hands was neglect-
ed and undone. -
The pious Sanballad was ever a constant attendant at these
captivating lectures, and drank deep of the instructions of the
Dervise of Bassora. His soul was animated by the example


THE DERWISE ALFOURAN. - 163
of the self-denying sage : he scorned the mean employments
of a dirty world, and sought earnestly to bury himself in the
glorious solitude of Alfourān.
One day, after the Dervise had been exhorting his hearers to
trouble themselves no longer with the concerns of life, nor the
transactions of mortality, Sanballad presented himself before
him, and having done obeisance to the holy man, he entreated
Alfouran to initiate him into the mysteries of his happy life.
Alfouran looked earnestly at the youth ; he beheld his com-
plexion, his modest beauties, his eyes streaming with peniten-
tial tears, and his heart heaving with the full sighs of sorrow
and contrition. “And canst thou, O young man,’ said the Der-
vise, “leave the vanities of this life, to spend in solitude and ab-
stemiousness the sprightly hours of youth 2 Canst thou quit all
worldly connections, thy friends, thy relations, thy engage-
ments, thy business, and thy pleasures, and prefer before them
the constant company of an aged Dervise ? If thou art so re-
solved, let me first have a trial of thy faith and submission.—
Ascend this craggy rock by the steps which I have hewn in its
side, and sit on the stone which is dedicated, on its surface, to
the pure solar Fire. There remain while the sun melts thee by
day, and the cold pinches thee by night, till three days are ac-
complished; and I will bring thee of the choicest viands which
the rich men of Bassora send daily to tempt my appetite; of
which if thou tastest, or to which if thou dost incline thy mind,
the curse of the god of fire be upon thee!’
At this command, Sanballad arose with joyful looks, and be-
gan to ascend the holy mountain.
He spent the first day in a solemn silence, not daring even to
look up or move from his posture ; but kept his eyes fixed on
the ground, and in secret implored the strengthening assistance
of the Founder of his faith.
The second day, Alfouran set before him a sumptuous ban-
quet, which his disciples, at his command, had brought fººm the
city: for it was daily the custom of Alfouran to receive such
presents at their hands;–not, as he said, for his own use, but
to fix him steadfastly in his forbearance from those pampering
repasts. They stood every day exposed on a table formed out
of the living rock in his cell; and at noon the Dervise ascend-
ed the hill, to burn them at the holy fire, which he kindled from
the Sun. Sanballad looked not at the tempting viands till Al-
fouran commanded him, and then persisted religiously in his re-
solutions; which when the Dervise perceived, he extolled his
faith, and exhorted him to continue obedient to the instructions
he had received. -
The third day, the poor youth was nearly exhausted with
watching and fatigue ; nevertheless, Alfouran endeavoured, by
the most artful temptations, to draw him from his purpose, but


f
164: THE DERVISE ALFOURAN.
in vain; the pious Sanballad triumphed over his temptations,
and at length fulfilled his commands.
Being now partly initiated, the Dervise, after having fed him,
conducted him down from the mountain to the cell beneath ;
and leaving him for some time to rest and refreshment, he alone
ascended with his daily offerings to the altar of Fire.
In this act of devotion Alfouran continued the remainder of
the day; during which time, Sanballad heard the most ravish-
ing music, which seemed to descend through the mountain, and
filled the cells with its enchanting harmony.
And thus was the Dervise's time divided ;-in the morning
he preached to the multitude, whilst the careful Sanballad re-
ceived their offerings, and laid them on the stone table in the
cell. At noon the Dervise ascended with the offerings, and the
young man was ordered to pursue his private devotions in the
innermost cell; and was taught to expect those heavenly sounds,
if his prayers were accepted. When the sun left the horizon,
Alfouran descended to the plain, where Sanballad spread some
roots on the turf by the spring, and the Dervise and his scholar
made their single and abstemious meal.
The young Dervise was enraptured at the precepts and sanc-
tity of his master : and the inhabitants of Bassora brought
daily their riches, and fine vestments, and delicacies, that Al-
fouran might sacrifice those unworthy objects of their affection
on the altar of the Sun. -
Nor were the prayers of Sanballad rejected, for he daily ob-
tained a grateful token from the powers he worshipped, and was
charmed with the heavenly music which sounded through the
rock.
In this manner did Alfouran and his pupil dedicate their time
to the invincible powers of Fire, till the whole city of Bassora
was converted to the religion of the Dervise : and, neglecting
their trade, they all flocked regularly to imbibe the instructions
of his lips. -
But what, even in the midst of his sanctity, preyed upon the
heart of Sanballad was, that his master Alfouran did not suffer him
to ascend the mountain. When he asked the Dervise the reason
why he was denied that holy office —Alfouran would answer :
‘Know, O young man, that he only is fit to make such a sacri-
fice, who, by long and patient abstemiousness, has sanctified
his mind, and purged it from the desires of mortality. No,
Sanballad ; you must serve a longer term of years, and persist
in your religion for many suns, ere you be admitted to that, the
greatest and noblest work of man : wait, therefore, with sub-
mission ; and doubt not, but, when thou art accepted, the deity
of Fire will call thee to his service.” -
If Sanballad's impetuous desires to serve, like Alfouran, in
the cell of the worshipper of Fire, could drive him, against the


THE DERWISE ALFOURAN. 165
inclinations and commands of his parents, to act under the ban-
ners of Alfouran, it is not to be wondered, that he was now as
eager in desiring to be jointly admitted into all the services of
his master.
The bed or resting place of Sanballad was on the stone table
in the outward cell; Alfouran slept on, a floor of flints within.
It was the hour of midnight ; when Sanballad, still revolving
his favourite desires in his mind, heard the wind rustle through
the grove ; the moon played on the surface of the water, in
the basin which stood without ; when, on a sudden, Sanballad
seemed to discern at the door of the cell the figure of a little
old man : he immediately endeavoured to cry out to Alfouran ;
but he found his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. The
little figure advanced, and stood before the astonished and mo-
tionless Sanballad.
‘I am,” said the spectre, ‘the good Genius which presides
over thy wayward fate. Alfouran, this very night, did meditate
thy death, and intended to sacrifice thee to his barbarous god.
You are, young man, too inquisitive for this mysterious religion,
which requires a blind and unsuspicious faith: but, in compas-
sion to thy youth, and being willing to vindicate the truth of
thy mueh-injured Prophet, I have taken this opportunity, while
Alfouran is in his first sleep, to warn thee of thy danger. I must
not assist thee farther ; for, the impostor pessesses the signet of
the Genius Nadoc, which he stole from a Bramin of the most
exalted piety. But if thou art resolute, go fearless into his cell,
and boldly thrust thy hand into his bosom, where it ever lies
concealed. If thou canst but for a moment snatch it from him,
thou art safe : for, when it is in thy hand, its virtues will be obe-
dient to you, its possessor : be confident, therefore, and forget .
not, when thou hast it in thy hand, to make a proper use of it.”
‘And how is it to be used ?’ replied the astonished Sanballad.
“Wish,” said the Genius, ‘for whatever you desire, and it will
not be denied you.-But hasten, O young man for I foresee
Alfouran will in a few minutes awake.”
At this exhortation, Sanballad arose from his bed, and enter-
ed into the cell of the treacherous Alfouran. He felt gently for
his master, who was stretched upon the flints; and, havin
found his bosom, boldly put his hand therein, and felt the signet
of the Genius Nadoc ; which he immediately pulled out, and
by the force of his arm awakened the affrighted Dervise.
Sanballad, seeing Alfouran awake, wished that he had com-
pleted his purpose, that he might have escaped out of the cell .
while the Dervise had slept. -
No sooner had Sanballad formed his wish, than Alfouran sunk
again into a deep sleep ; and the young man, perceiving the
power, which the signet of the Genius Nadoc had given him,
blessed Mahomet his prophet, and hastened out of the cell :


º - t
166 THE DERWISE Al FOURAN. º - \ -
and on the plain before the door, he met his faithful Genius
Mamlouk. -
“I see,” said his instructer, ‘thou hast wisely prevailed : and
now, O Sanballad, we will together ascend this mountain ; and
I will convince thee of the folly of thy worship.’
Having thus said, Mamlouk led the way, and, having climbed
to the altar, on the surface of the mountain, the Genius desired
Sanballad to move the altar from its place.
“O Mamlouk,” said Sanballad, ‘that is far beyond my strength: .
for when I sat on this stone, as a probationer before the Sun,
I assayed with all my strength to move it : and could not.’
‘That was,” replied Mamlouk, ‘because Alfouran commanded •
it to continue firm and fixed : but now his power is no more.”
Sanballad then set his shoulder against the stone, and moved
it from its place. The stone being removed, discovered a dark -
winding stair-case, cut out of the rock, which descended into
the body of the mountain. -
Mamlouk commanded Sanballad to descend, and fear not : .
‘For,” said the Genius, ‘I will attend you, though invisible,
... and instruct you in what manner you are to behave : but be re-
solute in preserving the signet of the Genius Nadoc.”
Sanballad then began to descend the steps, which wound round
a solid pillar of stone. After he had passed three hundred stairs,
he met with a strong wicket, which he commanded to open;
and then continued to pursue his way through a dark and close
passage, cut out of the living rock.
At the end of this passage, he found a door of solid iron,
which, at his command, creaked on its hinges, and opening,
presented to his view a large cavern, illuminated in the centre
with an enormous glowing carbuncle. Around this spacious
vault hung all the rich and valuable garments, which the deceit- |
ful Alfouran had begged from the deluded inhabitants of Basso-
ra, as offerings to his god.
‘And what,” said Sanballad to his invisible guide, “was the
design of Alfouran in collecting these riches, since he never
makes any use of them ’’
“Proceed,” said Mamlouk; ‘ and observe.’
In one corner of this cavern, Sanballad perceived a chasm in
the rock, which he immediately commanded to "open ; and
which let him through its sides into another passage, wider than
the first, supported by pillars, and enlightened with a variety of
carbuncles. -
As soon as Sanballad had entered this passage, he heard the
sounds of many instruments, playing the most plaintive notes,
and presently, at the lower end, he saw a number of close-veiled-
matrons marching with solemn steps along the avenues of the
passage. - - - - - - w


THE DERVISE ALFOURAN. 167
‘May I, O Mamlouk,” said Sanballad, ‘wish that these may
receive me as they used to receive Alfouran º'
‘Yes,’ replied Mamlouk, “I find thou hast wished it in thine
heart ; for they already begin to acknowledge thee.”
As Mamlouk said this, the matrons all came round Sanbal-
lad, some kissing his hands, some his feet, and others kneeling,
and in the highest acts of devotion, touching the skirts of his
clothing. -
Thus surrounded, the fictitious Dervise passed to the farther
end of the passage, where a spacious portal opened into a gloo-
my temple, hewn out of a solid rock of adamant : in the centre
of this temple was an altar, or hearth raised from the ground,
on which a large fire, fed with oils and aromatic woods, burnt
incessantly day and night ; and was renewed with all the in-
cense and perfumes, which Alfouran had obtained from the de-
luded inhabitants of Bassora. -
As soon as Sanballad had advanced to the fire, the orgies
began. The female votaries worked themselves up into the
most frantic fits of enthusiastic madness, groaning, weeping,
lashing themselves, falling into trances, and fits; till at length,
tired and fatigued with their wild religion, they sunk into slum-
bers around the flame which they had adored.
‘Now, Sanballad,” said Mamlouk, “now must thou be reso-
lute and brave : canst thou resist temptation º’
‘Alas!' replied Sanballad, ‘I thought so once; but it was a
vain opinion, arising from the pride of a false religion.”
‘Your diffidence,” answered the Genius, ‘is prudent, and
manifests an humble mind : but, as temptation may be too se-
vere for your new born faith in the Prophet, he has permitted
me to personate Alfouran, and carry you invisibly through these
mazes of bewitching error.’ -
Thus saying, Mamlouk put on the appearance of Alfouran ;
and Sanballad, having wished himself invisible, stood beside
the metamorphosed Genius. -
Mamlouk then waved his hands on high, and clapped them to-
gether in the air : at the sound of his clapping, the matrons
awoke, and the fictitious Alfouran commanded the cup of love
to be produced. Four ancient matrons immediately brought
forward a large bowl from the innermost parts of the temples,
of which the transformed Genius and his females partook.
No sooner were they replete with this liquor, than they be-
gan to sing the most indecent songs, and by every gesture man-
ifested the desires of their hearts; till at length, being worked
into a passionate madness, they threw off their clothing, and
discovered, under the formal appearances of sanctified matrons,
the most abandoned signs of youthful prostitution,
The Genius, having revealed thus much of the mysteries of
Alfouran, took Sanballad by the hand, and led him out of that


168 THE DERvise ALFour AN.
scene of horror to the top of the mountain. As they arose
from the cavern, the beams of the sun began to play upon the
east, and tinge the dusky clouds with its early light.
‘And who,” said Sanballad to his guide, as they arose, “who
are these abominable wretches º' - -
“They are,” replied Mamlouk, ‘weak and deluded women,
who have, at different times, stolen in the dead of night from
Bassora, to hear the doctrines of the sanctified Alfouran. But
be silent, for I see on the plains before the city of Bassora, the
multitudes approaching to hear and adore the hypocritical Der-
vise.” - - -
“And will Alfouran awake and instruct them ’’ said Sanballad
to the Genius.
‘No,' answered Mamlouk, “the Prophet will not longer per-
mit his villanies to remain unexposed.—But let us hasten to
meet the credulous followers of Alfouran.” -
Having thus said, Mamlouk descended from the hill, and
stood before the cell of the Dervise. The crowds gathered
round him, for he still personated the form of Alfouran : some
blessed him with tears in their eyes, others nearly worshipped
the fictitious idol of their affections.
In the midst of this ill-placed adoration, Mamlouk lifted up
his voice, as though it had been the voice of a whirlwind, and
said, in the ears of all the inhabitants of Bassora,_*O deluded
idolators, why have ye left the worship of your Prophet, to fol-
low the lies of the enchanter Alfouran º'
As the Genius spoke these words, he shook off the appear- .
ance of the Dervise, and shone before them in all the native
beauty of his heavenly race.
, The multitude were astonished at the change, and the Ge-
nius proceeded —‘I am Mamlouk, the guardian Genius of your
city, which I have with sorrow of late beheld strangely deviating
from the worship of the Prophet. The Fates degreed that you
shuld be tempted by Alfouran : he came, therefore, into this
grove ; and, under the specious mask of sanctity, gained the
hearts of your people, insomuch that you neglected the public
works of the city, and the social duties which ye owed one to
another, and all herded to hear and offer to Alfouran yourselves
and your substance. Alfouran was possessed of the signet of
the Genius Nadoc, by means of which he has commanded the
slaves of that signet to form, in the spacious womb of this moun-
tain, the secret haunts of his wickedness and lust; which I will
now disclose unto you’—
Having so spoken, the Genius commanded Sanballad to go
into the cell and awaken Alfouran ; which he did ; the Dervise
trembled as he came forth, from a consciousness of his guilt.
As soon as the multitude beheld Alfouran, they were so in-
fatuated at his presence, that the luminous appearance of the


THE DERWISE ALFOURAN. 169
Genius scarcely withheld them from worshipping and adoring
the Dervise ; which when Mamlouk perceived, he said unto
them — 0 inhabitants of Bassora, how vain are my labours
to bring ye to Mahomet ! But, ere ye too foolishly refuse to
hear the directions of your Prophet, let me expose to your
view the entrails of this mountain.”
As he spake these words, the people all looked towards the
mountain ; which began to crack and open its sides, till by de-
grees the temple and caverns within were made manifest to the
wondering populace. -
Out of this nest of lust and intemperance, came the wild fe-
males who had so miserably degraded themselves by their las-
civious deeds: but how was the misery of their condition
heightened, when they beheld such crowds of their neighbors
and kinsmen standing as witnesses of their indecent appearance!
Nor were the men of Bassora less disguested, to find, among
the private hordes of the lustful Dervise, their wives and their
daughters, who had been thus polluted by his secret iniquities.
They were now all resolute in destroying the monster Alfou-
ran from the face of the earth ; and so incensed were they
against him, that they tore the saint into ten thousand reliques:
and he was most happy who could show most marks of his ven-
geance on the salacious Dervise.
Mamlouk, having suffered them to execute their vengeance
on the hypocritical Alfouran, exhorted them to follow obedient-
ly the law of their Prophet, and ever to despise such teachers as
should preach up a mysterious, unintelligible, and hidden re-
ligion ; or expect that they should blindly give up their sub-
stance and social duties, to follow the directions of a sanctified
and lustful drone.
As Mamlouk finished his tale, bright flashes of light streamed
through the lattice-work of the saloon ; and presently, with
smiles of mildness on his face, came the illustrious Prophet Ma-
homet, and hovered over the august assembly.
‘Thanks, heavenly Mamlouk,” said the Prophet of the faith-
ful : ‘thanks do I give thee, in the name of my flock of Basso-
ra, whom thou hast rescued : O, may they never again stray
from the light vouchsafed them : but may reason and revela-
tion alike direct them to seek the realms of peace, and fly from
the delusions of error and enthusiasm —And do ye, favored
flock of Heaven, listen and imbibe the instructions of my ser-
vants, and obey the voice of their divine morality.”
As he thus spake, the royal company all arose, and, prostra-
ting themselves on earth, thus began their hymn of praise:–
A. Glories surround the Defender of the faithful Alla! Alla
a !
“Praise and honour, and worship, be unto Him who giveth
sight to the blind, and peace to the sons of care . Alla :
- 15


170 THE DERWISE ALFOURAN.
“Be thy reign immortal, Prophet of the just Be thy power,
as is thy mercy, Vicegerent of Alla . Alla Alla Alla : -
“Happy are thy servants who do the will of their Master
Alla 1 - -
‘Happy are thy servants who hear the voice of their Prophet!
Alla | -
‘Happy are they who walk not in error, but are instructed in
thy law Alla! Alla Alla ſ”
As the Genii pronounced these words in the songs of melody,
the Prophet arose, and ascended from their sight; while the
whole assembly lay entranced with delightful visions.
After some time, the company being reinstated, Iracagem
thus addressed himself to the Genius Omphram :—
‘Omphram, let the praises of Mahomet inspire thee in de-
claring the labours of thy tutelage.”
‘Happy shall I esteem myself,” answered Omphram, “if Ira-
cagem approves of my behaviour in directing the Sultan Has-
san Assar.”


HASSAN ASSAR; OR, THE HISTORY
OF THE CALIPH OF BAGDAT.
The royal court of the Caliph Hassan Assar beheld with
discontent a long series of gloomy moons. The voice of joy,
and the smiles of festivity, were banished the palace, by the se-
vere frowns which sat, uninterrupted on the brow of the Ca-
liph. The barrenness of his spacious seraglio was the cause
of his melancholy; neither the youthful beauties of Circassia,
nor the more ripened fruit which his own warmer sun produced,
were capable of continuing the race of Caliphs of Bagdat.
Omphram, the tutelary Genius of his kingdom, saw the per-
verse will of fate, and could not withstand its decrees; she read
in the permanent leaves of that everlasting book, that Hassan
Assar would vainly solicit a progeny from Heaven, while he
sought after that blessing in the embraces of beauty. Though
the day, which as yet had not arisen, was enveloped in the
clouds of obscurity, she could still discern the possibility of the
continuance of the race of Hassan ; but not the particular
manner in which it was to come to pass. -
As Hassan was administering justice in the divan, the throne
whereon he sat was violently shaken with the trembling of the
earth, the doors of the divan creaked, the lightning poured
down through the windows in sheets of fire ; and in the midst
of the confusion both of earth and air, came Omphram, riding
in the tempest which her power had raised. Hassan bowed at
her approach ; and, as his heart was unconscious of evil, he
regarded not the terrors which surrounded her.
‘Hassan,” said the Genius, “I perceive you are not to be bi-
assed by the outward appearance of things: knowing that you
are only accountable for the actions of your subjects, you look
with serenity on this confusion of elements, which it was not
in your power to prevent. The same trust which enables you
to be thankful in the sunshine of affluence, gives you also con-
fidence in the dangerous tempest. Look but as indifferently on
all things, and your prayers shall be no longer offered to the
unconsenting Prophet. He has heard your petition; he be-
lieves you are solely desirous of perpetuating his seed; and
therefore he commands you to dismiss the beauties of your se-


172 HISTORY OF HAss AN ASSAR, THE CALIPH of BAGDAT.
raglio, and to give up your whole life and pleasure to the Houri
he has provided for your embrace.”
As she finished this declaration, the walls of the palace crum-
bled into their original clay; the crowds that were gathered in
the divan vanished from the sight of the Caliph ; and he saw no
longer the flourishing city of Bagdat, but the wild and fanciful
productions of unassisted nature.
The lions in the chariot of Omphram roared to the repeated
echoes of the forest; and the fairy, still observing courageous
Hassan unchanged at his fate, smiled on the Caliph, and bade
him persevere in his unshaken trust, and no dangers nor misfor-
tunes should prevent the blessings which the Prophet had en-
gaged to shower upon his race.
Although the prospects around him were wild, yet they were
beautiful and enchanting. Lofty trees at a distance, on one
side, formed natural temples to the deities of the place ; on the
other, the adjacent mountains were partly covered with ever-
green and flowering shrubs, which grew irregularly, as a cov-
ering, above the craggy sides of the rocks, except where a tor-
rent from the summit had worn out a hollow bed for its rapid
passage and descent. In the vale beneath, a spacious lake di- *.
vided the ancient groves from the mountainous sides of the ' s
prospect; and on the intermediate banks grew whatever might
* * * *
invite the eye, or please the wandering palate ; fruits unnum- ~~~
bered of every kind, too heavy for the parent stock whereon -
they grew ; flowers in every varied hue, and every varied tint
which the sun could form by the many coloured beams of its all * .
diffusive light. . - -
While Hassan was admiring these luxurious productions of
the uncultivated place, he perceived a most beauteous female
advancing through the irregular avenues of the spacious grove.
“O blessed Prophet,” cried the enamoured Sultan, as soon as
he beheld her, ‘what delights hast thou prepared for me in this
vale of plenteousness' surely I am already in thy blissful para-
dise ! and behold, the Houri, whom thou hast consigned to my
arms, is now approaching to meet my embrace!”
As he said this, he sprang forward to join the blooming fair
one, whose delicate limbs stood all confessed to view, and dis-
played, in their ineffable symmetry and delicate purity, the ut-
most harmony of a beauteous creation. She also, as animated
by the same inclination and desires, hastened toward the embrace
of the all-admiring Hassan —but alas ! ere the happy couple
could meet, the envious earth gave a hedious groan, and the
ground, parting under their feet, divided them from each other
by a dismal chasm.
While the astonished pair stood on different sides of the
gulph, viewing the horrid fissure and the dark abyss, wild notes
of strange uncouth warlike music were heard from the bottom


History of Hassan Assar, cALIPH of BAGDAT. 173
* : *
**** ****
---
of the pit; and immediately a flash or vapour of blue flame
arose from the cavern, in the midst of which the Caliph dis-
covered an enormous elephant, with a turret on his back.
When the elephant was level with the surface, the earth
closed again : and a black, who sat on the elephant's neck, ad-
vanced upon his body to the turret; which he touched with a
wand in his hand, and immediately the turret flew into a thou-
sand pieces, and discovered a little hut, out of which came a
negro woman properly accoutred with the implements of war.
The beauteous lady screamed at the sight: and as Hassan
was hastening to her assistance, the black who held a wand in
his hand cried out with a voice like thunder —
‘Hassan Assar, forbear !—But it matters not ; for Omphram
has deceived me, and thou art unworthy of the favour of Ma-
homet : Omphram assured me that the Caliph of Bagdat was
unbiassed by the outward appearance of things: and yet me-
thinks I see you pay a preferenee to beauty, and neglect to at-
}
tend on the vigorous Nakin Palata, who is destined for your .
spouse.” -
‘What ſ’ cried Hassan, in a maze, ‘must I leave this perfect
original, to take up with that unnatural lump of blackness ' At
these words, Nakin Palata, with great wrath, drew forth an ar-
row from her quiver, and fixing it in her bow, aimed the fatal
shaft at the body of the beautiful nymph.
Hassan saw the malice but could not prevent the blow. The
arrow pierced through the snowy heart of the lovely female;
and the warm tide of blood and life issued forth at the unfriend-
ly wound. As the distressed Caliph drew the arrow forth, and
applied his lips to the place, the black, jumping from the beast,
ran to him, and commanded him to discontinue his care, or he
would forever lose the protection of Mahomet. -
The Caliph looked up in astonishment at hearing the com-
mand, and was mote than ever surprised to behold the skin fall-
ing from the body of the black, under which he discovered the
features of Omphram his Genius.
‘0 Hassan Assar,’ said Omphram, ‘hast thou not yet learnt,
that the delights of this world are not to bias your affection and
obedience from the will of Heaven When you prayed to the
Prophet to continue your race on the throne of your forefath-
ers, did you not promise to give up all other blessings, if you
might possess that only desire of your heart —Now, then,
what is beauty, when put in competition with her who is to per-
petuate the descendants of the Caliph of Bagdat 2 Wast thou
not unhappy when thou hadst every beauty at command * Didst
thou not then despise such faint allurements, and beg from
Heaven a more substantial blessing 2 Behold her, then, who
is appointed to bless thee; and yet thou fliest from her, and art
now returning to those pleasures which thou hast solemnly re-
15%
*


174 HISTORY OF HAssan Assar, THE CALIPH of BAGDAT.
nounced ; but think not the Prophet will suffer such ingrati-
tude " No ; enjoy the company of thy beauteous Houri; for,
no doubt, your love is so excessive, that you will willingly fol-
low her to the grave.”
Having thus said, she struck the ground with her wand, and
immediately a number of slaves arose with stones, and all the
materials for building.—‘There,” said the fairy to the workmen,
‘inclose that dying corpse with a substantial monument, and let
us see how long this worldly Caliph's love will fix him on the
body of his mistress.”—The slaves obeyed; and, being Genii
of an inferior order, executed their business in less time than a
mortal workman could have laid the foundation.
Hassan neither observed their work, nor was solicitious to es-
cape ; but, still pressing with his lips the fatal wound, suffered
himself to be inclosed in those walls of death. Before the
roof (which was formed of massive stone) was entirely covered,
Omphrm called out, and commanded Hassan to withdraw : but
the Caliph was deaf, and regardless of everything but the con-
dition of his dear nymph. Wherefore the Genii completed the
work; and Omphram finding him deaf to her commands, left
him immured in the mausoleum, with the dead body of the
strangely murdered fair one.
Although the workmen of Omphram had totally immured the
Caliph Hassan Assar, yet was there left a grate-work of iron
in the middle of the tomb by the Genius's command, through
which the light might reflect on the deceased body, and gave
the Caliph a full view of the dead beauties which he had pre-
ferred to the will of his Prophet.
For several days, the love-sick Hassan persisted in his atten-
tion to the corpse of his beautiful favourite : but contagious
mortality now began to steal away the delicate complexion and
graceful hue which formerly adorned the living Houri's limbs:
a noisome stench succeeded, and yellow putrid foulness over-
spread the whole body; her cheeks sunk, her flesh grew moist
with rottenness, and all her frame sent forth the strongest efflu-
via of corruption and death.
Hassan, whose love and affection were solely supported by
lust and passion, having lost the only objects of his desire, be-
gan to loathe the wretched situation which he had chosen in
preference to submission and obedience.
‘And is this,’ cried the dejected Caliph, looking on the cor-
rupted mass, ‘is this the natural effect of death on beauty 2 Is
it, then, only owing to the different modifications of matter, that
one mass gives us the highest enjoyment, and another the great-
est disgust 2 Nay, more; are the joys of this world so fleeting
and unsubstantial, that the objects of our pleasure to-day may
to-morrow become the objects of our aversion ? O Prophet !
holy Prophet !” contintinued he, “I now see and acknowledge


History of HAssan ASSAR, THE CALIPH of BAGDAT. 175
he justice of thy punishment ; I now can discern between
the good that thou didst intend me, and the evil which I have
chosen.” At these words he sunk on the ground, overcome
with watching, loathing, hunger, and fatigue. -
As he lay stretched on the ground, the female negro appeared
above the grate.—‘0 blind, ill-fated Caliph,” said she, how long
will it be ere thou seest the follies of thy choice Wert thou
not born to do the will of Heaven 2 Wert thou not, by thine
own desire, consigned over by that will, to fly from the pleasures
of life, and give thyself up to the interest of thy race : The
Prophet doubted the sincerity of thy heart; he therefore placed
thee amidst all the natural luxuries which this world affords ;
luxuries far more irresistible than those which art hath made in
imitation of them. The love which you professed for that noi-
some body, say, O Caliph, did it arise from virtue or lust 2–
You saw and loved ; but you heard not, neither had you knowl-
edge of the perfections or imperfections of her mind. She
came only recommended to you by passion and desire ; I came
recommended by the will of your Prophet : but you foolishly .
conceived his commands grievous and your desires natural and
reasonable ; therefore you were left in possession of your wishes,
to convince you, that, from disobedience and unlawful pleasure,
no other fruits can sprout forth but those of corruption and ab-
horrence. You are sensible this life is short, precarious, and
uncertain; it is a life of trial, and not of enjoyment; it is a life
in which we must refuse, and not covet the pleasures of the
world. Where then is the hardship of obedience, when we are
commanded to abstain, in order hereafter to possess 2
‘Think not, O Caliph, I speak this of myself; it is your
Prophet directs me ; he sought me out among many in mine
own nation ; he snatched me from the arms of one whom I had
formerly esteemed for his activity and manly strength.
* “Nakin Palata,” said a voice unto me, as I was with the
utmost pleasure observing the exercises of my lovely youth,
“attend to the commands of Heaven; and know thou wert born
to fulfil its will.”—At the same time an invisible power plunged
me into the earth, and placed me in the hut and turret which
you beheld on the back of the elephant.
‘A black who guided the beast, informed me of the cause of
my situation.—“You are,” said the guide, “selected out of
thousands, for your modesty, your humility, and obedience to
the Power above, to be mother of a royal race. A great and
mighty king shall fill your arms : but then you must never more
reflect upon the youth you have left, nor sigh for the enjoyment
of your native country.” At these words, O Caliph, I sunk
with sorrow and disgust: no joys of fortune or riches were, in
my esteem, equivalent to the jetty blackness of my beloved
raC.


176 HISTORY OF HAssan AssaR, THE CALIPE OF BAGDAT.
“What then,” said I, ‘must I be condemned for ever to lose
the sight of Kafrac the idol of my soul ?” -
“No,” replied my guide, “you shall see him yet once again,
to convince you how blind that choice is, which has only out-
ward comeliness and natural abilities for its object.”—At these
words he took me by the shoulders, and we mounted through
the caverns of the earth. The ground opened as we ascended,
and presently I was conveyed into the centre of a wood, which,
I remembered, was near the habitation of my jetty Kafrac.
‘The black, having taken his hand from my shoulder, bade .
me walk forward to a gloomy part of the wood : I obeyed :—
but, 0 Caliph, judge the emotions of my soul, when I beheld
the traitorous Kafrac locked in the arms of my brother's wife
My blood curdled with horror at the sight; and I stood mo-
tionless before the adulterous Kafrac. -
“My guardian black, perceiving my condition, ran towards
me, and again touching my shoulder, the earth opened a second
time, and we sunk together on the back of the elephant. “Well,”
cried my guide, when he had seated me in the turret, “are you . . . .
now better disposed to obey the will of the Prophet of Mecca?”
‘ I am,” said I, (still terrified with the dreadful vision,) “at
the disposal of your Prophet, and entirely convinced of my own
incapacity to distinguish between real and fictitious goodness.”
“Then,” replied the guide, “you are capable of executing the
will of your Prophet. Here, take these your national accoutre- . . . .
ments, (giving me the bow and arrows,) and when you see the
Caliph Hassan Assar pursuing sensual pleasure, and preferring
the specious appearance of beauty to the command of Mahomet,
direct your shaft at the breast of his mistress, and fear not to
destroy her ; for she is only beautiful in appearance, but is
really no more than an earthly phantom sent to convince Has-
san Assar of the weakness of his heart, and the folly of his
sensual lusts.”—Having thus said, we ascended again into the
realms of light, and arose just between you and the phantom
which you blindly esteemed beyond the great blessings that are
designed for you.”
When Nakin Palata had ended her relation, the Caliph pros-
trated himself on the ground, and, thrice, adoring Alla and his
illustrious Prophet, he cried out, in the words of Nakin Palata:
‘I am at thy disposal, O Prophet.”—As he said this, the skies
lowered with thunder, and Omphram his Genius descended.
At her approach, the tomb cracked and divided, and Hassan
Assar again prostrated himself on the earth before the Genius
of his kingdom. -
‘Happy, happy, happy Caliph happy art thou, O Hassan
Assar !' cried out Omphram, “who canst submit to the will of
thy, Prophet; happy art thou in thy choice, and happy is Nakin ,
Palata in exchanging a barbarous savage for a wise, prudent,
º


History of HAssAN Ass AR, THE CALIPH of BAGDAT. 177
…
and religious monarch.-Nor shalt thou find, 0 Hassan Assar,’
continued the Genius of Omphram, ‘that the commands of Ma-
homet are grievous or heavy to be borne : for now look at her
whom thou hast despised, and examine the features of the once
detestable Nakin Palata.”
At her command, the Caliph Arose from the ground : but oh!
how was his soul transported, when he beheld the countenance
of his bride changed, and Nakin Palata glowing with every
charm with which nature could invest her.
.
“Ah, Caliph P continued Omphram, ‘be not too much trans-
ported by the outward appearance of things; it is because you
love each other, that you seem thus beautifully changed: nor
are you less amiable in the eyes of Nakin Palata, than she is in
your sight, O Caliph This shall continue while your love
continues : but when you, by caprice, by resolute superiority,
or by a vexatious ill-nature, put on the frown of disapprobation,
then shall you be divested of this amiable comeliness, and stand
...: like a cruel and insulting tyrant before your trembling bride :
and when either her love or her obedience fails, then shall she
be again transformed, and wear the disgusting complexion of a
tawny negro.” - * * * *
Having thus said, she took Hassan Assar and his bride into
her chariot, which was drawn by two majestic lions; and wafted
them in the air to the Caliph's palace at Bagdat.
His subjects, when they heard of his arrival, all flocked to
the presence of their royal master, and welcomed, with the
warmest affection, his long-wished return. Hassan Assar pre-
sented to them his beauteous bride, and declared her the only
Sultana of his realms. The court rang with joyous accalma-
tions, and all hailed the amiable Nakin Palata. Omphram de-
clared to them the reasons of the Caliph's choice, and promised
in the name of the Prophet, a royal successor. At this assu-
rance, the palace again re-echoed with the voices of his sub-
y
jects; and nothing was heard in the kingdom but the praises of
Hassan Assar; the loving, obedient, and religious Caliph, and
Nakin Palata, the joy and consort of the best of princes.
Omphram having ended her tale, the sage Iracagem waved
his wand, and commanding the race of the faithful to sit down
on the carpets spread under their feet, he ordered a collation
worthy of his race to be produced. A number of inferior
Genii immediately brought in a service of milk and rice.
‘Plain, like their instruction,” said he, ‘is the diet of the
Faithful ; their desires are not after the flesh, but after the im-
mortal food of the mind. As the courser despiseth the pastures
over which he engageth in the race, so doth the child of Hea-
ven pass by the pleasures of the sons of earth. To satisfy the
mind is the business of our race, and to liken it to the image of
its original fountain : feed then, my children,’ continued Ira-


178 HISTORY OF HAssan AssaR, THE CALIPH OF BAGDAT.
cagem, ‘the necessary cravings of your earthly frames; but
suffer not the clay-moulded case to weigh down the precious
jewel it contains.”
The disciples of the Genii having finished their abstemious re-
past, Hassarack was ordered to recite the tale of Kelaun and
Guzzarat.
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_ _ _
----


THE As TR o Lo GER
OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
CIRCLE THE FIRST.
THE NARRATIVEs of CRoNHEIM AND HERRMAN, WHICH HAVE
NEveR BEFoRE BEEN MADE PUBLIC ; BEING TRANSLATED
FRom. A curious GERMAN work, ExPRESSLY
For THE PRESENT OCC Asion.
BLUsTeRING winds and chilling rain proclaimed the unwelcome
approach of winter; yellow Autumn saw her leafy honors fall
to the ground; loud roared the storm across the Elbe, whose
ruffled waves curled to the boisterous breath of Æolus. No
more the silent grove resounded with the voice of harmony and
love. In hollow trees or moss-bemantled walls the feathered
songsters sought shelter from the rude unfriendly blast. The
raven alone, from some sequestered tower, mixed his hoarse
notes with the hoarser cries of the ominous bird of night. Safe
in his peaceful cot, the honest husbandman rested from his won-
ted toils, and, while his well-fed fire defended him from the in-
clemency of the weather, enjoyed in sweet tranquillity the fruits
of his former labor.
After a long-lamented absence of more than thirty years,
Herrman had the satisfaction of welcoming his friend Cronheim
to his house, Educated together from their infancy, they had
early formed a mutual attachment, which gradually ripened in-
to the sincerest friendship, and united their hearts by the most
endearing ties, ties not less binding, not less sacred and in-
vincible, than those of blood.
Great, therefore, was the reluctance with which they parted
from each other, after having completed their studies at the
University of Gottingen. Herrman engaged himself as pri-
vate tutor to a nobleman of distinction, with whom he made the
tour of Europe; whilst Cronheim, being of a more gay and
volatile disposition, sought his fortune in the wars.
The feeling heart alone can picture to itself the mutual plea-
sure and rapturous delights which our two friends experienced
at embracing each other, after an absence of so many years.
Time had not yet extinguished the fire of youth and the wonted
impetuosity of Cronheim's temper. “Brother,” cried he.


4 THE ASTROLOGER.
giving his hand to his friend,-4 Brother,” let us forget the
dull counsels of age ; let us, while indulgent fortune still grants
me to enjoy your company, live as in the days that are passed;
let us live as if the thirty years we have spent separated from
each other had never been registered in the iron calendar of .
Time.” w -
Eagerly did Herrman assent to this proposal of his friend.
His estate lay on the pleasant banks of the Elbe, and was, for
situation, unrivalled. Woods, meadows, brooks, warrens, hills,
and dales, relieving, each other, incessantly diversified the
scene; Nature had thown the whole into such agreeable con-
fusion and disorder, that it required very little improvement to
render his abode the most delightful, picturesque, and romantic
spot that can possibly be conceived.
Cronheim, who, for hunting, was a second Nimrod, had here
the fairest opportunity of gratifying his favourite passion; nor
was Herrman a whit behind him in his pursuits. Pleasing was
it to behold the youthful ardor with which our sturdy veterans,
at peep of dawn, would bound over hill and dale, to chase the
flying stag, or bristly bear. -
Already had a week elapsed in these delightful, health-be-
stowing exercises: every morning was devoted to the chase;
and when, spent and languid, they returned from the pleasing
sport, a rural repast and good old Rhenish wine refreshed their
weary limbs; nor was the bottle or the pipe laid aside till Even-
ing long had spread her sable mantle over the globe, and steep-
ed their eyelids in the dews of sleep.
But now a change of weather put a stop to their sports.
Loud, as we have already observed, loud roared the bleak tem-
pestuous storm; the rattling hailstones beat violently against
the windows, threatening destruction to these brittle channels
of light. Herrman and Cronheim saw themselves obliged to
relinquish the chase: in pleasing conversation they endeavor-
ed to beguile the tedious hours, whilst they recapitulated the
deeds of former times, and rehearsed the past adventures of
youth. Evening approached, and found them still indulging
the talkative disposition of age. - -
Louder and louder roared the storm, fierce and more wild
raged the conflicting elements; Herrman, with lavish hand,
heaped fresh logs upon his friendly fire, and, pushing round
the mirth-inspiring glass—
“Whilst angry elements do quarrel,
Be their’s, he cried, the bustle, our’s, the barrel.”
- Pleased with the cheerful humor o his fien' Cronheim
recruited his pipe, and, after a short pause,_*Brother,” he
began, “hast thou any faith in supernatural agency? dost thou
believe in ghosts?”


e
THE ASTROLOGER. 5
*-
Herrman replied only with a negative shake of his head.
“Neither am I a perfect believer in such strange appear-
ances,” resumed Cronheim; “and yet, during my travels through
a certain part of Germany, it was my fate to experience a
strange mysterious series of adventures, which I have never
been able to explain to my entire satisfaction.”
This address excited Herrman's most serious attention; his
curiosity was raised to the highest pitch. Cronheim did not
long hold him in suspense, but began his narrative, to the fol-
lowing effect:- w
My arrival at Francfort happened to be jnst at the com-
mencement of the fair. The bustle of the place, the incredi-
ble concourse of people from every part of Europe, the cease-
less and diversified round of shows, entertainments, and every
possible sort of pleasure and pastime, seemed to promise that
my time would not easily hang heavy upon my hands; for
which reason Idetermined to pass a few weeks in that place.
The inn in which I lodged, being one of the first in the
town, was crowded with strangers in every part; among whom
an elderly gentleman distinguished himself, and attracted uni-
versal notice, by the singularity of his dress, the bluntness of
his manners, and a kind of mystical reserve in all his actions.
His appearance commanded respect: no bramin could exceed
him in gravity of countenance; no quaker in plainness of ap-
parel. He occupied the best apartments in the inn, was attend
ed by his own servants, took no notice of, much less entered
into conversation with, any of his fellow lodgers, went out re-
gularly every day after dinner, and seldom returned home till
midnight. Though he frequented all public places of resort,
he was never once seen to associate with a single individual,
but walked up and down, solitary and pensive, like a man bur-
dened with a heavy load upon his spirits, and distracted with
Care. *
The extraordinary character of this stranger excited a de-
sire to be better acquainted with him; for this purpose I began
my inquiries with the landlord; but who, shrugging up his
shoulders, answered me only with a significant shake of his
head. My next application was to the waiters; but they like-
wise shrugged up their shoulders, and were as ignorant as the
landlord. In short, I found it impossible to procure the smal-
lest intelligence concerning the stranger. No one seemed to
know anything about him.
I had not been a week in Francfort before I had the mis-
fortune to lose my purse. This loss I attributed to my care-
lessness; and, not doubting but some of the professors of
legerdemain had been dexterous enough to lighten my pocket,
either as I enteréd or came out of a booth where wild beasts
1%
º


*
*
o
- t
t
6 • THE ASTRoloGER.
were exhibited, I prudently determined to be more cautious
and circumspect in future.
Next morning, however, in spite of all my care, I perceived
a new loss which gave me infinitely more concern than I had
experienced for my purse. The miniature picture of my Eliza,
which I wore suspended by a riband round my neck, and never
took of, except when I undressed for bed, was nowhere to be
found. I therefore took the waiters pretty sharply to task:
these, however, not only disclaimed all knowledge of the pic-
ture, but manifested, at the same time, no small displeasure at
the injustice of my suspicions.
In hopes of dissipating my chagrin, I went in the evening to
the theatre: a handsome female, at a distant part of the house,
caught my eye; I put my hand into my pocket, and began to
feel for my opera-glass, rummaging first one pocket, then the
other; but all to no purpose, the opera-glass was fairly gone.
“Well,” thought I, “this is very extraordinary, and with that
began to congratulate myself that contrary to my usual prac-
tice, I had left my pocket-book at home.”
A boy with a link lighted me to a neighboring tavern, after
the conclusion of the performance. At the door, I gave my
conductor the usual gratuity; and, putting my hand at the
same time, instinctively, to my fob, discovered that my watch
/
was missing !
In a fit of rage, I swore not to spend another night in
Francſort, being firmly persuaded that I had been singled out
as their mark by some of the light-fingered gentry; who actu-
ated by the same principle as other taders—“the sacred thirst
of gain,”—are equally punctual in their attendance at fairs, and
every other opportunity of making money. Resolved, there-
fore, to pack up my things early the next morning, and leave a
place where I had experienced nothing but misfortunes, I sea-
ted myself in sullen despondency, without taking the least
notice of the company around. Already had I finished my
supper, and was preparing to º when at the very moment
that I pushed back my seat, “Pray, Sir, what o'clock is it?”
demanded a neighboring voice. I made no answer to this
question, which so unseasonably reminded me of my new loss.
“What o'clock is it, Sir?” interrogated the same voice a
second time. “I cannot tell;” I replied with peevish impa-
tience, still advancing towards the door.
“Have you no watch, then?” was the next demand. Vexed
at the officious impertinence of the stranger, I turned round
to look at him, and oh! heavens! what was my surprise at be-
holding, in the person of my inquirer, no other than my fellow
lodger in the inn, the elderly unsociable gentleman, whose
character had before so much excited my curiosity.
t
|
i.
-


z THE ASTROLOGER. 7
The serious look with which he regarded me sufficiently in-
dicated that he expected an answer to his question.
“My watch,” I began— - º
“Has been stolen from you,” interrupted the stranger ;
“however, give yourself no uneasiness. I have been fortunate
enough to discover the thief. Here, Sir, is your watch, and
take better care of it in future.”
I stood for some time mute with astonishment. The same
hands which purloined my watch had I made no doubt, exer-
cised their ingenuity on the other articles I had lately lost.
This rendered me extremely anxious to know the offender, but,
before I was sufficiently recovered from my surprise to com-
mence my inquiries, the stranger had left the room.
. I immediately hurried back to the inn: the stranger did not
return till midnight. The moment I heard his footsteps on the
stairs, I flew to meet him; and, making a low bow, began to
thank him for the recovery of my watch. But the unsociable
gentleman, without deigning to take the least notice of my dis-
tourse, passed abruptly by me, and, entering his own apartment,
locked the door after him. .
All subsequent attempts to enter into conversation with the
wonderful stranger proved equally abortive. In the inn, he
constantly kept himself locked in his own apartment, and, in
places of public resort, seemed assiduously to avoid me. Three
days passed in fruitless endeavours; at length, provoked with
the old gentleman's unaccountable reserve, I determined to
give myself no further trouble about him, but, packing up my
portmanteau, fixed upon the following day for my departure,
although I had met with no loss or disaster since the recovery
of my watch.
. Previous to my leaving Holstein, I had been supplied by my
uncle, Mr. Vander Laer, of Hamburg, with bills for a consid-
erable amount, drawn upon a certain house in Leipzig, with
which, my uncle transacted business. Being low in cash, I
resolved to get these bills negotiated in Francfort, and there-
fore set out, immediately after breakfast, in quest of a merchant
to whom I had been recommended for that purpose. I met
with little difficulty in finding out the house, but had so much
the more in finding my pocket-book, which, after feeling for it
first in the right pocket, then in the left, then in the right
again, and so on alternately for a full half hour, was actually
missing.
“I certainly must have left,it at home!” cried I: and, posting
back to the inn, unpacked my trunk, and emptied its contents.
a dozen times at least; but all to no purpose,_pocket-book
and notes were irrecoverably lost.
How I passed the remainder of the day after this discovery,
I shall not attempt to describe. Evening approached, and


8 THE ASTROLOGER.
~,
found me still busy in rummaging every hole and corner in
quest of my pocket-book, which, however, was not forthcoming.
The greatness of my loss hardly suffered me to be convinced
of its reality; after one of the most uneasy nights that can
possibly be conceived, I renewed the search next morning, but
with no better success than before. . -
A stranger in a foreign land, without money, without friends,
I now beheld myself the slave of necessity; and, with my eyes
fixed sullenly upon the ground, stood wringing my hands, and
calling down curses upon myself, and the unknown author of
my calamity, when I was roused from my painful reflections by
a sudden knock at the door. “Walk in,” I cried with peevish
impatience: the door flew open, and who should make his ap-
pearance but my fellow lodger, the strange unsociable gentle-
man!
“Young man,” (presenting a bill to me) here is sufficient to
carry you home to your friends; the post sets out to-morrow
morning. I wish you a pleasant journey: farewell!”
In an instant the draft lay upon the table, and away hurried
the donor, before I had time to recover from my surprise, or to
utter a single syllable. Astonishment long held me, as it were,
chained to my seat; but curiosity” to be acquainted with the
nature of the stranger's bounty, getting at length, the better
of my amazement, I proceeded to examine the paper, which I
found to be a bill for one hundred and twenty 'dollars, drawn
upon a merchant in Francfort, and payable at sight.
If I was before confounded and surprised, I was now not
less vexed and chagrined at this adventure, in consequence of
which I saw myself debtor to the generosity of a stranger, whom
nobody seemed to know, whose very name and place of abode
I had in vain attempted to discover: what probability, therfore,
had I of ever acquitting myself of my obligations by making
restitution? “I must and will learn his address” was my final
determination; accordingly, I repaired to the stranger's apart-
ment, knocked at the door, but, to my great disapointment,
found him not at home. In hopes of dissipating my uneasiness,
I likewise resolved upon a walk, and hurried to join the busy
scenes of tumult and conſusion which the fair exhibited.
It was late when I returned to the inn. The stranger had
not arrived: his usual hour was midnight; I therefore proposed to
wait his return, and either to insist on knowing his address, or
else compel him to take his present back again. For this pur-
pose, leaving my door ajar I seated myself on a sofa, and
endeavored to beguile the tedious hours of expectation by read-
ing a German translation of Ossian.
Midnight approached without any signs of the stranger's re-
turn. I still continued streched upon the sofa; at length I grew
drowsy, Ossian droped out of my hands, my eye-lids closed in-
r


• THE ASTROLOGER. 9
voluntarily, and, overpowered by sleep, I already nodded when
I was suddenly roused by a noise at the door of my room. I
started up—all was silent. I opened the door—could hear noth-
ing. It certainly must have been imagination—I must have
fancied or dreamed that I heard a noise. Resuming, therefore,
my book, I rubbed my eyes, wiped them with a wet cloth, and,
that I might be in less danger of giving way to slumber, began
to read aloud: “Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it
some passing ghost?” -
Hardly had I pronounced the last words, when the noise re-
turned. I could plainly distinguish the tread of human feet along
the passage: the noise drew nearer and nearer. Presently I
believed I heard a trembling hand groping for the lock 6f the
door, which, opening gradually, discovered a female dressed
in white, with a veil over her face, that reached half way down
her shoulders.
Slow and solemn, with her back turned to me, she drew near
the table, took my watch, examined it attentively, sighed thrice
and deeply, replaced my watch upon the table, and continued
her walk to the opposite corner of the room. In repassing, she
rested her head upon her left hand, and, drawing her veil aside
with her right hand, I beheld, with horror and astonishment,
the very features of Eliza; but her countenance pale, her eyes
sunk and hollow, and her brow contracted with indignation.
After a short pause, she drew nearer, cast an angry look at
me, held up her hand in a threatening attitude, and, thrice
beating her breast, whilst heart-piercing groans burst from her
bosom, regained the door, and disappeared.
On recovering from my surprise, I found myself still seated
upon the sofa, and, revolving in my mind every concomitant
circumstance of this extraordinary apparition, was firmly per-
suaded that the whole adventure could be nothing but a dream.
I looked at my watch—it was exactly one o’clock. Impatient
at the stranger’s delay, I threw myself, dressed as I was, upon
the bed, and slept till late in the morning. My first care, upon
awaking, was to inquire of the waiter whether the strange
gentleman * returned to the inn during the last night. I
was answered in the negative. “Has he left Francfort?—
Did he make any mention of travelling?”
“To have given any notice to us of his intended journey,”
replied the waiter, “would be contrary to the mysterious re-
serve of his character; it is, however, probable enough that he
is gone. His reckoning he settles regularly every day after
dinner; and, as to trunks or baggage, he never carries any
thing of the kind along with him.” -
r". Suppose we step to his apartment; I am curious to satisfy
myself whether he be actually gone or not ”


... " * -
10 THE ASTROLOGER.
The key stood in the door; but, excepting tae usual furni-
ture of the room, not the smallest trace was there of any per-
son having lodged in it. -
This was to me a very unwelcome discovery. What hope
could I now have of ever being able to acquit myself of my
obligations to my unknown benefactor? More than once I felt
tempted to destroy the bill for which I stood indebted to his
bounty; but this, as I justly reflected, could in no shape cance,
or lessen my obligation. Suddenly the thought shot across my
mind, that perhaps the bill might be of no value; it might be
fictitious, might be drawn upon a person who was no where
to be found. Though this supposition, in case it should prove
true, threatened to involve me in my former embarrassment,
I took a strange delight in cherishing the idea, and, that I
might but an end to my suspense, showed the note to my land-
lord under pretence of inquiring after the merchant on whom
it was drawn. The innkeeper instantly described the street and
house, offering to send his boy with me to show me the way:
this, however, I thought proper to decline.
I went therefore alone, and tendered my bill for payment the
same morning. The merchant ran over the draft, and then fix-
ed his eyes with uncommon significance upon me. His looks
seemed expressive of something more than mere astonishment.
This I considered as a confirmation of my suspicions, and ex-
pected every moment to hear the validity of my bill called in
guestion. I found myself, however, mistaken; the merchant,
still eyeing me with the same significant attention, opened his
desk, and counted me the money. This seemed a favorable
opportunity to obtain some intelligence concerning the stranger
from whom I had received the note; I ventured, therefore to
question the merchant about the drawer of the bill. Evidently
disconcerted at this demand, the merchant shrugged his shoul-
ders, and, without making any reply, locked his desk and de-
parted! I found his conduct strangely mysterious: a confused
train of ideas rushed upon my mind; a walk seemed best cal-
culated to drive away the vapors; I repaired, therefore, to a
neighbors tea-garden. - -
he beauty of the weather had enticed a large concourse of
people to the place. I took my seat in a pleasant arbor,
where woodbine and whitethorn interwove their friendly bran-
ches, and, calling for chocolate, began, while this was prepar-
ing, to give free scope to my meditations, and to ruminate on
the strange occurrences I had witnessed during my short abode
at Francfort. Above, all, my dream engrossed my most serious
thoughts; the more I reflected upon every particular, the more
extraordinary I found it. Eliza's look, her wrathful counte-
nance, the threatening manner in which she held up her hand


* x
, THE ASTROLOGER. 11
w -
—and but too well I knew how justly I deserved her anger—
all appeared so natural, so suited to my present circumstances,
that sometimes I felt inclined to consider last night's adven-
ture as more than a mere dream. But against this opinion
reason and incredulity raised a thousand unanswerable objec-
tions. . I endeavored to banish the whole idea from my mind;
in vain,_my dream returned, revolted, recoiled upon my
imagination; opposition only served to give it additional force.
Painful was the struggle between contending sentiments;
I could support the conflict no longer: forgetful of the com-
pany, I broke out into a loud exclamation—“Yes! it must
have been a dream.” “’Twas no dream,” rejoined a voice, fa-
miliar to my ear. Astonished and confounded, I lifted up my
eyes; the strange gentleman, my unknown friend and benefac-
tor, stood before me. -
“Young man,” he continued, “if you wish to be satisfied
relative to what you saw last night, meet me at ten o’clock this
evening, at the corner of Frederic Street, facing the Dolphin.”
Without waiting my reply, the stränger hurried out of the ar-
bor, and in an instant lost himself among the crowd.
Soon after, the waiter made his appearance with the chocol
late, but my appetite was gone. I traversed the garden, wan-
dered up and down its walks, searched every where for the
wonderful stranger, inquired after him of the waiters, described
him, characterized him, offered a reward to any one that should
discover him, but all to no purpose; none of the waiters had
seen any person that answered his description. -
Chagrined at the ill success of my inquiries, I returned to
the inn, and, with a kind of secret horror, entered my apart-
ment, where the image of Eliza seemed still to hover round me.
Painful conjectures tortured my mind: her pallid counte-
nance, hollow eyes, and the signs of mortality portrayed in her
looks, filled me with the most gloomy apprehensions. The
place became insupportable: restless and uneasy, I wandered
from one scene of bustling impertinence to another; from the
inn to the coffee-house, from the coffee-house to the mall, from
the mall to the exhibition-room, from the exhibition-room to the
fair, to the booths, to puppet-shows, merry Andrews, wild
beasts, &c.—Nothing could restore me to tranquillity—nothing
afford me relief—nothing calm the tempest of my thoughts.
With the approach of evening, my assignation with the won-
derful incognito engrossed my meditations. Strange ideas,
unaccountable forebodings, harrassed my mind. The time, the
place of meeting, seemed equally mysterious and alarming.
“Why not fix upon an early hour?” Why not upon his own
sapartment at the inn; Go I, or go 1 not?” I incessantly put


ºr *
12 - THE ASTROLOGER.
the question to myself, while my wavering resolution, like a
air of scales, preponderated this way, then that, alternately.
“What risk, what danger, mayest, thou expose thyself to
by going?” demanded Prudence. “What discoveries mayest
thou make?” replied Curiosity: “to-morrow is the day appoin-
ted for thy departure from Francfort, and this very night an
opportunity offers of obtaining light, and satisfactory informa-
tion, concerning all the strange and intricate occurrences which
have lately taken place. How wilt thou repent having neglec-
ted so favorable an opportunity? And of whom standest thou
in dread? Shame upon thy manhood, to tremble at an , old
grey-headed gentleman.” “A gentleman to whom thou art, .
moreover, under obligations,” added Pride, “which this very
evening thou mayest learn to acquit thyself of.”—Yes, I go,
was the conclusion of my deliberations. -
It was now within half an hour of ten o’clock. I returned
to the inn to prepare for my intended expeditions. . The land-
lord meeting me at the door, accosted me with more than usual
gaiety. -
“Sir,” he began,” I have an agreeable piece of news to
communicate, that will, I make no doubt, afford you equal plea-
sure and surprise.”
“What is it?” I demanded with astonishment.
“During your abode in my house, you have had the misfor-
tune to lose, at different times, sundry valuable articles.”
“That, indeed, is but too true,” I replied, with a look that
seemed to ask, whether this was the pleasant and surprising
news my landlord had announced. w
“These losses,” continued the innkeeper, “ have been pro-
ductive of much trouble and uneasiness to me, as well as to
yourself, Sir. For the credit of an inn, you know, Sir”—
“To the point, if you please,” I interrupted him, being im-
patient to be gone.
“It seems, Sir, you lost your purse, the miniature picture
of i. yºung lady, an opera-glass, and likewise your pocket-
book. - -
- d “Your inventory of my loss is very exact, very accurate, in-
eed!” - -
“All these articles,” resumed the innkeeper, “you will
find faithfully restored; they lie this present moment upon the
table in your apartment.”
“Explain yourself!” I exclaimed, trifle with my impatience
no longer.” -
“The matter is even as I relate. It is hardly an hour ago,
since a stränger brought these things to my house.”
“A stranger, do you say? He can be no stranger to you,
I should suppose?” - -


w THE ASTROLOGER. 15
“Who, then, do you imagine it to be, Sir?” demanded the
innkeeper.
“Who else,” I replied, “but the elderly gentleman, your
former lodger?” * - *
The innkeeper shook his head; at the same instant he was
called off to some company. I hurried up stairs; every thing
corresponded with the landlord's relation. On the table lay
my purse, the miniature-picture, opera-glass, and pocket-
book; I examined the latter, and found my notes safe and un-
touched. I stood petrified with amazement,
That this was a fresh obligation conferred upon me by my
unknown benefactor I had little room to doubt, “But how,”
thought I; “by what means can he have been enabled to effect
this restoration? Why anticipate, as it were, his own appoint-
ed time of meeting? Can he have entertained any doubt of my
punctuality in attending his assignation? or has he, perhaps,
been compelled, by unavoidable, unforeseen necessity, to ac-
celerate his departure from Francfort?” The latter conjec-
ture, whilst it appeared the most unpleasant, since it deprived
me of all possibility of repairing the sum for which I stood in-
debted to the stranger's bounty, at the very time when the re-
covery of my own notes put this restitution in my power.
However, as the stranger's departure was not positively certain;
as the whole of his character and conduct had been in the
highest degree mysterious ; as his disinterested benevolence,
inflexible integrity, and unexampled philanthropy, rendered it
improbable that he should fail in his promise of meeting me,
without the most cogent reasons, I determined to repair to the
appointed place of rendezvous.
“Did the bearer of the lost articles, which I have thus un-
expectedly regained, leave no message relative to the author,
the place, the manner of their recovery?” addressing myself to
the innkeeper, in my way to the door.
“None in the world,” replied the innkeeper; “He said
neither more nor less than what I have already told you.
“Here are the things which M. Cronheim has lost during his
abode in your house ;” and, without giving me a moment's
time to question him further on the subject, laid them down up-
on the table, and departed.”
“Take care of this till my return,” said I, delivering the
key of my apartment to the landlord: my effects I have re-
gained ; for the future I leave them in your custody, from
you I shall expect them.” The time of assignation drew near:
I hurried away from the inn.
The clock struck ten: I kept my post at the corner of Fred-
eric Street. Dark was the night; loud and hollow roared the
wind ; not a star shone in the firmament ; every distant sound,


14 THE ASTROLOGER.
every approaching footstep, announced to my fond imagina-
tion the arrival of my unknown benefactor. I ran to meet the
coming passenger, accosted every one that fell in my way, but
found myself continually mistaken. Repeated disappointments
served to confirm me in the opinion which I had already form-
ed on recovering my pocket-book, with the other articles of
my loss, as above related. My generous friend, thought I,
must have left Francfort, must have been under a sudden in-
dispensable necessity of travelling. I grew tired of waiting—
the sound of the church-clock again saluted my ears ; it was
eleven, and the stranger had not yet made his appearance.
Passengers were no longer heard at a distance ; midnight, si-
lence, impenetrable darkness, surrounded me ; vexed and dis-
contented, I set out on my return to the inn.
Hardly, however, had I advanced ten paces, before I fan-
cied I heard some one endeavoring to overtake me. “Stop,
Sir,” exclaimed the well-known voice of my long-expected
friend. I instantly turned round, and ran to meet him.
“Sorry am I,’” began the courteous stranger, “to have de-
tained you so long.”
“Longer, Sir, would I have waited with pleasure, had I been
certain of meeting you ; had I not been apprehensive that you
had left Francfort. I burn with impatience to see myself ex-
tricated from my doubts: to obtain your promised explanation
relative to the mysterious adventures I have lately experienced.
“That explanation you shall soon receive,” was the stran-
ger's reply: “follow me.” -
With long and hasty strides he now began to lead the way,
displaying more activity than could have been expected from
his years.
I followed him ; not a single word passed between us.
We soon approached the city gates: these were in an instant
thrown open by the guard, and now our way led across the
suburbs. -
At the extremity stood a lonely antiquated house or castle,
surrounded with a high wall, and apparently in a very ruinous
condition. The stranger stopped short ; three times he struck
with his staff against the massy gates: hollow sounded his
knocks through the solitary apartments. An old grey-headed
porter gave us admittance. The stranger demanded a light;
a lantern was brought: in mysterious silence he traversed the
rooms, where desolation seemed to have taken up her abode ;
all was waste, empty, uninhabited ; the old grey-headed por-
ter excepted, I saw no signs of a single living animal. After
passing through a long narrow passage, we came into a spa-
cious garden, if a place overgrown with briers and thorns may
deserve that title. Here, however, the former picture of si-
A.


16 THE ASTROLOGER.
turning himself round in his circle, he pronounced, with an
audible voice, at full length, the name of Eliza. I started
with horror and astonishment. Instantly was heard a subterra-
neous noise, like the thunder under ground that forbodes an
earthquake, or when it rattles with aggravated peals, re-echo-
ing from thc neighboring mountains.
The stranger pronounced the name of Eliza the second
time, and with a voice louder and more awful, than before.
A flash of lightning shot across the room, which shook with
the roaring of the deep-mouthed thunder.
Louder, and still more dreadful, the stranger pronounced
the name of Eliza the third time. A sudden trembling siezed
upon me—the whole summer-house seemed to be on fire—the
round gave way under my feet—I sunk down—the spirit of
liza hovered over me—my senses forsook me.
A violent rocking gradually restored me to the use of my
faculties. At first I fancied myself tossed to and fro by invisi-
ble hands, while a rattling noise invaded my ears. The jolt-
ing still increased. Presently, I perceived myself seated in a
vehicle that rolled along with surprising velocity. Impenetra-
ble darkness surrounded me—it was impossible for me to dis-
tinguish a single object. I found myself terribly confined and
straightened for want of room: somebody sat at my right hand,
but whether my companion belonged to the spiritual or corpo-
real race of beings, I was not sufficiently recovered for my
surprise to determine. - -
Meanwhile the carriage rolled along with increasing rapid-
idity, but either the roads must have been extremely rugged
and uneven, or my driver, being unaquainted with the country,
was unable to select his way in the dark, for we encountered
such terrible shocks from loose stones, the roots and broken
branches of trees, &c. that I expected, every moment, to see
the vehicle overset, and dashed in pieces. How long I contin-
ued in this miserable situation it is difficult to ascertain, as you
may reasonably suppose that one hour's travelling in this mode
might well seem longer than a journey from Leipzig to Dres-
den in a stage coach. At length a most tremendous shock
put a period to our expedition: the charioteer drove fiercely
over a prostrate mile-stone—off flew one of the wheels—and
down came the carriage in an instant.
“Jesus! Maria ſ” exclaimed my companion; who, falling
right upon me, pressed me with such true, unequivocal, and
substantial weight, that, had I been capable of the least reflec-
tion, I might soon have satisfied my former doubts, whether
; assoicate belonged to the immaterial or corporeal race of
eings. -
Excruciating torments awakened me from the state of stu-
pefaction in which I had lain several minutes Rough voices


THE ASTROLOGER. 17
z
repeatedly called for help, and presently a countryman with a
lantern, ran to our assistance. On opening my eyes, I per-
ceived two men standing over me each holding a horse appa-
rently just unharnessed from the broken carriage. They attempt-
ed to liſt me up; my agonies increased—I found myself unable
to stand, and entreated them, for God’s sake, to let me lie.
A second attempt was made to raise me on my feet: in vain;
it appeared that my thigh was broken. No sooner was this
discovery made, than the two men swung themselves upon
their horses, and promising to procure assistance in the first
town or village they should find, galloped off at full speed, leav-
ing me to the care of the peasant, who kindly did all in his
power to comfort and encourage me. -
The night was piercing cold, which greatly added to the
poignancy of my torments. A whole hour elapsed—no help
made its appearance—the men with the horses seemed to be
in no hurry to return. At length the distant rattling of a car-
riage was heard: the countryman with his lantern ran to meet
it; it proved to be a coach and four.
“Stop, for the love of Christ!” he exclaimed, and briefly
related the disaster which had just befallen me. A middle-aged
gentleman sprang out, and, with the assistance of the country-
man and his own attendants, conveyed me to the carriage,
where having seated me as conveniently as circumstances
would admit, he gave orders to drive as gently as possible.
Hardly had the morning began to dawn when we entered a
populous village on the estate of Baron von Kampenhausen:
such was the gentleman's name who afforded me protection in
my present calamity. I was immediately conveyed to the
manor-house. A servant, dispatched for that purpose, soon
returned with a surgeon; the necessary operations were per-
formed, after which I was put to bed. My kind and noble
benefactor paid me all possible attention, sat hours together by
my bed-side, and as soon as I was sufficiently recovered to enter
into conversation, entertained me alternately with his discourse,
and reading extracts from the best French and German authors.
At the expiration of nine weeks I was able to lay my
crutches aside, and, taking an affectionate leave of Baron von
Kampenhausen, return to Francfort. My sudden disappear-
ance from that place had greatly alarmed the landlord of the
inn where I lodged; who, having made many fruitless inquiries
after me, gave me entirely up for lost. Great, therefore, was his
surprise at my unexpected return, after so long an absence.
Hardly would he credit his own eyes, when I first made my
appearance, but, crossing himself, and adjuring me in the name
of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, began the usual preamble
which, from time immemorial, has been deemed an infallible
2%


13 THE ASTRoloGER
charm against hobgoblins of every description. However,
after I had with some difficulty satisfied him that it was no appa-
rition, but a bond fide flesh-and-bone inhabitant of this terra-
- }. globe, I received my effects at his hand, and, the day
ollowing, set out from Francfort, on my way to Switzerland.
Here Cronheim ended his wonderful narrative, and, anx- .
iously fixing his eyes on Herrman, seemed at once to wish,
and yet dread, to hear the judgment his friend would pass upon
it.
Aſter a short pause, “Marvellous,” began Herrman, “is the
relation I have just heard—marvellous to such a degree, that
had I not myself experienced adventures of a similar, or even
more wonderful nature, and which probably may be more inti-
mately connected with your own history than you would at first
imagine, I must candidly acknowledge I should be apt to call
the authenticity of your narrative into question.”
Cronheim, who fully expected to find, not only a severe
critic, but an incredulous hearer, in the person of his friend,
was all impatience to be made acquainted with the wonders
which Herrman had announced; but the latter, observing that
the night was already far spent, and that, as he was only a
partial actor in the drama, it would be necessary for him to con-
sult some papers in which the history was continued and
brought to its catastrophe, begged leave to postpone his rela-
tion till the following day, with which demand Cronheim readi-
ly acquiesced.
Aurora, with rosy fingers unlocking the chrystal gates of
light, ushered in the sprightly morn. Clear and unclouded
shone the sky, hushed was the storm, the weather appeared the
very reverse of what it had been the preceding day. Cronheim,
notwithstanding, manifested no inclination for the chase; but,
at breakfast, took occasion to remind his friend of last night's
promise, and anxiously inquired whether he had found the pa-
pers to which he then alluded.
Herrman replied in the affirmative, and at the same time
gave him to understand that, on account of the immoderate
length of his history, his design was to relate at present only as
far as himself had been an acting person in the drama. - The
remainder, which formed by far the greatest part of his history,
he promised to deliver to him in writing, but not before the time
fixed for his departure; lest, he added, ghost and necroman-
cers should so entirely engross their thoughts, as to leave no
time for the more rational, solaces of friendship.
Cronheim declared himself satisfied with this proposal,
and Herrman, as soon as he had reloaded his pipe, began his
promised narative, to the following effect:
\ Soon after our separation on leaving Gottingen, I engaged
myself as private tutor to the young Count von Einsidel, a
*


THE ASTROLOGER. ' 19
nobleman not less distinguished by his virtues than by his
illustrious descent, with whom I travelled through thc greatest
part of Europe. Our tour lasted three years, and, though it
may be º that, in the course of so long a journey, in
which, like Ulysses, we had occasion to see—
“Mores hominum multorum et urbes,”*
we could not fail of meeting with many extraordinary adven-
tures: the most wonderful as well as the most dangerous of all
seems to have been reserved for our return to Germany from
Switzerland. -
We had already nearly cleared the Black Foresti, when, on
a sudden, the sky became overcast, the rain poured down in
torrents, and the vivid flashes of lightning, bursting right over
our heads, succeeded one another with such rapidity, that the
thunder, re-echoing from the woods, the rocks, and mountains,
seemed but one continued peal. To add to our distress, night
now began to approach: not such a night as tender lovers
choose to wander in by the moon’s pale lamp, and breathe their
amorous vows—but rather a night, such as poets have con-
ceived, when Lapland witchest charm the laboring moon, and
bring her down to earth, whilst darkness, with her raven
wings outspread, hovering beneath the fair expanse of heaven,
forbids the starry host their mild effulgence to diffuse, and
cheer the traveller with their silver light.
We had not travelled many miles in this dismal condition,
before our postillion had the misfortune to lose his way; and,
what still aggravated our calamity, he did not perceive his mis-
take till it was already too late to rectify it. I shall not attempt
to describe the gloomy apprehensions which filled our minds
on his communicating to us, welcome intelligence. Our
postillion was naturally a lad ºf umor, and, agreeably to the
laudable practice of his profession, had entertained us all day
* Through many kingdoms, many towns he strayed,
And foreign customs, laws, and manners, weighed.
f This immense forest is situated in Swabia, and is by far the lar-
est in all Germany; known to the ancients by the name of Sylva
#. Caesar gives a description of it in his Commentaries,
where he affirms it to be nine days’ journey in breadth, and three
score in length.
f “Thessalae mulieres wellunam e coelo detrahere profitebantur.
Repente enim luna, cum plena esset et sublimis, facta est obscura,
lumineque deficiente multiplicius mutatis coloribus evanuit.”—Unde
'Virgilius, Eclog. viii.
“Carmina vel coelo possunt deducere Lunam.”
º Song, mystic song, attracts the laboring Moon.
Confer, et Horatium, Epod. v. et xvii.


20 THE ASTROLOGER,
º
with a recital of the numberless murders, robberies, rapes, &c.
which had been perpetrated in this immense forest. We had
likewise, in many instances, received ocular demonstrations of
the truth of his reports from the numberless crosses which in
this country are erected on the spot where any murder has been
committed, partly with a view to put travellers upon their guard,
and partly to entreat their prayers for the Iest of the souls of
the defunct. Hardly an hour passed without our meeting one
or more of these crosses, with the following inscription:
* *
NEAR THIS PLACE WAS MURDERED
N. N.
ALL GOOD CHRISTIANS PRAY FOR
- HIS SOUL.
As we wished for nothing more ardently than to extricate
ourselves from this dismal situation as soon as possible (being
not less in purgatory ourselves than the souls of those for whom
eur prayers were desired), we ordered the postillion to lose no
time in fruitless attempts to regain the right road to the town
we had originally designed to put up at, but rather to drive
straight forward with the utmost expedition, till we should have
the good fortune to light on some human habitation, where
we might pass the remainder of the night in safety. With this
request our Jehu willingly complied, and after exercising his
whip for a full hour with all the fury of his illustrious prede-
cessor of that name, we found ourselves emerging from our
worse than Cimmerian forest, upon the entrance of a large
plain or common. º f
“Blessed Wirgin-mother of God!” exclaimed the postillion,
with a degree of ecstacy not to be conceived, “we are at last
in open country, and, if I am not mistaken, my Lord, at no
great distance from a village.”
The music of the spheres could not have sounded more de-
lightful and harmonious to the count and myself than this in-
telligence from our postillion: nor was it long before his con-
jectures were confirmed by a hideous howl which half a score
of dogs set up on our nearer approach. *
Great was our joy at beholding once more the peaceful a-
bodes of man. The village we found to be of considerable extent,
but the inn, if such it may be called, was one of the most exe-
crable that ever I set foot in the whole course of my life. “Ben-
edicite!” exclaimed the landlord, all astonishment at seeing a
postchaise draw up before his door, a phenomenon which
caused him to stare as much as if the Grand Turk in person
*


THE ASTROLOGER. 21
had come to pay him a visit. It was no wonder, therefore, if
the fair of the house contained nothing more than a few smoak-
ed sausages, some rusty bacon, and a stale loaf of brown bread
Wine or beer, he assured us, was not to be had in the whole
neighborhood; and such was the goodness of his brandy, that
even our postillion was glad to wash his mouth after swallowing
a glass of it.
I inquired whether the lord of the manor resided on his
estate, hoping to meet with better accommodation from the hos-
pitality of a stranger; but received for answer, that the manor-
house was entirely waste and uninhabited, nobody having
been able to live in it for this century past, and upwards: I de-
manded the reason.
“Why, as to the matter of that, look ye, gentlemen,” replied
the land-lord, “it is an affair which nobody much cares to speak
about—neither dare I, on any account, give you any item of
the buisness to-night; but wait,” he added, “till to-morow
morning, and then, if you are not able to divine the cause your-
selves, why I will even let you into particulars.”
As little satisfied with this reply as my self, the count pres-
sed the landlord to be more explicit, and even insisted on hav-
ing a categorical answer to the question I had put; but our
landlord was not to be prevailed upon; he continued shaking his
head, as stubborn as a mule, and, when he found that we would
not desist from our inquiries, left the room with evident signs
of displeasure, grumbling something about unlawful curiosity
and divine judgments, with other obscure hints, which to us
were quite unintelligible.
Vexed as we were at what we considered a most unpardon-
able instance of rudeness, we were fain to make the best of our
present circumstances, and digest our coarse unsavory fair as
we could. Indeed, the black Spartan broth of Leonidas would
have been a downright luxury, compared to the miserable en-
tertainment we partook of on this occasion; but experience ver-
ified the old proverb, that “hunger is the best sauce.”
After we had finished our homely repast, and somewhat ap-
peased the cravings of nature, we laid ourselves down upon
some clean fresh straw, which here supplied the place of a bed
to our weary limbs. The count was presently buried in a pro-
found sleep; whilst I kept turning from side to side, and, har-
rassed by a thousand unaccountable apprehensions, found it im-
possible to close my eyes. In this state of uneasiness I con-
tinued till the watchman, with hoarse voice, announced the
solemn hour of midnight. My ears were instantaneously alarm-
ed with the distant sound of horses’ hoofs, and the echoing
I thunder of trumpets, horns, and other wind instruments. The
noise drew near, and presently a whole troop of horse seemed
to pass in full gallop by the window, the air at the same time
º
- º


22 THE ASTRoLog ER. -
resounding with such a full band of music, that, had it not been
for the unseasonable hour, added to the disagreeableness of
the night, I should have imagined his Serene Highness the
Elector, with his whole court and retinue, had marched through
the place on a royal hunting-party. The count awoke with
the noise, and, abruptly starting up—“What can be the mean-
ing of all this?” he demanded, with a mixture of fear and as-
tonishment. -
To this question I was as little able to give a satisfactory
answer as himself. I continued, therefore, to listen with the
greatest attention to what was transacting, and perceived, to
my no small surprise, that these nocturnal Nimrods had hardly
passed our inn, before the noise of their horses and instruments
died away, and the whole place was as silent as before. This
appeared to me exceedingly singular. ‘ I began afresh to give
free scope to the workings of a disturbed imagination, and, com-
paring in my mind the strange scene I had just witnessed with
the unaccountable reserve and dark inuendos of our landlord.
I attempted to unravel the mystery that seemed to envelop
, this adventure. As for the count, he soon relapsed into a pro-
found slumber, and snored away as heartily as ever.
* Setting aside the inclemency of the weather, it appeared to
me very improbable that any person should ride out on a hunt-
ing-party at midnight. This reflection induced me for some
time to regard the noise I had heard as the consequence of my
having dreamed to that effect: but when I took into serious
consideration the behaviour of our landlord, and the sudden
awaking of the count, I found myself greatly staggered, and
cannot deny but a secret horror invaded my whole frame.
Lost and bewildered in a painful labyrinth of conjecture and
doubt, I insensibly grew weary, of the strife between contend-
ing opinions. A gentle slumber, the welcome forerunner of
the somniferous deity, had already closed my eyelids, when I
was roused from my lethargy by the hoarse cry of the watch-
man, who, with the whole collected force of his lungs, gave
notice that the clock had just struck one in the morning. His
voice, however, though powerful enough to entitle him to be
called a second Boanerges, was soon drowned by the return of
the same alarming noise I had before heard. I immediately
arose, and, hastening to the window, which shook with the echo-
ing thunder of horns, trumpets, &c. resolved to satisfy my
curiosity relative to this nocturnal troop of Nimrods by ocular
demonstration; but, before I had time to throw the window
open, the whole squadron had passed the house in full gallop,
with a noise equal to the loudest whirlwind, and a few minutes
after the former silence succeeded, and all was quiet as the
grave.


24 THE ASTRO LOGER.
was a real fact, he testified a strong desire to be better ac-
quainted with the midnight hunters.
“That honor you may easily have,” replied the baron;
“only pass the night here, and we will bear you company.”
“Done !” cried the lieutenant; “I hold you to your word,
and who knows but our hunting gentry may be civil enough to
admit us of their party. In that case,” added he, laughing,
“we come in for our share of a haunch of venison.”
Hardly had he pronounced these words when the landlord
made his appearance—“Well, gentlemen,” he began (after
previously bidding us good morrow), “ did your honors hear
any thing extraordinary last night?”
“But too much!” was my reply; however, pray inform me
who, and what kind of hunters, they are that seem so fond of
exercising their sport at midnight?”
“Why yes, to be sure,” resumed the landlord, “these are
matters, as I said before, which one don’t much care to talk
about. I was unwilling to satisfy your inquiries yesterday, lest
your incredulous curiosity should precipitate you into mis-
chieſ, which, God above knows, has been the case with many;
however, as I promised to give you a relation of the whole af.
fair this morning, you shall find me as good as my word.
“Here, at the bottom of the village, stands a large house,
which formerly was the residence of the lord of the manor.
—Now, you must know, it so happened that, a great many
years back, one of these lords was a terribly wicked man, who
cared neither for God nor devil, and treated his subjects worse
than his cattle. Nobody could do any thing to please him.
—Even his own children he would bang and kick about like
dogs, and, for the least trifle, order them to be thrown into a
dark filthy hole or dungeon, where they were at last starved to
death. His subjects he never called by any other name than
his beasts, and as such he treated them. In short, he was a
true devil incarnate!
“Now, this wicked man delighted in nothing so much as in
hunting. In his woods he harbored all kinds of game, even
the most savage—wild.boars especially—which made terrible
havoc and ruination in the fields and gardens of his peasants:
and yet, if any of the latter only offered to drive away one of
, those furious animals, that was, perhaps, treading down his
corn or devouring his turnips, he was sure to be confined for
weeks together upon bread and water. Whenever this noble-
man thought proper to go a hunting, the whole village was
obliged to draw out and accompany him; and on these occasions
he would make them supply the place of dogs, and set them
upon the game, which whenever they were not able to catch,


• - The ASTROLOGER. 25
he would horsewhip and worry them with his hounds till they
fell down dead at his feet. -
“One time, as he was indulging in these cruel practices till
late at night, he was thrown from his horse, and broke his neck
upon the spot. The clergy would not suffer him to be inter-
red in the church-yard like a Christian, for which reason he
was buried in a corner of his park. But now the terrible judg-
ments of divine vengeance became manifest; for to the present
day his wretched soul is not suffered to rest. At certain stated
times and seasons the wrath of Almighty God obliges him
every night, the moment it strikes twelve, to ride through the
village, and, with Belzebub and his hellish train, to drive into
the manor-house, where he is fain to stay till one o'clock in the
morning, which no sooner is heard to strike, than the whole
infernal troop of them are remanded back to the bottomless pit.
“Since his death the manor-house has always been unten-
antable. Many who have foolishly attempted to sleep in it
have paid for their temerity with their lives. Nay, I know it
to be a fact, that several who have slept in my house, and who,
on hearing the noise of his approach, have been daring enough
to look out the window, have been punished with a swelled face,
or even a particular cast in their eye, if not with a total depri-
vation of sight, for their rash curiosity.” With these words
our landlord concluded his long-winded harangue; and, wist-
fully eyeing us all round, regaled his delighted optics with the
astonishment portrayed in our countenances. His pleasure was
w
however, of short duration; the lieutanant instantly bursting * -
out into a loud fit of laughter, for which, from the silence he
observed during the landlord’s narration, he seemed to have pur-
posely reserved the whole collected force of his lungs.
“Nay, Sir, you may laugh as you please,” replied the lat-
ter, with no small degree of impatience; “but I’ll venture to
lay the last farthing I’m worth in the world, that you laugh on
the other side of your mouth by to-morrow morning, provided
you have heart sufficient to stay here over night.”
“That you shall soon see,” was the lieutenant's reply; “not
only here, my good friend, but in the very castle itself: and,
were it haunted with a whole legion of devils—were it the very
palace and pandemonium of Beelzebub, will I pass the ensu-
ing night. These gentlemen, I make no doubt,” addressing
his discourse to the count and myself, “will gladly favor me
with their company.” -
My young nobleman was a man of honor. Not to accept
this challenge would have appeared to him an indelible stain
upon his character. His assent, therefore, was quickly given.
For my part, I started a thousand objections, and representing.
3


26 THE ASTROLOGER.
to the lieutenant the dangers we might expose ourselves to,
uncertain as we were what kind of spirits we should have to
deal with, left no argument untried to dissuade him from his
project; but the lieutenant, cutting me short, L
“I am a soldier, and wear a sword; and for gentlemen of
our profession, ghosts of every description, both with bodies
and without, have always the most prodigious respect ſ”
In short, I plainly saw that, by pretending to assert my ma-
gisterial authority over the count, I should only render myself ,
ridiculous without effecting my purpose ; for so resolutely bent
was he upon accompanying the lieutenant at all events, that I
am convinced he would have gone without me, had I persisted
in my refusal. Forced, therefore, however reluctantly, to com-
ply, I at length gave way to their entreaties; for to desert my .
pupil would have appeared to me an unpardonable breach of
trust. *
But how shall I describe the behavior of our landlord when
he found us fully determined upon the adventure . His as-
tonishment exceeded all conception, and with uplifted eyes and
hands, he conjured us, in the name of the ever blessed Virgin
Mary, and all the holy saints, to desist from so rash an enter-
prise. “I’ll answer for it with my head,” was his repeated
declaration, “that not one of you will live to see the light of
another day.”
The lieutenant, however, turning all his pious remonstran-
ces into ridicule, soon worked upon the irritability of his tem-
e per to that degree, that he left us to our fate, grumbling some
hearty curses as he hurried out of the room.
Our conversation, as may easily be imagined, turned more
upon spiritual than political subjects ; when, after having pret-
ty well exhausted our stock of ghostly knowledge, the lieuten-
ant proposed a walk to the haunted castle, very judiciously ob-
serving, that it might not, perhaps, be altogether amiss to take
a nearer view, by daylight, of those formidable premises which
we had fixed upon for our nocturnal rendezvous. This propo-
sal meeting with universal approbation, we hurried to put it in-
to immediate execution.
An enormous pile of building in the Gothic taste, but terri-
bly ruined and demolished, presented itself to our eyes. The
castle was surrounded with a high wall, besides a wide and
deep ditch in front, over which a drawbridge afforded us an
easy passage. We had no occasion to stand knocking at the
gate, for thrown, as it was, wide open, a troop of horse might
have entered it in full gallop. The appearance of the place
had something wonderfully awful and romantic. We drew, as
with one common consent, our hangers, the moment we set
foot in the hall. The pavement was of brick, but overgrown


THE ASTROLOGER. 27
with weeds and mouldering grass. From thence we contin-
ued our way through a flight of empty desolate apartments,
where spiders, rats, and owls, appeared to be the only tenants.
Windows covered with dirt, with cobwebs, and even moss it.
self, afforded no other light than what found admission through
the broken panes of glass: just sufficient to discover to our
view the mouldering remains of several ancient pieces of fur-
niture; chairs without backs, part of the iron-work of a large
lamp, suspended, by a chain of the same metal, from the ceil-
ing of one of the rooms; with two or three ricketty benches,
that seemed ready to fall to pieces under the touch: these were
the sole signs of the place ever having been inhabited by man.
Curiosity now prompted us to take a view of the subterrane-
ous apartments of this antique building. Previous to our set-
ting out on this expedition, we had the precaution to provide
ourselves with a lantern and the necessary apparatus for pro-
curing fire, which we now found exceedingly servicable. A
stone staircase, at the further extremity of the hall, conducted
us to a long, narrow, winding passage, arched over with brick-
work, and terminating in a door cased over with iron. The
lieutenant still leading the way, with his lanterm in one hand
and his drawn sword in the other, boldly advanced towards the
door, which, yielding to his push, discovered a large vaulted
place, resembling a cellar, but entirely empty, waste, and
darker than the shades of midnight. A tainted air, impregna-
ted with baneful vapors and pestilential dews, almost deprived
us of the faculty of breathing, when we set foot in this subter-
raneous dungeon. On each side, facing the entrance, we per-
ceived a pair of ſolding doors, secured with enormous bolts and
a prodigious portcullis of massy iron. In vain was it for us to
attempt further entrance. We hastened therefore from this
loathsome scene back to the hall, where, like fishes restored to
there native element, we felt our hearts expand on once more
breathing fresh air.
As this appeared to us the most eligible place for passing
the night, and giving our ghostly friends the meeting, in case
they should think proper to pay us a visit, we endeavored to
fit it up for their reception and our own as conveniently as pos-
sible. For this purpose, with the help of some rusty nails and
detached pieces of wood, which we found in abundance in the
solitary apartments, we at length contrived to make one broken
table stand pretty decently upon its legs. We next essayed
our ingenuity upon a couple of the ricketty benches, which
were likewise, with much trouble, put in a condition that prom-
ised to secure us from all danger of their breaking down under
uS.


28 - THE ASTROLOGER.
Not yet satisfied, however, with the discoveries we had
made, we wandered again through the spacious untenanted
apartments of the castle, but every where could meet with
nothing but mouldering monuments of ruin and decay. The
garden was the next place that curiosity prompted us to visit.
—Melancholy, indeed, was the prospect that here presented
itself—Here was literally a place for dragons, for beasts and
birds obscene, and for every thing that is filthy and abominable.
Overgrown as it was with thorns and briers, with thistles, weeds,
nettles, and long grass that whistled in the wind, our feet were
not seldom entangled in the mazy labyrinth, whilst, our han-
gers were fain to open us a passage, which the spreading
branches, indissolubly twisted and interwoven with each other
seemed unwilling to afford us... Thus we continued our toil-
some march through a long winding alley, formed of a double
row of beech-trees, that led to the extremity of the garden, at
the upper end of which we discovered, emerging from the con-
fused mass of briers, thorns, &c. that surrounded and almost
concealed it from our view, a black marble urn, supported by
a column of red porphyry. The workmanship was truly exqui-
site, but our eyes searched in vain for any inscription; and
already were we proceeding on our return, when the count’s
foot stumbled against some hard body, buried among the weeds,
at no great distance from the urn: on inspection, it proved to
be a wooden cross, on which the following words were barely
legible: -
Hic'JAcET
GODOFREDUS HAUSSINGERUS,
PECCATOR.
The date, if I mistake not, was 1603.
After gazing on each other for some time in silent astonish-
ment, “What gentlemen,” demanded the lieutenant, “is your
opinion of this curious epitaph?”
“For my part,” replied the count hastily, “I consider it as
a convincing evidence of the truth of our landlord's narration.”
Fatigued as we already were with the arduous task of open-
ing to ourselves a passage with our hangers through the mazy
windings and intricate labyrinths of this desolated place (for
garden it certainly could no longer be called, with any pro-
priety), we felt little inclination to extend our painful research-
es to its remoter parts, but hurried back to the main hall, where
meeting with no fresh objects to excite our curiosity we set
out on our return to the inn
# +


THE ASTROLOGER. 29
Our landlord, from whom we had cautiously concealed our
projected visit to the castle, was, on our return, almost petri-
fied with horror and astonishment at our bold, and, as he called
it astonishing presumption. At the same time, conceiving it
his duty to deter us, if possible, from rushing on certain and
immediate destruction, lest our blood, he observed, might per-
adventure fall upon him, he fairly washed his hands of us,
giving us the second edition of his morning lecture, enriched
with various additions, emendations, and improvements. But,
alas! his pious intentions met with no better success than
before. The lieutenant, indulging his natural propensity for
satire, soon rallied him out of all temper; wherefore, giving us
up for a precious triumvirate of stiffnecked incorrigible block-
heads, he only requested of us to settle the reckoning before
our departure; and, wishing us that success which he dared
not to hope, took his leave of us as of persons no longer de-
signed for this world.
It was between nine and ten at night that we sailed from the
inn, all three well armed with a hanger and a couple of pistols
per man; excepting the lieutenant’s servant, who, though he
carried fire-arms, (being provided with a lantern) acted chiefly
in the capacity of sutler to the troop. Heroes in all ages have
ever found an empty stomach a great drawback upon valor,
for which reason, the lieutenant, who understood the whole art
of war, both theory and practice, as well as Caesar or Alexan-
der the Great, and very sagaciously reflected that, in a place
where ghosts were supposed to inhabit, little store of belly
timber was to be expected, took care to clap a basket with a
couple of roasted fowls and three or four bottles of wine upon
his servant’s shoulders, and, thus equipped at all points, we
began our march.
On our arrival at the appointed place of rendezvous, we
found every thing exactly in the same order as we had left it.
Table and benches were still standing as firm as ever; we took
our seats, and, encouraged by the lieutenant's example, ate as
heartily as any pious Catholic may be supposed to do previous-
ly to a seven weeks' lent, not forgetting to do justice to the
wine, which circulated briskly enough. This time however,
good cheer was found to fail of the desired effect; for, instead of
inspiriting our drooping valor, it acted rather like a leaden
weight upon our eyelids, which with difficulty were kept from
closing, although the clock had not yet struck eleven. The
intermediate space between this and the canonical hour of
meeting our ghostly friends we endeavored to beguile by
reading “Hagedorn's Poems,” of which I fortunately happened
to have a copy with me. In this office I was alternately as-
sisted by the count and §: lieutenant, till the latter, on exam-


30 . THE ASTRologER.
ining his watch, and finding it within a quarter of twelve, closed .
the book, and, briskly running up stairs to a front room in the
first floor, took his stand facing the window, which commanded
as fair a view of the forecourt, and the circumjacent plain, as
a dark unfriendly night would admit. The count and myself
followed his example, and in this posture we awaited the scenes
that were to follow, leaving the lieutenant's servant fast asleep
in the hall.
At length the ominious hour began to strike, more awful, in
our present circumstances, than the funeral knell of some de-
parted friend. Dreadful was the midnight silence that reigned
around us. The very pulse of nature seemed suspended ; the
faculty of breathing almost taken from us. And now the last
stroke ceased to vibrate on our ears. Instantly the whole
fabric shook with the sound of horns, trumpets, &c. that seem-
led to rend the echoing air; while the dashing of horses’ hoofs
made the solid ground tremble as with an earthquake : the
rams’ horns of Jericho were mere pop-guns—the downfall of
its walls a mere crash, compared with the dreadful thunder
that now assailed our ears. Impenetrable darkness, however,
added to the velocity of their course, prevented us from grati-
fying our curiosity, and distinguishing the authors of this wild
and terrible uproar.
Swift as thc winged whirlwind, and with equal impetuosity,
advanced the sable troop. Three times they made the circuit
of the walls; then, suddenly halting, drew up at no great dis-
tance from the castle, facing the drawbridge. In an instant
died away the noise, like the doubtful blast still quivering on
the trees, “when the rude storm has blown its fill.” Silence
resumed her wonted empire ; but not the less impossible was
it for us to discover either horse or rider.
Whilst we stood bewildered in thought, and forming conjec-
tures on the scene we had just witnessed, a more immediate
subject of alarm presented itself in the court. The rattling of
spurs ; the sound of footsteps, whether human or not, was un-
certain ; and a confused noise, as from a multitude passing and
repassing, gave us reason to apprehend that the troop had dis-
mounted, and were preparing to pay us a visit. Involuntary
horror siezed upon me: a cold sweat overran my whole frame ;
my knees tottered: I feared, I trembled, I knew not why.
This noise, however, was of short duration ; for; like the for-
mer, it gradually died away, and was succeeded by gloomy and
profound silence. *
“Shall we rush into the court? shall we seek to join them?”
demanded the lieutenant with his usual firmness and intrepidity.
I shook my head by way of reply ; the count did the same.
“Then am I like to go alone, it seems ’’ returned the fiery


The AstrologER. 31
youth, and immediately sallied down stairs, holding a pistol on
full cock in each hand, and his drawn sword under his left arm.
He was not long before he joined us again. .
“There must be some mystery in all this,” he exclaimed;
“not the smallest trace of either horse or rider to be found!”
No answer on our part sufficiently showed that we were
equally at a loss to account for so strange and singular an ad-
|venture. The lieutenant seated himself, and, with his eyes
fixed immovably upon the ground, seemed lost in a deep reve-
rie: the count endeavored to banish more unwelcome ideas with
reading ; whilst I, giving way to the calls of nature, soon lay
buried in a profound sleep.
The report of a pistol awakened me ; I started up inconti-
nently. The sound of horns and trumpets again saluted my
ears, but presently the noise died away as before. At the
same instant the lieutenant and the count entered the room.
They had, it seems, like myself, been overpowered with sleep,
from which they were roused by the return of the uproar in
the court, that had so greatly alarmed us at twelve. Eager,
therefore, to discover the authors, they had sallied out with
their pistols. They met, however, with little success: the
whole troop was off before they reached the court. The lieu-
tenant, dashing one of the panes of the hall window in pieces
with his pistol, sent a bullet after them ; but, some white hors-
es excepted, could discover nothing through the impenetrable
loom that surrounded them. . . -
“Ghost or not,” he concluded his narration, “they seem to
stand in great awe of us; and, for the present, my advice is,
that we rather spend the remainder of the night upon some
clean straw in the inn, than continue here upon rotten benches
of wood, which we hardly dare trust with our weight.”
This proposal was gladly accepted, and away we truged to
the inn, greatly to the satisfaction of John, the lieutenant’s
groom, who, it seems, took little delight in hunting after
ghosts. º
Long had we to stand knocking at the inn-door before en-
trance was granted. At length our landlord in person made
his appearance.
“What! and are your honors still alive?” he began with
fluttering voice, crossing himself all the time: “ or rather are
# come from purgatory, to upbraid me with your destruction?
oly Father Romboldus! and all ye blessed saints, defend
me ; and witness for me, how much I tried to dissuade them
from their impious undertaking !” With these words he
º the door without any further ceremony right in our
aC9.


32 THE ASTROLOGER,
Vexed as we were with this inhospitable reception, we could
not refrain from laughing, and that heartily, at the superstitious
fears and ludicrous grimaces of our landlord: till the lieuten-
ant, out of all patience (for the night was none of the war-
mest), resolved to stand kicking his heels no longer. Thun-
dering, therefore, at the door, as though he designed to pull
the house down over the owner’s head, he swore by all the
saints in Christendom, that he would reduce the place to ashes,
and utterly annihilate every soul within it, unless immediate
admittance was afforded us. This menace failed not of the
desired effect ; our Cerberus presently relented, and, with
many awkward apologies begging pardon, for what in fact we
had no right to be offended at, spread some clean straw upon
the floor, and, wishing us a good repose, retired to his own
apartment.
On our getting up, which was not till nearly noon, the lieu-
tenant declared himself by no means satisfied with the result
of last night's adventure ; and, signifying to us his intention of
keeping watch the ensuing night in the forecourt of the castle,
concluded with desiring us to bear him company.
The count’s eyes immediately reverted to me, seeming to
expect from my reply that denial which he was unwilling to
deliver himself. I accordingly represented to the lieutenant
the imposibility of our complying with his request ; that the
nature of our affairs would not suffer us to throw away any
more time than had been lost already; not to mention the dan-
ger of such an undertaking; four men being, at the best, but
a sorry match against a whole troop of horse, as we had every
reason, from the evidence of our own ears, to believe them.
“As to the danger of the frolic,” replied the lieutenant,
“if that’s your main objection, it is easily removed. We need
only take a doven stout rawboned fellows along with us. A
few shillings and a bottle of brandy (which, though not to be
had here, may easily be procured from some neighboring town)
will entitle us to pick and choose our gang from the whole vil-
lage; and take my word for it, Sir, we shall have a frolic, the
like of which was never seen. To-morrow morning, if you
think proper to depart, you may depend upon my company as
your fellow traveller.”
The count was easily prevailed upon ; neither, indeed, was
the proposal displeasing to myself. The groom, therefore, was
immediately despatched to the next town to procure brandy,
and other refreshments, whilst our postillion received commis-
sion to sound his horn,” as a signal. In a few minutes we had
* In Germany it is customary for the postillions to carry a
small French horn with them, which is certainly a more melodious
instrument than that made use of by the guards of the mail coach


THE ASTROLOGER 33
-
*
the whole village assembled before the door, when, silence be-
ing ordered, the lieutenant, from the superior eminence of a
deal table, addressed his wondering congregation to the fol-
lowing effect :— -
“Brave, gallant, and aspiring heroes! such of you as have
heart sufficient to offer your services to accompany us to the
haunted castle, well known to all inhabitants of this village,
there to remain, and spend the night with us, and in all res-
pects to act obedient to the orders which you shall then and
there receive; such, I say, as shall willingly offer their servi-
ces for this purpose, and who, on inspection, shall be judged
worthy of being employed in so glorious a cause, shall receive
the sum of sixpence per man, over and above a plentiful sup-
ply of brandy and other necessary refreshments, to keep your
noble hearts from fainting.”
Laughable was it to see the effects which this harangue pro-
duced. Not a man in the whole assembly but immediately
offered his services with so much zeal, that we had reason to
apprehend a premature exertion of their valor. To prevent,
therefore, as much as in us lay, the effusion of human blood
(for they seemed ready to go to blows for the preference), fif-
teen of the stoutest and most promising were drafted from this
heroic corps, and the residue, in order to atone for their disap-
pointment, were promised a proper reward, provided they de-
meaned themselves lovingly and peaceably. Hereupon our
troop received commission to attend us at the inn by ten o’clock
precisely. As to the choice of their weapons, that was left to
their own discretion.
Such vigorous preparations could not fail of exciting the ut-
most astonishment in our landlord, who, now regarding us as
something more than human—as sorcerers and magicians at
least, if not devils incarnate—seemed himself half willing to
accompany us, and assist in purging the haunted castle of the
foul spirits that inhabited it. -
With the approach of evening, however, his courage began
to cool ; wherefore, pretending some urgent business, that
rendered his presence at home indispensably necessary, he
contented himself with wishing us success to our undertaking.
Our brave troop, on the other hand, neglected not to attend
their appointment with great punctuality; and formidable in-
deed was the appearance they made, armed with scythes, pick-
axes, flails, bludgeons, pitchforks, pruning-hooks, spades, and
in this country. The Germans having a natural genius for music,
many of these postillions are tolerable performers; and where the
road, as is frequently the case, leads through large and extensive
woods, this travelling concert has a wonderful effect.


* 34 THE ASTROLOGER.
whatever weapons chance or fancy put into their hands. Hav-
ing drawn ourselves up in battle-array before the inn-door, we
began our march to the castle, headed by the lieutenant. In
the rear followed our provision, camp equipage, and military
stores; consisting of brandy, cold roast beef, half a dozen
peck loaves, together with some benches, which we borrowed
from the tap-room ; a large deal table, the same on which the
lieutenant made his famous harangue, and lastly an iron lamp,
with the necessary apparatus for procuring fire. These were
conveyed in wheelbarrows, and in this gallant order we made
our triumphant entry into the castle.
The court having been marked out as the place of encamp-
ment, we pitched our tents between the gate and the draw-
bridge. A plentiful libation was then made to the god of bran-
dy, whose nostrils must have been highly regaled with the
grateful fumes of incense and burnt offerings, every hero re-
plenishing his pipe with a potent supply of India's salutary
weed : and, as our victory in this ghostly crusade though un-
fought, was none the less certain, hymns of triumph were sung
beforehand on the occasion. -
In proportion as the brandy-bottle diminished, the courage
and musical disposition of our company increased. We had,
therefore, no need, as on the preceeding night, to read our-
selves hoarse, in order to repulse the encroaching advances
of sleep. The wonderful assistance which valor reaps from
military music—fifes, trumpets, drums, and kettle-drums, &c.
is too plain and obvious to stand in need of any comment or
illustration: otherwise, we might refer our readers to the his-
tory of the Lacedaemonians, who, after suffering repeated de-
feats from the Messenians, proved at length victorious, not
from their own inherent valor, or the merit and skill of their
commanders, but by choosing the Athenian songster and poet,
Tyrtaeus, for their general ; although the said Tyrtaeus cut but
a sorry figure for a militia captain, inasmuch as he was blind
of one eye, lame, and, in fact, passed for little better than an
idiot. If such, then, were the effects produced by one song-
ster, in a whole army, what must we suppose to have been the
case with our brave troop, consisting, as it did, of vocal per-
formers from first to last? To so high a pitch was their valor
wound up, by the noble songs which they rehearsed, not for-
getting to whet their whistle, as occasion required, with plen-
tiful draughts of brandy, that they laughed at, challenged, and
defied, the whole infernal host of hell, with Beelzebub, their
leader, at the head -
It was now within a few minutes of twelve. . The lieutenant,
pointing at his watch, beckoned witb his hand : instantly the
military concert was suspended; awful silence succeeded in


THE ASTROLOGER. 35
its place ; expectation stood a tiptoe ; and astonishment, mixed
with horror, appeared visibly portrayed in every countenance.
Thus we kept our post till the church-bell began to strike, at
which our country boobies pricked up their ears, and, with
gaping mouths, seemed to swallow the sound. . But when they
heard the distant dashing of horses' hoofs, and the thundering
echo of trumpets, that followed immediately upon the last
strokes, nothing can convey an adequate idea of their terror
and surprise. They no longer dared to regard one another,
except with stolen looks; and had not fear effectually chained
them to their seat, there is little room to doubt but a precipitate
flight, on their part, would soon have deprived us of our worthy
comrades and protectors. -
Meanwhile the noise, increasing as it approached, drew near-
er and nearer, and presently was heard distinctly in the sub-
terraneous apartments of the castle. Suddenly, however, it
subsided : all was perfectly still and silent as before. But,
in less than ten minutes, the uproar returned more powerful
than ever ; and, swift as lightning, though still invisible,
ºrated the ghostly cavalcade, in full gallop, from the cas-
tle.
The lieutenant, followed by the count and myself, rushed
out in pursuit of them. But though we flew, as it were, upon
wings, being fully determined to gratify our curiosity, it was
impossible for us to discover any other object than the distant
glare of some white horses. We returned, therefore, hopeless
and dissatisfied, to our companions.
These we found, on our entrance into the court, stretched
out like dead, with their faces to the ground. Table, lamp,
benches, wheelbarrows, in short, our whole camp-equipage,
together with the brandy-bottle and provisions which we had
brought with us, were gone. The moon, shining but dimly
through the opposing clouds, barely reflected light sufficient to
make this discovery. Great, as may reasonably be supposed,
was our astonishment. The lieutenant, seizing one of our
prostrate companions by the shoulders gave him two or three
hearty shakes, and endeavored to lift him on his legs; but this
valiant champion, firmly persuaded that he was under the
clutches of some blood-thirsty caco-daemon, who, in all proba-
bility, wanted to hurry him away, full drive, to the bottomless
pit, began to roar out so lustily, that we had presently the whole
troop at their prayers, each one imploring assistance from his
favorite saint. Sancta Mater and Kyrie Eleison, intermixed
with groans unutterable, resounded from every quarter. The
scene was ludicrous beyond description, and fully justified the
assertion of the Roman poet—
“Primus in orbe Deos fecit timor.”


36 THE ASTROLOGER.
After feasting our eyes and ears a full hour at least with the
cowardly devotion of these miserable wretches, we adjourned
to the inn, leaving our companions to celebrate high mass by
themselves. Our landlord was not a little surprised at seeing
us return unattended, and accosted us with at least a thousand
questions; but as we stood in need of rest, we deferred satis-
fying his inquisitive curiosity till morning, and laid ourselves
down upon the straw prepared for our reception.
Our sleep, however, was not of long duration, for no sooner
did it begin to dawn, than the whole village was in an uproar,
and young and old assembled before the inn-door. Our gal-
lant companions, it seems, with the return of day, had gradual-
ly got the better of their fears, and, venturing at last to look
around them, discovered, to their no small surprise, that we
were missing. Whether their grief at our supposed destruc-
tion proceeded from any real regard, or from the fear of losing
the promised gratuity for their faithful services, they immedi-
ately hurried to the inn, and, with dreadful lamentations, rela-
ted the disaster that had happened. Taughable was it for us
to hear the various strange and contradictory accounts which
they gave of last night's adventure. Some would have it that
we were torn in pieces; others swore roundly, that they had
seen us carried off by a whole legion of devils: but all of them
were unanimous in bearing honorable testimony to their own
}. and the signal feats of heroism they had achieved.
ut what was their surprise at learning from our landlord, who
hitherto had purposely concealed this intelligence from them,
that we were not only still in the land of the living, but had re-
turned triumphant from the ghostly expedition! At first they
refused to give credit to his words, but, finding him positive in
his assertions, they insisted on being introduced to us imme-
diately. This accordingly took place; mutual congratulations
passed between us, the promised reward was faithfully distribu-
ted, and, after satisfying our landlord for the loss of his tables,
benches, &c., we began to prepare for our departure. The
lieutenant, indeed, wished still to try his luck once more, and,
for that purpose, proposed that we should secrete ourselves in
the castle the ensuing night; but to this neither the count nor
myself would in any wise consent.
We sat out, therefore, about seven in the morning, though
the weather was far from favorable, the wind getting exceed-
ingly high, which, added to the frequent flying showers that
passed over us, rendered the air extremely cold and damp.
Already were we within less than a mile of the Black Forest,
when I perceived the lieutenant, who rode on horseback before
us, accompanied by his groom, suddenly stop short: after a
short pause, he turned routind his horse's head, and took a


38 THE ASTROLOGER.
voice calculated to inspire the utmost reverence and awe, re-
plied—
“Wisdom.” -
Count. And pray what language is it, then, in which this
book is written?
Pilgrim. The language of wisdom.
Count. And what is it you call wisdom?
Pilgrim. Every thing of which thou hast no conception.
Lieutenant. Well then, Mr. Wiseacre, that being the case,
as you possess such extraordinary knowledge of things which
the rest of mankind have no conception of, I shall be happy,
methinks, to ask you a question or two.
Pilgrim (viewing him sternly). Ask on.
Lieutenant. Not far from this place stands a village, which
is said to be haunted by a whole troop of devils. The manor-
house, it seems, is their nocturnal place of rendezvous. These
gentlemen, together with myself, have kept watch in the castle
these two nights past—
Pilgrim (interrupting him.) And yet are not a whit the wis-
er than before : for thou art not the man to whom wisdom
deigns her hidden lore ; nor is the management of ghosts to
thee intrusted.
Lieutenant. That man, we suppose, can be no other than
yourself.
Pilgrim. I understand the language of wisdom.
The lieutenant, naturally addicted to raillery, could no lon-
ger refrain from bursting into a loud laugh. Of this the pil-
grim took no manner of notice ; but, returning to his former
study, was soon absorbed in meditation, from which, however,
he was again roused by the count.
“Friend,” began the latter, “as such great wisdom appears
to be contained in the book you read, may we be, allowed to
ask who those spirits are, and for what reason they thus infest
the above mentioned castle?”
Pilgrim (after a long pause). None but the spirits them-
selves dare resolve thee that question.
Count. What, then, does your famous book of wisdom
treat of. - -
Pilgrim. Of the manner in which spirits may be forcibly
ºpelled to appear, and a full confession extorted from
them
Count. How happens it, then, that you have never essayed
your art upon those which disturb the peace of the neighbor-
ing village? -
Pilgrim. Because I have no wish, no interest in the case
Lieutenant. Well but, Mr.Wiseacre, suppose that we should
make you an offer of our purses; might not money, perhaps,
*
y


*HE ASTRologER. . 39
have some weight in persuading you to make a trial of your
skill? • o :
Pilgrim. (in a violent rage). Mean sordid wretch begone
can gold be deemed equivalent to wisdom.
- Lieutenant. What, then, can purchase it?
Pilgrim. Nothing! Will your courage stand the test?
Lieutenant. Were there any doubt of that, we should not
have ventured to keep watch in a place so formidable. t
Pilgrim. Well, then, watch one night more : precisely
three quarters past eleven you will see me, to a certainty.
Meanwhile, leave me to my meditations.
The peremptory tone and manner in which he pronounced
these words put it out of our power to disobey.—We retreated
slowly to our carriage, looking back, almost every minute, at
the wonderful pilgrim, who instantly relapsed into his former
study. The lieutenant, as he remounted his horse, proposed
that we should return to the inn, and, putting off our departure
till the morrow, give the stranger the meeting at the time ap-
pointed.
Much as I disliked the project, it was in vain for me to raise
objections : the curiosity of the count was wound up to the
highest pitch ; my consent, therefore, was rather extorted than
obtained from me.
Our landlord, on learning the cause of our return, was little
better than distracted with joy; for, exclusive of the profits he
hoped to reap from another ghostly frolic, having been paid
for more than double the value of his table, benches, &c. lost
in our last expedition, his brain was next to turned with the
marvellous relations our valliant companions gave of the ad-
venture. Nothing was talked of, but how frightfully the spec-
tres had appeared ; how furiously they broke in upon us ; how
they breathed fire and smoke through their nostrils; with eyes
ſlaming-red, as big as any pint basins : notwithstanding all
which, they had, they said, laid so manfully about them, that
the whole infernal troop was forced to take a precipitate flight,
and were, long before this, ten miles at least below the bottom
of the Red Sea! Hence, we saw ourselves regarded, by the
whole village, as beings of a superior order, and had enough
to do to answer all the questions put to us by our admirers.
This was highly pleasing to the lieutenant, who diverted him-
self, the whole day, with practising upon the simplicity of these
rustics ; and, I am firmly persuaded, told more fortunes in
the course of six hours than many astrologers have an oppor-
tunity of doing in the course of as many years.
On the approach of night, we had a numerous army at com,
mand, without being necessitated, as before, to beat up for vol-
unteers ; young and old entreating us to permit them to bear
º


40 • THE AstroLogeſt
O
us company : they neither demanded pay hor rovisions ; the
bare honor of serving under us was, as they doserved, more than
sufficient recompense. Company, however, was not what we
at present wanted ; not to mention that we had already but too
well experienced what sort of dependance we ought to place
upon their valor and assistance ; we dissembled, therefore, our
intentions; but, finding even this ineffectual to answer our
purpose, we were fain, in order to get rid of our troublesome
visitors, to pretend ourselves sleepy, and to order the straw to
be got ready for bur reception.
About ten we stole away as privately as possible to the castle.
On our arrival in the court, the lieutenant’s servant lighted up
the lamp we had brought with us; after which we repaired
to the hall, where, finding the benches we had formerly erected
for our accommodation still standing, we seated ourselves, and
waited in anxious expectation the time appointed for meeting
our unknown conductor.
The lieutenant appeared doubtful whether the pilgrim might
, not fail of his appointment, and discovered evident symptoms of
mistrust, that he had no other view in promising to meet us,
than merely to sport with our credulity. But the count, who,
from his youth, had always manifested a strong hankering after
the marvellous, was so entirely prepossessed with the venerable
appearance of the hoary-headed sage, that he was ready to
pledge his honor for his punctuality. This gave birth to a cu-
rious controversy between the lieutenant and the count, on
the subject of supernatural agency; the former ridiculing the
whole system as visionary and preposterous, whilst the latter
was firmly of opinion that, however exaggerated and disguised
such accounts might be in the detail, the doctrine itself was
ſounded in truth and experience. For my part, I cursed and
damned the pilgrim most devoutly, and only wished that we had
never seen or given ourselves the least trouble about him.
In this manner did we endeavor to beguile the tedious hour
of expectation. Before us lay, our watches placed upon the
table, to which our eyes almost momentarily reverted. The
minute-hand had hardly pointed to three quarters past eleven,
when we plainly distinguished the tread of human footsteps
across the passage. -
“You are perfectly right, my lord (quoth the lieutenant, ad-
dressing himself to the count), our pilgrim is a man of honor.”
With these words he snatched up the lamp, and went to meet
him.
Our conductor had now reached the hall. His dress was
much the same as when we first beheld him, excepting that on
his head he wore a kind of turban, and carried his knapsack
strapped about his shoulders. With slow and solemn steps he


The ASTROLOGER. 41
approached the place where we were seated; then, suddenly
stopping short, beckoned with his hand for us to follow him.
We obeyed, and, leaving the lieutenant's servant fast asleep,
behind us, followed him to the stone staircase at the opposite
end of the hall. This we descended, and next traversed, in
awful silence, the long winding passage to which it led, till we
came to the door of the vault, which the lieutenant had burst
open on our first visit to the castle.
Here our conductor again stopped short; took the lamp out
of the hand of the lieutenant, and, viewing us attentively all
round, with a stern, forbidding look, that seemed to presage
strange wonders, addressed us in a trembling tone of voice:
“Let awful silence seal your lips, nor dare
To tempt that ſate which prudence bids beware;
For know one word makes instant death your share.”
The impression which his speech made upon our minds may
be more easily imagined than described. We entered the
vault, not without horror and reluctance; this time, however,
we found the air of this subterraneous dungeon less noxious
and pestilential than before, owing, probably, to the door hav-
ing been left opon by the lieutenant, at the time it was forced,
as related above. ... Our conductor, approaching the folding
doors on the right-hand side, pushed back the large enormous
bolts which guarded them with a degree of ease that well might
create astonishment; then drawing forth from his bosom a pon-
derous key of massy iron, fastened round his neck by a chain
of the same metal, he thrice pronounced a word of mystic, but
to us incomprehensible, meaning:
—“And in the keyhole turns
The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar
Unſastens: on a sudden, open fly, -
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,
The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder.”— - *
Horrible, beyond description, was the place into which we
now entered. The form was circular, arched over with brick,
and totally impervious to the smallest ray of light from without.
Hollow sounded the ground beneath our feet, and every step
we took re-echoed back distantly from the walls. Facing the
entrance, appeared another pair of folding doors, secured with
locks and bolts, more formidable than the former.
A blue inconstant flame, accompanied with a strong sulphur-
ous smell that rendered the faculty of breathing extremely .
difficult, whilst it enhanced the gloomy horror of the scene,
4% -


42 - THE ASTROLOGER
gradually discovered to our view the mouldering monuments
of ruin and decay. , Rotten coffins, human bones, ghostly
skulls, shrouds, scutcheons, urns, and all the various symptoms
of mortality, were seen on every side. In the middle of the
vault arose a lofty bier, which supported a black leaden coffin,
of unusual magnitude. Over it hung a lamp, dependant from
a triple chain of iron. - -
Our conductor uncovered his head; we followed his exam-
ple, and ranged ourselves, in awful silence, round the coffin,
but still at such a distance, that we could barely touch it with
outstretched arms. Then placing the lamp held in his hands
upon the floor, the necromantic sage proceeded to untie his
knapsack, from which, together with the book he was studying
when we first set eyes upon him, he took out a magic wand,
composed of three different pieces, which fastened together in
one, by means of joints, like a fishing-rod, and a tin box filled
with red sand.
With this he bestrewed the adjacent parts of the floor; and,
having fastened his rod together, described therewith three
magic circles, parallel at equal distances in the sand. The
innermost was occupied by the exorcist; in the second stood
the count, the lieutenant, and myself; the outermost being left
empty, probably by way of defence, or to serve as a rampart, in
case the evil spirits should think proper to meditate any sud-
den attack upon us. Thus duly armed, intrenched, and forti-
fied, according to the demoniac system of tactics—(such of our
readers as wish for a fuller account of this science, are respect-
fully referred to the famous treatise, De Damonologia, publish-
ed by that learned and pious scribe, Joannes Bodinus)—we
held ourselves in readiness against the ghostly invasion.
The sage, crossing his hands over his breast, stood for some
minutes motionless as a statue, with his eyes directed towards
heaven, or at least towards the ceiling of the vault. Suddenly,
he appeared seized with violent convulsions ; the features of
his countenance became distorted to a ghastly degree, his eyes
began to roll, his brows knitted together, in a manner hideous
to behold ; his teeth chattered in his head, his hair bristled up
like quills upon the fretful porcupine ; in short, every part of
his body bore witness to the big feelings with which his heart
seemed ready to burst. Words at length found their way, but
in a language to us quite unintelligible.—They were pronoun-
ced in a hollow tone of voice, and with surprising vehemence.
He next opened the mystic book, and, with the same continued
agitation of face and body, began to read in a kind of half whis-
per ; the sweat all the time running down his face, as though
the iron hand of death had seized upon him


THE ASTROLOGER. T 43
r.
-**
The longer the sage continued to read, the more terrible be-
came his convulsions ; till, at length, unable to contain himself,
he flung the book out of his hand with great violence against
the ground. Immediately the fury of his looks subsided, his
eyes ceased to roll, and his whole frame became more compos-
ed. With both his hands outstretched, and pointing with his
wand to the coffin that lay before us, he again stood motionless
as a statue.
The sound of horns and trumpets, with which the whole
fabric now began to shake, proclaimed the arrival of the mid-
night hunters. Still the sage continued motionless. The noise
drew nearer, and presently the troop rushed thundering into the
court. Still the sage continued motionless. The next instant
we heard them rapidly descending the stone staircase. Inward
horror seized upon us: but still the sage continued motionless.
And now the tread of their feet resounded along the narrow
winding passage that led to the vault next us. The sage, with
a sudden motion turning himself round in his circle, waved his
magic wand in the air, and all was silent in a moment.
Thrice, with tremendous voice, the sage pronounced a mys-
tic word of unknown import; striking each time violently with
his wand against the ground. Earth, heard the summons, and
obeyed. A sudden flash of lightning shot trembling across the
walls, whilst, thundering in our ears, was heard the dreadful
subterraneous peal. All nature seemed convulsed; rocked,
as with an earthquake, shook the hollow vault; our lamps,
though well supplied with oil, refused to burn, and, ere the
deep-mouthed thunder ceased to roll, we found ourselves sur-
rounded with midnight darkness. *
Soon, however, a faint glimmering light began to diffuse itself
from the centre of the vault, increasing every moment, till the
place was sufficiently illuminated for us to distinguish the sur-
rounding object. We now perceived, with horror and aston-.
ishment, that this light proceeded from the inside of the leaden
coffin, the lid of which, gradually lifting up, apparently from
some internal force, at length disclosed to view a human figure,
pale and ghostly, clad in a flowing white garment, stained with
blood. With wild disorder in her looks, she cast her hollow
eyes around; pushed back the long black tresses of hair, which,
matted with gore, descended below her waist, and, baring her
bosom, pointed to the gaping orifice of a deadly wound, inflict-
ed beneath her left breast. Drops of blood still trickled from
her pierced heart, and dreadfully resounded her groans from
the vault.
Approaching the other circle with a furious threatening mien,
she seemed preparing to rush upon us. The sage stretched


-------->
44 - THE ASTRoloGER.
forth his hand, struck thrice with his wand against the magic
boundary, and instantly the threatening form shrank back.
“Who art thou?” demanded the apparition; “and by what
authority dare thy unhallowed steps profane the place where
spirits unembodied seek repose?”
“And who at th9u!” replied the sage sternly, and not the
least daunted, “that darest disturb the peace of this ill-fated
mansion?” -
“Not I'” howled she, in a lamentable piteous tone of voice;
“mot I, but the damned spirit of my husband! Bear witness,
this accursed steel—displaying a bloody dagger in her right
hand—bear witness, this deep wound, stu reeking with my
gore ;” here she again pointed to her breas.-“’tis he, and he
alone, disturbs the peace of this whole village ; ’tis he that vi-
olates even my repose!”
The Sage. But wherefore?
Spirit. No time was given for repentance: no friendly warn-
ing bade me in haste secure my peace with heaven. Fearless,
1 pressed the downy couch ; undreaded and unseen, the dark
assassin dealt the murderous blow. Thus sent with all my sins
unpardoned on my head, I suffer here, awhile, the torments of
the purging flame. But double wrath pursues my murderer,
whom the righteous Judge above has doomed to bear the pun-
ishment due to his sins and mine!
The Sage. Unhappy spirit! betake thyself to rest. By the
deep secrets of yon mystic book! by that dread power which hell
itself controls! by all the terrors of the world unknown! I
swear thy rest shall never be disturbed! -
The spirit, making a low bow in token of gratitude, regained
the coffin, where it presently disappeared under the lid, which
now returned to its former place. The light that issued from
the inside gradually died away, as the coffin closed, leaving us
once more involved in thick impenetrable darkness.
Petrified with horror and amazement, having neither will to
stay nor power to move, we stood a long time senseless and
immovable. -
At length a dreadful flash of lightning, bursting full in our
faces, ran whizzing a long the walls, and louder than before
rattled the hoarse rebellious thunder in our ears. Instanta-
neously our lamps, self-lighted, began to burn again; whilst
silence once more resumed its wonted empire around us.
Our conductor hereupon, with great composure, gathered
up the scattered contents of his knapsack, replaced it upon his
shoulders, and beckoned, with his hand, for us to follow him.
After carefully relocking the door, and pushing home the bolts,
he drew forth from his pocket a piece of yellow pearchment,
about six inches square, and inscribed with the same kind of


THE ASTROLOGER. 45
characters as his book appeared to be written in. This he laid
upon the wings of the folding doors, in such a manner that it
covered both in equal proportions; then sealing it at the four
corners with red wax, and a large iron seal, he again pro-
nounced some short mystic sentences, and with his wand de-
scribed the emblem of a cross from one end of the door to the
other. -
We were now in the empty vault which we had before visit-
ed on our first excursion to the castle. The sage, advancing
to the opposite door on the left hand, repeated his mystic cere-
monies. The lock soon yielded to his trusty key. We enter-
ed. Our way led through another winding passage, arched
over with brick like the former, but much wider and longer ;
with this additional difference, that it had six or seven doors,
all strongly secured on each side, besides a larger one of mas-
sy iron, in which it terminated.
This being likewise opened with great ease, we had next to
ascend a long flight of stone steps: at the top of which, anoth-
er door, studded with enormous iron nails, presented itself.
Here our conductor again stopped short, paused a while, and
with great solemnity repeated his former injunctions respecting
silence, although there seemed but little need for this precau-
tion, not a single word having been exchanged between us all
the time.
The opening of this door was attended with much greater
ceremony than any other. We likewise took notice that our
conductor, for this purpose, made use of a different key than
he had before employed; a circumstance which seemed rather
ominous to the lieutenant, as I could plainly perceive, by sev-
eral significant looks which he cast both at the count and my-
self. We had however, gone too far to recede. A narrow
passage, in which it was impossible to stand upright, conduct-
ed us to an iron trap-doos opening upon a second flight of steps.
There we descended, and found ourselves in a gloomy dungeon
of a considerable size ; dark as the shades of midnight, and
damp as the falling dews, when Sol withdraws his cheering
rays. Fronting the staircase, and on each side, appeared an-
other formidable door. -
Advancing into the middle of this dismal place, the sage
made a signal for us to range ourselves round him. Hereupon,
the ground was bestrewed with red sand, in which he, as be-
fore, described three magic circles with his wand, and, opening
his books, began to read softly, with great agitation of body.
Then throwing his book upon the ground, he waved his wand
! in air, turned himself round with surprising velocity, and thrice
pronounced, with a loud and dreadful voice, the same mystic
word which he had formely made use of. -
*


46 THE ASTROLOGER.
The whole dungeon instantly appeared on fire: the forked
lightnings, reverberating from the wall, flashed with dreadful
impetuosity in our faces, succeeded with peals of thunder, that
seemed to forebode the total dissolution of nature. Earth felt
the potent shock, and trembled to its centre: all the doors of
our prison flew open with a noise louder than the loudest thun-
der: above us and around us shook the Gothic pile, threatening
to overwhelm us beneath its ruins. At the same time, our
lamp went out, and in its stead was seen a blue sulphureous
flame hovering over the steps of the stone staircase, from
whence it now began to roll itself down. Hollow groans, and
the dismal clanking of chains, invaded our ears. Terror, be-
yond the power of language to describe, laid hold of us.
As the noise drew nearer, the sage placed himself with his
face towards the stone staircase, and soon we saw, with horror
inexpressible, a grim and ghastly figure, of uncommon magni-
tude, descending down the steps. A double row of chains
were fastened to his feet and hands, which, rattling at every
step he took, grated harsh infernal thunder in our ears. His
garment appeared as if it had been newly dipped in blood; his
right eyeball was forced out of its socket, and the upper part
of his skull was shattered to pieces. Thus, horrible to behold,
he approached, with furious mien, the outer circles, foaming
at the mouth, and grinding his teeth like the savage, fierce
Hyrcanian tiger. The sage stretched forth his wand, and with
authoritative voice addressed the spectre: “Stay here, accur-
sed wretch!” he said, “and tell me who thou art?” . -
“A spirit of the damned!” replied the spectre, trembling.
Sage. Hell, then, is fittest for thee! What business brings
thee hither?
Spirit. To seek deliverance from its flames.
Sage. On what conditions hopest thou to attain this?
Spirit. None, none, alas! except my wife's forgiveness.
Sage. Is that thy only hope? Then back to hell—back to
thy proper punishment—Away! fly! fly with thy infernal troop;
nor ever more presume to violate the peace of this neighbor-
hood. Behold yon mystic book, and tremble!
At these words the sage pointed to the opposite door of the
dungeon: reluctantly the spectre bowed submission, and re-
treated. Instantly the vault appeared the second time in flames.
Louder and more awful roared the thunder: all the doors fell
to with horrible recoil: dreadful groans resounded in our ears:
frightful apparitions glided along the walls, which, shaking with
the deep-mouthed thunder, threatened us with immediate de-
struction. -
A scene like this might well strike terror into the stoutest
heart. We remained a long time in a state of stupefaction,


THE ASTR01.0 GER. 47
from which we however gradually recovered, as the lightnings
ceased to flash, and hoarse rebellious thunder abated its fury.
'The blue sulphureous flame no longer rolled itself down the
stone staircase; darkness worse than Egyptian enveloped us
around, hideous groans and lamentations rendering the gloomy
silence of the place still more awful and tremendous. -
These likewise gradually dying away, we were, if possible,
still more terrified and alarmed by the hoarse music of the
winding horn, and the dashing of horses’ hoofs, which now re-
sounded dreadfully in the echoing air. Roused by the well-
known sound, from the state of insensibility in which we lay,
we discoverd with horror our hopeless situation. Bewildered
in a gloomy subteraneous dungeon, surrounded with impenetra-
ble darkness, and nearly suffocated with a stong sulphureous
vapor that pervaded the place, it tended not a little to aggra
vate the horror of the scene, that each of us, ignorant of the
presence of the rest, supposed himself deserted and alone.
Long time was it before I could recover sufficient fortitude to
grope about me ; nor was I less perplexed which way to steer
my doubtful course, than the mariner that tosses without com-
pass on the boundless deep, whilst night invests the pole, and
not a star is seen in the spacious firmament of heaven. -
In this uncertainty I felt myself suddenly seized by the
hand. Reason had not yet resumed her empire over my mind;
my imagination was still too much heated with the strange
scenes I had just witnessed, to form any cool deliberation; and
fancying myself actually under the influence of enchantment,
I started back with a fearful shriek, not less appalled than
if the grisly king of terrors himself had laid his icy hand upon
me! -
“Don’t be alarmed,” exclaimed the well-known voice of
the lieutenant; and instantly my fears fell, like a heavy stone,
'from my heart. At the same time, I had the pleasure to hear
the count speak. We presently joined him, and, holding fast
by the skirts of our coats, that we might not be separated again,
endeavored to grope our way to the staircase.
In this design, after mauy fruitless attempts, we had at length
the good fortune to succeed. Never did panting lover mount
the staircase leading to the apartment of his mistress with
greater alacrity than we displayed in climbing up these steps.
But how shall I express the horror and disappointment we ex-
perienced on finding the trap-door fastened against us? The
lieutenant, who on this as on all other occasions acted as our
leader, after communicating this unwelcome intelligence, pro-
posed that, instead of giving ourselves up for lost, we should
try our united strength in forcing it open. Every nerve, ac-
cordingly, was strained to accomplish a purpose so devoutly
~


THE ASTROLOGER. - 49
strange delight in tormenting itself, and brooding over its mis-
fortunes and calamities, we still remained silent for nearly two
hours longer, feasting our troubled thoughts with ideal and an
ticipated sorrows. - -
“Damn me, if I hold it out any longer!” exclaimed the
lieutenant, in a kind of frenzy, “that cursed rascal of mine
can never sleep at such a devil of a rate as this. But were he
even as fast as our great grandfather Adam when his precious
• rib was taken from his side, I think I’ll manage to open his
eyes for him.”
With these words he began to stamp and roar, as though
his design had actually been nothing less than to anticipate the
day of general resurrection. The count and myself, seconding
him with might and main in his pious intentions, joined lustily
in the rough chorus—but all to no purpose ; no answer was
returned—no tread of footsteps could be heard. Exhausted
with fatigue, we were fain to desist; and, once more seating
ourselves upon the stone steps, our patience was again put
to the test, in wating till the servant should think proper to
awake. -
After two or three hours spent in fruitless expectation—
“I should be very sorry, gentlemen,” began the lieutenant,
addressing us in a firm indignant tone of voice, “to torture
either you or myself with groundless apprehensions. But,
from the complexion of circumstances, our destruction in this
dismal dungeon appears inevitable. As men, however, who
have nothing worse than what already awaits us to dread, let
us borrow hope and courage from despair ; and rather let us
perish in a bold attempt to regain our liberty, than calmly sub-
, mit to a lingering death, which resolution and perseverance
may still, perhaps, enable us to escape. Though this proud
door defies our utmost and united efforts, some other opening
may, perhaps, be found; at least, the chance, at any rate, is
worth the trial.” _-
Without waiting for our reply, the lieutenant began to de-
scend the steps. We followed his example, and returned to
the dismal dungeon from which we sought to escape. Each
taking a different direction, we groped about in quest of some
friendly avenue that might afford us egress. -
In any other situation, the whimsical manner in which we
frequently met together might well have excited our risibility.
Sometimes we laid hold of each other by the feet and hands,
or, running foul, came tumbling to the ground together. At
other times, our noses met in rnde contact with the opposing
walls, or our shins were kicked bloody against the loose bricks,
and rubbish that lay scattered up and down the place. But |
--
t
*


50. THE As TROLOGER.
all our efforts proved abortive. Faint and exhausted, I at
length stretched myself out upon the ground, and, more con-
cerned about the safety of the count than my own, began to
load myself with bitter reproaches, for having, through my
indiscreet compliance, precipitated my pupil into inevitable
ruin and destruction,-into the necessity of dying a lingering
death in a subterraneous dungeon.
Meanwhile that I was indulging these disagreeable reflec-
tions, the lieutenant and count continued their researches, as I
could easily distinguish by the sound of their feet, which echo-
ed dreadfully through the dismal vault. Neither of them spoke
a word, but groped about, for some time, in gloomy and pro-
found silence. At length, the steps of one of my unhappy com-
rades ceased to be heard. -
“Where are you both?” cried the lieutenant, greatly agitated
and alarmed.
“For my part, I am here;” was the reply;-“but where,
pray, is the count?”
We both joined in calling after him, and roared out at least
as loud and lustily as we had done some hours before in search
of the lieutenant’s servant. The count, however, returned no
manner of answer. My fears and apprehensions for his safety
were now doubly increased ;-I was in a condition little short
of positive distraction. Suddenly a hollow rattling noise was
heard at some distance, and instantly a faint glimmering light
began to diffuse itself in the corner of our dungeon. -
Transported with this discovery, the lieutenant and myself
directed our steps towards the place from whence the light
seemed to proceed. We found, to our unspeakable joy, one
of the iron doors of our prison open, through which we entered
into a long passage, arched over with brick, at the extremity
of which, at a considerable distance, appeared the welcome
light of day. This passage led us by a gradual descent to a
short flight of steps, opening into a spacious apartment, the
flooring of which was broken through near the entrance ; and
through this aperture it was that the light issued. Looking
down in hopes of making fresh discoveries, we saw with horror
the count stretched at full length upon a heap of mouldering
straw, to all appearance lifeless and insensible.
. The height from which he had tumbled might be about four-
teen feet, but, had it been double that number, I should not
have hesitated a moment in jumping after him. The lieutenant
followed my example, and, seizing the count by the arms, we
began to shake him lustily with might and main, till he discov-
ered symtoms of remaining life. Our joint endeavors soon
restored him to a perfect possession of his faculties ; when it
appeared that, the fright excepted, he had sustained no materi-


THE ASTROLOGER. 51
aliujury. From his relation we learnt, that having accidentally
groped his way to the door on the left hand, and finding it
yield to his push (most probably the lock had failed to fly back,
at the time when the doors of the dungeon shut upon us, as
related before), he continued to descend the passage, till, falling
from the staircase upon the floor of the apartment to which it
led, the rotten boards, not able to sustain his weight, had
broken under him, and thereby precipitated him into the place
where we now found him. - -
This place, from its present appearance, had most probably
been used in former times for a stable. It had two round win-
dows in the wall, secured with iron gratings, through which the
light could barely find admission. We perceived a wooden
door in one corner, against which we pushed with our united
efforts, and presently the rotten boards fell tumbling in pieces
at our feet. -
A hollow subterraneous passage conducted us by a gradual
ascent to a trap-door, which opened into the garden at the back
of the castle. Our joy at once more beholding the welcome
face of day is beyond the power of language to describe ; we
embraced each other with the most transporting ardor, and mu-
tual congratulations on our narrow escape from the jaws of
death; and, being already sufficiently acquainted with the walks
of the garden, which we explored on our first visit to the castle,
we easily regained the hall, where we had left the lieutenant's
servant fast the preceding night. Table and benches
were still standing, but no signs of John could we possibly dis-
COWer.
“The fellow, no doubt has made his escape to the inn!” was
the lieutenant's opinion, after we had in vain made every apart-
ment of the castle echo with his name. We accordingly post-
ed back to the inn, thanking God that he had not punished our
curiosity more severely, as we took our leave of the haunted
castle. -
On our arrival at the inn, we found our landlord encompas-
sed with a whole troop of the inhabitants of the village, who it
seems, had come to inquire after us; the ghosts having made
such a horrible uproar in the place the preceding night, that
they all, with one accord, gave us up for lost, and almost dread-
ed to inquire after our fate. Great, therefore, was their aston-
ishment at seeing us enter so suddenly into their midst. Ev-
ery one, as with common consent, put his hand to his hat, and
reverently bade us welcome, falling foul upon us, at the same
time, with an infinite multitude of questions relative to last
night’s adventures. This time, however, the lieutenant had
little inclination to divert himself with practising upon their
-


52 THE ASTROLOGER.
simplicity: his answers were short and unsatisfactory: turning
round to the landlord, he endeavored to put an end to their im-
pertinence by inquiring after his servant.
“I have seen nothing of him since yesterday,” was the re-
ply. -
“Are the horses safe?” demanded the lieutenant.
* . “As safe and well as good stabling and the best of corn can -
* make them: it is hardly ten minutes since I fed them myself.”
*
With a look that sufficiently indicated his surprise and embar-
rassment, the lieutennant regarded us steadfastly all round;
then addressing himself to the peasants, he offered them a
handsome reward to explore the neighborhood in search of his
servant. Every one testified his readiness to serve him, and
eagerly sat out in the pursuit ; but, after a long and fruitless
search, they all returned with the unwelcome intelligence, that
no traces of him were to be found. *
As we had no hopes of seeing the lost fugitive any more,
and were by no means willing to repeat our visits to the haunted
castle, we resolved to pursue our journey immediately after
dinner, and accordingly gave the necessary orders for our de-
parture. At parting, our landlord and the peasants could not
refrain from tears, so much were they prepossessed in our fa-
vor; we made them a decent present to drink our healths, and
set off with the good wishes of the whole neighborhood.
The lieutenant being better acquainted with the Black For,
est than ourselves, undertook to lead the way: we followed his
guidance, and soon cleared this terrible desert, without meeting
with any fresh adventures. The following evening he took his
leave of us, being in haste to rejoin the party to which he be-
longed. We parted with the utmost reluctance, and with mu-
tual assurances of friendship and esteem. As he gave us his
hand, “Accept, gentlemen (he began), my sincerest thanks
for your faithful assistance and co-operation in encountering
the most dreadful adventure I ever yet had occasion to experi-
ence in the whole course of my life. Should I ever be so for-
tunate as to obtain any further light respecting this intricate
affair (and you may rest assured that I will exert my utmost
endeavors to obtain satisfactory information, at some future
period), I shall consider it my duty to communicate the partic-
ulars to you. On your side I request the same, in case you
should be beforehand with me in your discoveries: meanwhile,
accept of my best wishes, and whenever you call to mind the
twenty-third of September, 1750, let the Danish lieutenant
have a place likewise in your remembrance.”
Founded on fact, and sanctioned by experience, it is to be
hoped that this history will meet with a more favorable “ecep-


THE ASTROLOGER. 53
tion than exploded romances of giants and enchanters, than
fairy tales or Persian fables; which, by , being destitute of
probability as well as truth, must prove insipid and disgusting
to every reader of sentiment and taste. For, if any thing can
give greater interest to a narrative, it is the conviction that such
things have actually occurred.
* ~ * *
º,


--- - -
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
OUR ship, after touching at the Cape, went out again, and
soon losing sight of the Table Mountain, began to be assailed
by the impetuous attacks of the sea, which is well known to be
more formidable there than in most parts of the known ocean.
The day had grown dull and hazy, and the breeze, which had
formerly blown fresh, now sometimes subsided almost entirely,
and then recovering its strength, for a short time, and changing
its direction, blew with temporary violence, and died away again,
as if exercising a melancholy caprice. A heavy swell began to
come from the south-east. Our sails flapped against the masts,
and the ship rolled from side to side, as heavily as if she had
been water-logged. There was so little wind that she would
not steer. - -
At two P. M. we had a squall, accompanied by thunder and
rain. The seamen, growing restless, looked anxiously a-head.
They said we would have a dirty night of it, and that it would
not be worth while to turn into their hammocks. As the sec-
ond mate was describing a gale he had encountered off Cape
Race, Newfoundland, we were suddenly taken all a-back, and
the blast came upon us furiously. We continued to scud under
a double reefed mainsail and foretop-sail till dusk; but, as the
sea ran high, the Captain thought it safest to bring her to.—
The watch on deck consisted of four men, one of whom was
appointed to keep a look-out a-head, for the weather was so
hazy, that we could not see two cables' length from the bows.-
This man, whose name was Tom Willis, went frequently to the
bows, as if to observe something ; and when the others called
to him, º he was looking at, he would give no def-
inite answer. hey therefore went also to the bows, and ap-
peared startled, and at first said nothing; but presently one of
them cried, “William, go call the watch.”
The seamen, having been asleep in their hammocks, murmur-
ed at this unreasonable summons, and called to know how it
looked upon deck. To which Tom Willis replied, “Come up
and see. What we are minding is not on deck, but a-head.”
On hearing this, they ran up without putting on their jackets,
and when they came to the bows, there was a whispering.
One of them asked, “Where is she I do not see her.”
*:


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. . 55.
To which another replied, “The last flash of lightning showed
there was not a reef in one of her sails ; but we, who know
her history, know that all her canvas will never carry her into
ort.” º
By this time the talking of the seamen had brought some of
the passengers on deck. They could see nothing, however, for
the ship was surrounded by thick darkness, and by the noise of
the dashing waters, and the seamen evaded the questions that
were put to them. r
At this juncture the chaplain came on deck. He was a man
of grave and modest demeanour, and was much liked among
the seamen, who called him Gentle George. He overheard ome
of the men asking another, “If he had ever seen the Flyi
Dutchman before, and if he kuew the story about her ?” To
which the other replied, “I have heard of her beating about in
these seas. What is the reason she never reaches port ’’
The first speaker replied, “They give different reasons for it,
but my story is this : “She was an Amsterdam vessel, and
sailed from that port seventy years ago. Her master's name
was Vanderdecken. He was a stanch seaman, and would have
his own way, in spite of the devil. For all that, never a sailor
under him had reason to complain; though how it is on board
with them now, nobody knows. The story is this : that in
doubling the Cape, they were a long day trying to weather the
Table Bay, which we saw this morning. However, the wind
headed them, and went against them more and more, and Van-
derdecken walked the deck, swearing at the wind. Just after
sunset, a vessel spoke him, asking if he did not mean to go
into the bay that night. Vanderdecken replied, “May I be
eternally d-–d if I do, though I should beat about here till
the day of judgment l’ And to be sure, Vanderdecken never
did go into that bay; for it is believed that he continues to beat
about in these seas still, and will do so long enough. This ves-
sel is never seen but with foul weather along with her.’”
To which another replied, “We must keep clear of her.—
They say that her Captain mans his jolly boat, when a vessel
comes in sight, and tries hard to get along-side, to put letters on
board, but no good comes to them who have communication
with him. -
Tom Willis said, “There is such a seabetween us at present,
as should keep us safe from such visits.”
To which the other answered; “We cannot trust to that if
Wanderdecken sends out his men.”
Some of this conversation having been overheard by the pas-
sengers, there was a commotion among them. In the mean time,
the noise of the waves against the vessel could scarcely be dis-
tinguished from the sounds of the distant thunder. The wind
had extinguished the light in the binnacle, where the compass


56 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
was, and no one could tell which way the ship's head lay. The
passengers were afraid to ask questions, lest they should aug-
ment the scCret sensation of fear which chilled every heart, or
. learn any more than they already knew. For while they attri-
buted their agitation of mind to the state of the weather, it was
sufficiently perceptible that their alarms also arose from a cause
which they did not acknowledge. " -
The lamp at the binnacle being re-lighted, they perceived
that the ship lay closer to the wind than she had hitherto done,
and the spirits of the passengers were somewhat revived.
Nevertheless, neither the tempestuous state of the atmos-
phere nor the thunder had ceased ; and soon a vivid flash of
lightning showed the waves tumbling around, and, in the dis-
tance, the Flying Dutchman jº. the wind,
under a press of canvas. The sight was but momentary, but
it was sufficient to remove all doubt from the minds of the pas-
sengers. One of the men cried aloud, “There she goes, top-
gallants and all.” *
The chaplain had brought up his prayer-book, in order that
he might draw from thence something to fortify and tranquilize
the minds of the rest. Therefore, taking his seat near the bin-
nacle, so that the light shone upon the white leaves of the book,
he, in a solemn tone, read out the service for those distressed
at sea. The sailors stood round with folded arms, and looked
as if they thought it would be of little use. But this served to
occupy the attention of those on deck for a while.
In the mean time, the flashes of lightning becoming less vivid,
showed nothing else, far or near, but the billows waltering
round the vessel. The sailors seemed to think that they had
not yet seen the worst, but confined their remarks and prognos-
tications to their own circle.
At this time, the Captain, who had hitherto remained in his
birth, came on deck, and with a gay and unconcerned air in-
quired what was the cause of the general dread. He said he
thought they had already seen the worst of the weather, and
wondered that his men had raised such a hubbub about a cap
full of wind. Mention being made of the Flying Dutchman,
the Captain laughed. He said, “he would like very much
to see any vessel carrying top-gallant sails in such a night,
for it would be a sight worth looking at.” The chaplain, taking
him by one of the buttons of his coat, drew him aside, and ap-
peared to enter into serious conversation with him.
While they were talking together, the -Captain was heard to
say, “Let us look to our own ship, and not mind such things;”
and accordingly, he sent a man aloft, to see if all was right
about the fore-topsail yard, which was chafing the mast with a
loud noise.
It was Tom Willis who went up; and when he came down, he


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 57
said that all was tight, and that he hoped it would soon be
clearer ; and that they would see no more of what they were
most afraid of.
The Captain and first mate were heard laughing loudly to-
gether, while the chaplain observed, that it would be better to
repress such unseasonable gaiety. The second mate, a native
of Scotland, whose name was Duncan Saunderson, having at-
tended one of the University classes at Aberdeen, thought him-
self too wise to believe all that the sailors said, and took part
with the Captain. He jestingly told Tom Willis to borrow his
grandam's spectacles the next time he was sent to keep a look-
out a-head. Tom walked sulkily away, muttering that he would
nevertheless trust to his own eyes till morning, and accordingly
took his station at the bow, and appeared to watch as attentive-
ly as before.
The sound of talking soon ceased, for many returned to their
births, and we heard nothing but the clanking of ropes upon the
masts, and the bursting of the billows a-head, as the vessel suc-
cessively took the seas.
But after a considerable interval of darkness, gleams of light-
ning began to re-appear. Tom Willis suddenly called out,
“Wanderdecken, again Vanderdecken, again I see them
letting down a boat.” º
All who were on deck ran to the bows. The next flash of
lightning shone far and wide over the raging sea, and showed
us not only the Flying Dutchman at a distance, but also a boat
coming from her with four men. The boat was within two ca-
bles' length of our ship's side.
The man who first saw her ran to the Captain, and asked
whether they should hail her or not. The Captain, walking
about in great agitation, made no reply. The first mate cried,
“Who’s going to heave a rope to that boat 7” The men looked
at each other, without offering to do any thing. The boat had
come very flear the chains, when Tom Willis called out, ‘What
do you want 2 or what devil has blown you here in such weather?”
A piercing voice from the boat replied in English, “We want
to speak with your Captain.” The Captain took no notice of
this, and Wanderdecken's boat having come close along side,
one of the men came upon deck, and appeared like a ſatigued
and weather-beaten seaman, holding some letters in his hand.
Our sailors all drew back. The chaplain, however, looking
steadfastly upon him, went forward a few steps, and asked,
“What is the purpose of this visit *
The stranger replied, “We have long been kept here by foul
r weather; and Wanderdecken wishes to send these letters to his
3.
friends, in Europe.” -
Our Captain now came forward, and said as firmly as he
could, “I wish Wanderdecken would put his letters on board of
any other vessel rather than mine.” -


58 - THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
The stranger replied, “We have tried many a ship, but most
of them refuse our letters.”
Upon which, Tom Willis muttered, “It will be best for us if
we do the same, for they say there is sometimes a sinking
weight in your paper.”
The stranger took no notice of this, but asked where we were
from. On being told that we were from Portsmouth, he said,
as if with strong feeling, “Would that you had rather been
from Amsterdam : Oh that we saw it again —we must see our
friends again.” When he uttered these words, the men who
were in the boat below wrung their hands, and cried in a pier-
cing tone, in Dutch, “Oh that we saw it again We have
been lºng here beating about : but we must see our friends
again
The chaplain asked the stranger, “How long have you been
at sea 7”
He replied, “We have lost our count ; for our almanack
was blown overboard. Our ship, you see, is there still ; so
why should you ask how long we have been at sea for Wan-
derdecken only wishes to write home and comfort his friends.”
To which the chaplain replied, “Your letters, I fear would
be of no use in Amsterdam, even if they were delivered, for the
persons to whom they were addressed are probably no longer to
be found there, except under very ancient green turf in the
church-yard.” - - -
The unwelcome stranger then wrung his hands, and appeared
to weep ; and replied, “It is impossible. We cannot believe
you. We have been long driving about here, but country nor
relations cannot be so easily forgotten. There is not a rain-
drop in the air but feels itself kindred to all the rest, and they
fall back into the sea to meet with each other again. How,
then, can kindred blood be made to forget where it came from ?
Even our bodies are part of the ground of Holland; and Vaht.
derdecken says, if he once were come to Amsterdam, he would
rather be changed into a stone post, well fixed into the ground,
than leave it again, if that were to die elsewhere. But in the
mean time, we only ask you to take these letters.”
The chaplain, looking at him with astonishment, said, “This
is the insanity of natural affection, which rebels against all
measures of time and distance.”
The stranger continued, “Here is a letter from our second
mate, to his dear and only remaining friend, his uncle, the mer-
chant who lives in the second house on Stuncken Yacht Quay.”
He held forth the letter, but no one would approach to take it.
Tom Willis raised his voice and said, “One of our men, here,
says that he was in Amsterdam last summer, and he knows for
certain that the street called Stuncken Yacht Quay was pulled
down sixty years ago, and now there is only a large church at
that place.” . .


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 59
The man from the Flying Dutchman said, “It is impossible;
we cannot believe you. Here is another letter from myself,
in which I have sent a bank-note to my dear sister, to buy some
gallant lace, to make her a high head-dress.”
Tom Willis hearing this, said, “It is most likely that her head
now lies under a tombstone, which will outlast all the changes
of the fashion. But on what house is your bank-note **
The stranger replied, “On the house of Vanderbrucker and
Company.” * i
The man of whom Tom Willis had spoken said, “I guess
there will now be some discount upon it, for that banking-house
was gone to destruction forty years ago; and Vanderbrucker
was afterwards missing. But to remember these things is like
raking up the bottom of an old canal.”
The stranger called out passionately, “It is impossible—we
cannot believe it ! It is cruel to say such things to people in
our condition. There is a letter from our captain himself, to his
much beloved and faithful wife, whom he left at a pleasant sum-
mer dwelling, on the border of the Haarlemer Mer. She
promised to have the house beautifully painted and gilded before
he came back, and to get a new set of looking glasses for the
principal chamber, that she might see as many images of Van-
derdecken as if she had six husbands at once.” -
The man replied, “There has been time enough for her to
have had six husbands since then ; but were she alive still,
there is no fear that Wanderdecken would ever get home to dis-
turb her.” - - - --
On hearing this, the stranger again shed tears, and said, if
they would not take the letters, he would leave them ; and
looking round, he offered the parcel to the captain, chaplain, and
to the rest of the crew successively : but each drew back as it
was offered, and put his hands behind his back. He then laid
the letters upon the deck, and placed upon them a piece of iron,
which was lying near, to prevent them from being blown away.
Having done this, he swung himself over the gang-way, and
went into the boat.
We heard the others speak to him, but the rise of a sudden
squall prevented us from distinguishing his reply. The boat
was seen to quit the ship's side, and, in a few moments, there
were no more traces of her than if she had never been there.—
The sailors rubbed their eyes, as if doubting what they had
witnessed; but the parcel still lay upon the deck, and proved
the reality of all that had passed.
Duncan Saunderson, the Scotch mate, asked the captain if
he should take them up, and put them in the letter-bag 2 . Re-
ceiving no reply, he would have liſted them if it had not been
for Tom Willis, who pulled him back, saying that nobody should
touch them. -
• * *


60 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
In the mean time, the captain went down to the cabin, and
the chaplain having followed him, found him at his bottle-case,
pouring out a large dram of brandy. The captain, although
somewhat disconcerted, immediatºly offered the glass to him,
saying, “Here, Charters, is what is good in a cold night.” The
chaplain declined drinking any thing, and the captain having a
swallowed the bumper, they both returned to the deck, where
they found the seamen giving their opinions concerning what
should be done with the letters. Tom Willis proposed to pick .
them up on a harpoon, and throw it overboard.
Another speaker said, “I have always heard it asserted, that
it is neither safe to accept them voluntarily, nor, when they are
left, to throw them out of the ship.”
“Let no one touch them,” said the carpenter. “The way
to do with these letters from the Flying Dutchman is to case
them upon deck, by nailing boards over them, so that if he sends
back for them, they are still there to give him.”
The carpenter went to fetch his tools. During his absence
the ship gave so violent a pitch, that the piece of iron slid off
the letters, and they were whirled overboard by the wind, like
birds of evil omen whirling through the air. There was a cry of
joy among the sailors, and they ascribed the favourable change
which soon took place in the weather to our having got quit of
Wanderdecken. We soon got under weigh again. The night
watch being set, the rest of the crew retired to their births.
!


THE TIGER'S CAVE.
About three years since, after a short residence in Mexico, I
embarked for Guayaquil, in order to visit from thence the cele-
brated mountains of Quito. On arriving at Guayaquil, I found
there two travellers, who were preparing to take the same route.
These were Capt. Wharton, an English naval officer; and a young
midshipman, named Lincoln. The frigate which Wharton com-
manded had suffered considerably in her voyage through the
South Seas ; and as it was now undergoing the necessary re-
pairs, Wharton resolved to devote some of his leisure time to
visiting the forests and mountains of Quito. It was quickly
agreed that we should make the journey together. I found
Wharton a frank and open-hearted man ; and his young favor-
ite, Lincoln, a youth of eighteen, had a handsome sun-burnt
countenance, with an expression of determined bravery.
We set out on a fine clear morning, attended by my hunts-
man, Frank, and two Indians, as guides. On beginning to as-
cend the mountain, the scenery became more enchanting at
every step. The mighty Andes, like a vast amphitheatre, cov-
ered to their summits with gigantic forests, towered aloft ; the
snow-crested Chimborazo reared its proud front; the terrific
Cotopaxi sent forth volumes of smoke and flame ; and innumer-
able other mountains, branching from the far-spreading Cordil-
leras, faded away in the distance. With an involuntary shud-
der, I entered the narrow path that leads into the magnificent
forest. The monkies leaped from branch to branch ; the paro-
quets chattered incessantly ; and the eagles, from amidst the
tall cypresses where they had built their nests, sent down a wild.
cry. The farther we advanced, new objects presented them-
selves on every side : the stately palms, with their broad sword-
like leaves; the singular soap-tree; the splendid mongolia ;
the tall wax tree, and the evergreen oak, reared themselves
proudly over the orange groves, with whose fragrance was
blended the aromatic perfume of the vanilla.
Towards evening, our guides began to quicken their pace,
and we hastened after them. In a short time, they uttered a
shout of joy, of which we quickly discovered the cause. By
the light of a large fire, which was kindled in an open space of
the forest, we descried a little Indian village, consisting of sev-
6 r -


62 THE TIGER's cave.
eral huts erected on trunks of trees, and to which were append-
ed ladders of reeds. The Indian who was employed in replen-
ishing the fire, answered the cry of our guides in a similar tone;
and, after a short conference, we were conducted into one of
the huts, where we passed the night.
Early in the morning, we again resumed our way through the
deep shade of the forest, and in due time stopped to enjoy a re-
past under a broad-leaved palm. Suddenly, one of the Indians
motioned us to be silent, and bending his ear to the ground, ap-
peared to be listening to some sound, which, however, was un-
heard by us. We paused, and attentively watched his motions.
In a few minutes he arose, and beckoned us to follow him into
the forest: he stopped often, and laid his ear to the ground, and
shortly after we heard a female voice shrieking for help. We
hurried on, with difficulty restraining our young midshipman from
advancing before the rest of the party; and had proceeded but
a shortway when the shriek was repeated close beside us. We
stopped on a motion from our guides, who, parting gently the
intervening boughs, gave to view a scene which caused us
hastily to grasp our arms.
In an open space blazed a large fire, round which were seat-
ed several men in tattered uniforms: they were armed, and ap-
peared to be holding a consultation regarding a beautiful Indian
girl, who was bound with cords to a tree. The Indians pre-
pared their bows and arrows; but we beckoned them to desist,
until we gave the signal of attack. On the termination of the
conference, one of the men approached the girl, and said, “So,
you will not conduct us to your village *—“No,” answered the
young Indian, firmly, but sobbing. “Good child !” he replied,
with a scornful laugh, “ so you will not be persuaded to lead us
to your hut 7”—“No,” she again replied. “We shall see how
long the bird will sing to this tune ;”—and with these words,
the ruffian snatched a brand from the fire, and again approached
her. We hastened to get ready our guns; but the impetuosity
of Lincoln could not be restrained, and casting his from him,
he sprung forward just as the brand had touched the shoulder
of the girl, and struck the villain lifeless to the earth. At the
same instant, the Indian arrows whistled through the air and
wounded two of the others, but not, it appeared, dangerously, as
they fled with their terrified comrades.
Our midshipman, meanwhile, had unbound the girl, who, the
instant she was free, knelt before him, and poured out her grat-
itude in the most impassioned language. We learned that her
name was Yanna, and that her parents dwelt in a village in one
of the deepest recesses of the forest—that she had left her
home early in the morning to gather cocoa-and that, having
strayed too far, she had suddenly found herself surrounded by
the ruffians from whom we had just rescued her, and who had


THE TIGER's CAve. 63
endeavoured, by threats and violence, to force her to guide them
to the village. We could not withstand her prayers to accom-
pany her home. There we were quickly surrounded by the In-
dians, whom we found to possess an almost European fairness
of complexion. Yanna immediately ran up to her parents, who
were chiefs of the tribe, and spoke to them with animation,
using all the while the most impressive gestures. As soon as
she had finished her narrative, her parents hastened forward,
and kneeling before us, kissed our hands with expressions of
the deepest gratitude ; and the whole of the tribe knelt along
with them, pouring forth mingled thanks and blessings. Then
on a sudden they started up, and seizing us, they bore us in tri-
umph to the hut of the chief, where we were treated with the
utmost hospitality. Wharton smiled to me as he remarked, that
our young midshipman and Yanna had disappeared together.—
Shortly after, Yanna returned, holding Lincoln with one hand,
and carrying in the other a chaplet of flowers, which she im-
mediately placed on his head. On the following morning we
again set out, and as we parted, the beautiful eyes of Yanna
were filled with tears.
On leaving the village, we continued to wind round Chimbo-
razo's wide base; but its snowy head no longer shone above us
in clear brilliancy, for a dense fog was gradually gathering round
it. Our guides looked anxiously towards it, and announced
their apprehensions of a violent storm. We soon found that
their fears were well-founded. The fog rapidly covered and
obscured the whole of the mountain ; the atmosphere was suf-
focating, and yet so humid that the steel-work of our watches
was covered with rust, and the watches stopped. The river
beside which we were travelling rushed down with still greater
impetuosity ; and from the clefts of the rocks which lay on the
left of our path, were suddenly precipitated small rivulets, that
bore the roots of trees, and innumerable serpents, along with
them. These rivulets often came down so suddenly and so vi-
olently, that we had great difficulty in preserving our footing.—
The thunder at length began to roll, and resounded through the
mountainous passes. Then came the lightning, flash following
flash—above, around, beneath—every where a sheet of fire.—
We sought a temporary shelter in a cleft of the rocks, whilst
one of our guides hastened forwärd to seek a more secure asy-
lum. In a short time, he returned ; he had discovered a spa-
cious cavern. We proceeded thither immediately, and with
great difficulty, and not a little danger, at last got into it.
The noise and raging of the storm continued with so much
violence, that we could not hear the sound of our own voices.
I had placed myself near the entrance of the cave, and could
observe, through the opening, which was straight and narrow,
the singular scene without. The highest cedar-trees were


64 THE TIGER's CAVE.
struck down, or bent like reeds; monkeys and parrots lay
strewed upon the ground, killed by the falling branches; the
water had collected in the path we had just passed, and hurried
along it like a mountain stream. When the storm had some-
what abated, our guides ventured out in order to ascertain if it
were possible to continue our journey. The cave in which we
had taken refuge was so extremely dark, that, if we moved a few
paces from the entrance, we could not see an inch before us ;
and we were debating as to the propriety of leaving it even be-
fore the Indians came back, when we suddenly heard a singu-
lar groaning or growling in the farther end of the cavern, which
instantly fixed all our attention. Wharton and myself listened
anxiously ; but our daring and inconsiderate young friend,
Lincoln, together with my huntsman, crept about upon their
hands and knees, and endeavored to discover, by groping, from
whence the sound proceeded. They had not advanced far into
the cavern, before we heard them utter an exclamation of sur-
prise ; and they returned to us, each carrying in his arms an
animal singularly marked, and about the size of a cat, seemingly
of great strength and power. Wharton had scarcely glanced
at them, when he exclaimed in consternation, “Good God we
have come into a den of ” He was interrupted by a
fearful cry of dismay from our guides, who came rushing precip-
itately towards us, crying out, “A tiger ſ”—and, at the same
time, with extraordinary rapidity, they climbed up a cedar tree,
which stood at the entrance of the cave, and hid themselves
among the branches. -
After the first sensation of horror and surprise, which ren-
dered me motionless for a moment, had subsided, I grasped my
fire-arms. Wharton had already regained his composure and
self-possession ; and he called to us to assist him instantly in
blocking up the mouth of the cave with an immense stone,
which fortunately lay near it. The sense of approaching dan-
ger augmented our strength ; for we now distinctly heard the
growl of the ferocious animal, and we were lost beyond redemp-
tion if it reached the entrance before we could get it closed:—
Ere this was done, we could distinctly see the tiger bounding
towards the spot, and stooping in order to creep into his den by
the narrow opening. At this fearful moment our exertions were
successful, and the great stone kept the wild beast at bay.—
There was a small open space, however, left between the top of
the entrance and the stone, through which we could see the
head of the animal, illuminated by its glowing eyes, which it
rolled, glaring with fury, upon us. Its frightful roaring, too,
penetrated to the depths of the cavern, and was answered by
the hoarse growling of the cubs, which Lincoln and Frank had
now tossed from them. Our ferocious enemy attempted first to
remove the stone with his powerful claws, and then to push it


THE TIGER's CAVE. 65
r
with his head from its place ; and these efforts, proving abor-
tive, served only to increase his wrath. He uttered a fright-
ful howl, and his flaming eyes darted light into the darkness of
our retreat. -
“Now is the time to fire at him 1" said Wharton, with his
usual calmness ; “aim at his eyes ; the ball will go through his
brain, and we shall then have a chance to get rid of him.”
Frank seized his double-barreled gun, and Lincoln his pis-
tols. The former placed the muzzle within a few inches of the
tiger, and Lincoln did the same. At Wharton's command, they
both drew the triggers at the same moment ; but no shot fol-
lowed. The tiger, who seemed aware that the flash indicated
an attack upon him, sprang, growling, from the entrance ; but
feeling himself unhurt, immediately turned back again, and sta-
tioned himself in his former place. The powder in both pieces
was wet ; they, therefore, proceeded to draw the useless load-
ing, whilst Wharton and myself hastened to seek our powder-
flask. It was so extremely dark, that we were obliged to grope
about the cave ; and at last, coming in contact with the cubs,
we heard a rustling noise, as if they were playing with some
metal substance, which we soon discovered was the cannister
we were looking for. Most unfortunately, however, the ani-
mals had pushed off the lid with their claws, and the powder
had been strewed over the damp earth, and rendered entirely
useless. This discovery excited the greatest consternation.
“All is over now,” said Wharton; “we have only to choose
whether we shall die of hunger, or open the entrance to the
blood-thirsty monster without, and so make a quicker end of the
matter.” -
So saying, he placed himself close behind the stone which for
the moment defended us, and looked undauntedly upon the light-
ning eyes of the tiger. Lincoln raved and swore; and Frank
took a piece of strong cord from his pocket, and hastened to the
farther end of the cave, I knew not with what design. We soon,
however, heard a low stifled groaning; and the tiger, who heard
it also, became more restless and disturbed than ever. He went
backwards and forwards before the entrance of the cave in the
most wild and impetuous manner, then stood still, and stretching
out his neck in the direction of the forest, broke forth into a
deafening howl. Our two Indian guides took advantage of this
opportunity to discharge several arrows from the tree. He was
struck more than once ; but the light weapons bounded back
harmless from his thick skin. At length, however, one of them
struck him near the eye, and the arrow remained sticking in the
wound. He now broke anew into the wildest fury, sprang at
the tree and tore it with his claws. But having at length suc-
ceeded in getting rid of the arrow, he became more calm, and
laid himself down as before in front of the cave.
6#


66 THE TIGER's CAve.
Frank now returned from the lower end of the den, and a
glance showed us what he had been doing. He had strangled
the two cubs; and before we were aware of his intention, he
threw them through the opening to the tiger. No sooner did
the animal perceive them than he gazed earnestly upon them,
and began to examine them closely, turning them cautiously
from side to side. As soon as he became aware that they were
dead, he uttered so piercing a howl of sorrow, that we were
obliged to put our hands to our ears. When I censured my
huntsman for the rashness and cruelty of the action, I perceived
by his blunt and abrupt answers that he also had lost all hope
of rescue, and with it all sense of the ties between master and
servant.
The thunder had now ceased, and the storm had sunk to a
gentle gale; we could hear the songs of birds in the neighbor-
ing forest, and the sun was streaming among the branches. The
contrast only made our situation the more horrible. The tiger
had laid himself down beside his whelps. He was a beautiful
animal, of great size and strength, and his limbs being stretched
out at their full length, displayed his immense power of mus-
cle. All at once another roar was heard at a distance, and the
tiger immediately rose and answered it with a mournful howl.—
At the same instant our Indians uttered a shriek, which an-
nounced that some new danger threatened us. A few moments
confirmed our worst fears, for another tiger, not quite so large
as the former, came rapidly towards the spot where we were.—
“This enemy will prove more cruel than the other,” said Whar-
ton; “for this is the female, and she knows no pity for those
who deprive her of her young.”
The howls which the tigress gave, when she had examined
the bodies of her cubs, surpassed every conception of the hor-
rible that can be formed ; and the tiger mingled his mournful
cries with hers. Suddenly her roaring was lowered to a hoarse
growling, and we saw her anxiously stretch out her head, ex-
tend her nostrils, and look round, as if in search of the mur-
derers of her young. Her eyes quickly fell upon us, and she
made a spring forward with the intention of penetrating to our
place of safety. Perhaps she might have been enabled by her
immense strength to push away the stone, had we not, with all
our united power, held it against her. When she found that
all her efforts were fruitless, she approached the tiger who lay
stretched out beside his cubs, and he rose and joined in her
hollow roaring. They stood together for a few moments as if
in consultation, and then suddenly went off at a rapid pace, and
disappeared from our sight. Their howling died away in the
distance, and then entirely ceased. We now began to enter:
, “ain better hopes of our condition; but Wharton shook his head
—“Do not flatter yourselves,” said he, “with the belief that



THE TIGER S CAVE. - 67
these animals will let us escape out of their sight till they have
had their revenge. The hours we have to live are numbered.”
Nevertheless, there still appeared a chance of our rescue,
for, to our surprise, we saw both our Indians standing before the
entrance, and heard them call to us to seize the only possibility of
flight, for that the tigers had gone round the height, possibly to
seek another inlet to the cave. In the greatest haste the stone
was pushed aside, and we stepped forth from what we had consid—
ered a living grave. Wharton was the last who left it ; he was
unwilling to lose his double-barreled gun, and stopped to take it
up; the rest of us thought only of making our escape. We now
heard once more the roaring of the tigers, though at a distance;
and following the examples of our guides, we precipitately
struck into a side path. From the number of roots and branch-
es of trees with which the storm had strewed our way, and the
slipperiness of the road, our flight was slow and difficult.
We had proceeded thus for about a quarter of an hour, when
we found that our way led along the edge of a rocky cliff with
innumerable fissures. We had just entered upon it, when sud-
denly the Indians, who were before us, uttered one of their pier-
cing shrieks, and we immediately became aware that the tigers
were in pursuit of us. Urged by despair, we rushed towards
one of the breaks or gulfs in our way, over which was thrown a
bridge of reeds, that sprung up and down at every step, and
could be trod with safety by the light foot of the Indians alone.
Deep in the hollow below rushed an impetuous stream, and a.
thousand pointed and jagged rocks threatened destruction on
every side. Lincoln, my huntsman, and myself, passed over
the chasm in safety ; but Wharton was still in the middle of the
waving bridge, and endeavoring to steady himself, when both
the tigers were seen to issue from the adjoining forest ; and the
moment they descried us they bounded towards us with dread-
ful roarings. Meanwhile Wharton had nearly gained the safe
side of the gulf, and we were all clambering up the rocky cliff
except Lincoln, who remained at the reedy bridge to assist his
friend to step upon the firm ground. Wharton, though the fe-
rocious animals were close upon him, never lost his courage or
presence of mind. As soon as he had gained the edge of the
cliff he knelt down, and with his sword divided the fastenings by
which the bridge was attached to the rock. He expected that
an effectual barrier would thus be put to the further progress of
our pursuers; but he was mistaken, for he had scarcely ac-
complished his task, when the tigress, without a moment's pause,
rushed towards the chasm, and attempted to bound over it. It
was a fearful sight to see the mighty animal for a moment in the
air above the abyss ; but her strength was not equal to the dis-
tance—she fell into the gulf, and before she reached the bottom
she was torn into a thousand pieces by the jagged points of the


68 THE TIGER's cave.
rocks. Her fate did not in the least dismay her companion,--
he followed her with an immense spring, and reached the op-
posite side, but only with his fore claws; and thus he clung to
the edge of the precipice, endeavoring to gain a footing. The
Indians again uttered a wild shriek, as if all hope had been lost.
But Wharton, who was nearest the edge of the rock, advanced
courageously towards the tiger and struck his sword into the
animal’s breast. Maddened with pain, the furious beast collect-
ed all his strength, and fixing one of his hind legs upon the edge
of the cliff, he seized Wharton by the thigh. The heroic man
still preserved his fortitude ; he grasped the stem of a tree
with his left hand, to steady and support himself, while with his
right he wrenched, and violently turned the sword that was
still in the breast of the tiger. All this was the work of an in-
stant. The Indians, Frank, and myself, hastened to his assist-
ance ; but Lincoln, who was already at his side, had seized
Wharton's gun, which lay near upon the ground, and struck so
powerful a blow with the butt end upon the head of the tiger,
that the animal, stunned and overpowered, let go his hold and
fell back into the abyss. The unhappy Lincoln, however, had
not calculated upon the force of his blow : he staggered for-
ward, reeled upon the edge of the precipice, extended his hand
to seize upon any thing to save himself—but in vain. ... For an
instant he hovered over the gulf, and then fell into it, to rise no
more. -
We gave vent to a shriek of horror—then for a few minutes
there was a dead and awful silence. When we were able to
revert to our own condition, I found Wharton lying insensible
on the brink of the precipice. We examined his wound, and
found that he was torn dreadfully. The Indians collected some
herbs, the application of which stopped the bleeding, and we
then bound up the mangled limb. It was now evening, and we
were obliged to resolve upon passing the night under the shelter
of some cleft in the rocks. The Indians made a fire to keep the
wild beasts from our couch; but no sleep visited my eyes. I sat at
Wharton's bed and listened to his deep breathing. It became
more and more hard and deep, and his handgrasped violently, as
if in convulsive movements. His consciousness had not returned, .
and in this situation he passed the whole night. In the morning
the Indians proposed to bear our wounded friend back to the
village we had left the previous day. They plaited some strong
branches together, and formed a bridge to repass the gulf. It
was a mournful procession. On the way Wharton suddenly
opened his eyes, but instantly closed them again, and lay as im-
moveable as before. Towards evening we drew near our des-
tination ; and our Indian friends, when they saw our situation,
expressed the deepest sympathy; the whole tribe assembled
round us, and uttered piercing cries of grief when they learnt


THE TIGER's CAVE. 69
poor Lincoln's fate. Yanna burst into tears; and her brothers
hastened away, accompanied by some other Indians, in search
of the body. I remained with my wounded friend; he still lay
insensible to every thing around him. Sleep at length overpow-
ered me. Towards morning, a song of lamentation and mourning
aroused me—it was from the Indians, who were returning with
, Lincoln's body. Yanna was weeping beside it. I hastened to
meet them, but was glad to turn back again, when my eyes fell
upon the torn and lifeless body of our young companion. The
Indians had laid him upon tiger's skins, which they had strewed
with green boughs; and they now bore him to the burial-place
of their tribe. Yanna sacrificed on his tomb the most beauti-
ful ornament she possessed—her long black hair—an offering
upon the grave of him who, it is possible, had first awakened
the feelings of tenderness in her innocent bosom.
On the third day, as I sat at Wharton's bed, he suddenly
moved ; he raised his head, and opening his eyes, gazed fix-
edly upon a corner of the room. His countenance changed in
a most extraordinary manner ; it was deadly pale, and seemed
to be turning to marble. I saw that the hand of death was
upon him. “All is over,” he gasped out, while his looks con-
tinued fixed upon the same spot; “there it stands !”—and he
fell back and expired.


PETER RUGG, THE MISSING MAN. 2 71
quire the way to Boston ; and let him be where he may, he
will tell you he cannot stay a moment, for he must reach Bos-
ton that night.” -
We were now ascending a high hill in Walpole ; and as we
had a fair view of the heavens, I was rather disposed to jeer
the driver for thinking of his surtout, as not a cloud as big as a
marble, could be discerned. “Do you look,” said he, “in the
direction whence the man came, that is the place to look; the
storm never meets him, it follows him.” We presently ap-
proached another hill, and when at the height, the driver point-
ed out in an eastern direction a little black speck, about as big
as a hat. “There said he is the seed storm; we may possibly
reach Polley’s before it reaches us, but the wanderer and his
child will go to Providence through rain, thunder and lightning.”
And now the horses, as though taught by instinct, hastened
with increased speed. The little black cloud came on rolling
over the turnpike, and doubled and trebled itself in all direc-
tions. The appearance of this cloud attracted the notice of all
the passengers; for after it had spread itself to a great bulk, it
suddenly became more limited in circumference, grew more
compact, dark and consolidated. And now the successive flash-
es of chain lightning caused the whole cloud to appear like a
sort of irregular net work, and displayed a thousand fantastic
images. The driver bespoke my attention to a remarkable con-
figuration in the cloud. He said every flash of lightning near
its centre discovered to him distinctly the form of a man sitting
in an open, carriage drawn by a black horse. But in truth, I
saw no such thing. The man's fancy was doubtless at fault.—
It is a very common thing for the imagination to paint for the
senses, both in the visible and invisible world.
In the mean time the distant thunder gave notice of a shower
at hand; and just as we reached Polley’s tavern, the rain pour-
ed down in torrents. It was soon over, the cloud passing in the
direction of the turnpike toward Providence. In a few moments
after, a respectable looking man in a chaise stopped at the door.
The man and child in the chair having excited some little sym-
pathy among the passengers, the gentleman was asked if he had
observed them 2 He said he had met them, that the man seemed
bewildered, and inquired the way to Boston : that he was driv-
ing at great speed, as though he expected to outstrip the tem-
pest; that the moment he had passed him, a thunder clap broke
distinctly over the man's head, and seemed to envelop both man
and child, horse and carriage. “I stopped,” said the gentle-
man, “supposing the lightning had struck him, but the horse
only seemed to loom up and increase his speed, and as well as
I could judge, he travelled just as fast as the thunder cloud.”—
While this man was speaking, a pedlar with a cart of tin mer-
chandize came up, all dripping; and on being questioned, he


72 PETER RUGG, THE MissiNG MAN.
said he had met that man and carriage, within a fortnight, in
four different states; that at each time he had inquired the way
to Boston, and that a thunder shower like the present had each .
time deluged his wagon and his wares, setting his tin pots, &c.
afloat, so that he had determined to get marine insurance done
for the future. But that which excited his surprise most, was
the strange conduct of his horse, for that long before he could
distinguish the man in the chair, his own horse stood still in the -
road, and flung back his ears.” “In short,” said the pedlar,
“I wish never to see that man and horse again ; they do not
look to me as though they belonged to this world.”
This is all that I could learn at that time ; and the occurrence
soon after," would have become with me, “like one of those
things which had never happened,” had I not, as I stood recent-
ly on the door-step of Bennett's hotel in Hartford, heard a man
say, “there goes Peter Rugg and his child ! he looks wet and
weary, and farther from Boston than ever.” I was satisfied it
was the same man that I had seen more than three years before;
for whoever has once seen Peter Rugg, can never after be de-
ceived as to his identity. “Peter Rugg ſ” said I, “and who is
Peter Rugg?” “That,” said the stranger, “is more than any
one can tell exactly. He is a famous traveller, held in light
esteem by all innholders, for he never stops to eat, drink, or
sleep. I wonder why the government do not employ him to
carry the mail.” “Aye,” said a by-stander, “that is a thought
bright only on one side ; how long would it take, in that case,
to send a letter to Boston, for Peter has already, to my knowl-
edge, been more than twenty years travelling to that place.”—
“But,” said I, “does the man never stop any where ; does he
never converse with any one 2 I saw this man more than three
years since, near Providence, and I heard a strange story about
him. Pray, sir, give me some account of this man.” “Sir,”
said the stranger, “those who know the most respecting that
man, say the least. I have heard it asserted that heaven some-
times sets a mark on a man, either for judgment or a trial. Un-
der which Peter Rugg now labours, I cannot say; therefore I
am rather inclined to pity, than to judge.” “You speak like a
humane man,” said I, “and pray if you have known him so :
long, I pray you will give me some account of him. Has his
appearance much altered in that time * “Why, yes. He looks
as though he never ate, drank, or slept; and his child looks
older than himself, and he looks like time broke off from eternity,
and anxious to gain a resting place.” “And how does his horse
look º’” said I. “As for his horse, he looks fatter and gayer,
and shows more animation and courage, than he did twenty
years ago. The last time Rugg spoke to me, he inquired how
far it was to Boston. I told him just one hundred miles.”—
“Why,” said he, “how can you deceive me so? It is cruel to


PETER RUGG, THE MIssiNG MAN. 73
mislead a traveller. I have lost my way; pray direct me the
nearest way to Boston.” I repeated it was one hundred miles.
“How can you say so,” said he, “I was told last evening it
was but fifty, and I have travelled all night.” “But,” said I,
“you are now travelling from Boston. You must turn back.”
“Alas,” said he, “it is all turn back Boston shifts with the
wind, and plays all round the compass. One man tells me it is
to the East, another to the West; and the guide posts too, they
all point the wrong way.” “But will you not stop and rest,”
said I ; “you seem wet and weary.” “Yes,” said he, “it
has been foul weather since I left home.” “Stop then, and re-
fresh yourself.” “I must not stop, I must reach home to-night
if possible : though I think you must be mistaken in the distance
to Boston.” He then gave the reins to his horse, which he re-
strained with difficulty, and disappeared in a moment. A few
days afterwards I met the man a little this side Claremont, wind-
ing around the hills in Unity, at the rate, I believe, of twelve
miles an hour.”
“Is Peter Rugg his real name, or has he accidentally gained
that name * “I know not, but presume he will not deny his
name ; you can ask him, for see, he has turned his horse, and is
passing this way.” In a moment, a dark coloured, high spirit-
ed horse approached, and would have passed without stopping,
but I had resolved to speak to Peter Rugg, or whoever the man
might be. Accordingly I stepped into the street, and as the
horse approached, I made a feint of stopping him. The man
immediately reined in his horse. “Sir,” said I, “may I be so
bold as to inquire if you are not Mr. Rugg for I think I have
seen you before.” “My name is Peter Rugg,” said he, “I
have unfortunately lost my way; I am wet and weary, and will
take it kindly of you to direct me to Boston.” “You live in
Boston, do you ; and in what street " " In Middle-street.”—
“When did you leave Boston P’’ “I cannot tell precisely; it
seems a considerable time.” “But, how did you and your child
become so wet It has not rained here to-day.” “It has just
rained a heavy shower up the river. But I shall not reach Bos-
ton to-night, if I tarry. Would you advise me to take the old
road, or the turnpike ’’’ ‘‘Why, the old road is one hundred and
seventeen miles, and the turnpike is ninety-seven.” “How can
you say so 2 you impose on me; it is wrong to trifle with a tra-
veller; you know it is but forty miles from Newburyport to Bos-
ton.” “But this is not Newburyport; this is Hartford.” “Do
not deceive me, sir. Is not this town Newburyport, and the
river that I have been following, the Merrimac * “No, Sir,
this is Hartford, and the river, the Connecticut.” He wrung
his hands, and looked incredulous. “Have the rivers, too,
changed their courses, as the cities have changed places But
see, the clouds are gathering in the south, and we shall have a
7
t


74 PETER RUGG, THE MissiNG MAN.
rainy night. Ah, that fatal oath !” He would tarry no longer,
his impatient horse leaped off, his hind flanks rising like wings,
he seemed to devour all before him, and to scorn all behind.
I had now, as I thought, discovered a clue to the history of
Peter Rugg, and I determined, the next time my business call-
ed me to Boston, to make a further inquiry. Soon after, I was
enabled to collect the following particulars from Mrs. Croft, an
aged lady in Middle-street, who has resided in Boston, during
the last twenty years. Her narration is this—“The last sum-
mer, a person just at twilight, stopped at the door of the late
Mrs. Rugg. Mrs. Croft, on coming to the door, perceived a
stranger, with a child by his side, in an old weather-beaten car-
riage, with a black horse. The stranger asked for Mrs. Rugg,
and was informed that Mrs. Rugg had died in a good old age,
more than twenty years before that time. The stranger replied,
“How can you deceive me so do ask Mrs. Rugg to step to
the door.” “Sir, I assure you Mrs. Rugg has not lived here
these nineteen years; no one lives here but myself, and my
name is Betsey Croft.” The stranger paused, and looked up
and down the street, and said, “Though the painting is rather
faded, this looks like my house.” “Yes,” said the child, “that
is the stone before the door, that I used to sit on to eat my bread
and milk.” “But,” said the stranger, “it seems to be on the
wrong side of the street. Indeed, every thing here seems to be
misplaced. The streets are all changed, the people are all
changed, the town seems changed, and what is strangest of all,
Catherine Rugg has deserted her husband and child.” “Pray,”
said the stranger, “has John Foy come home from sea 2 he
went a long voyage, he is my kinsman. If I could see him, he
could give me some account of Mrs. Rugg.” “Sir,” said Mrs.
Croft, “I never heard of John Foy. Where did he live *-
“Just above here, in Orange-tree Lane.” “There is no such
place in this neighborhood.” “What do you tell me ! Are the
streets gone Orange-tree Lane is at the head of Hanover
Street, near Pemberton's hill.” “There is no such lane now.”
“Madam you cannot be serious. But you doubtless know
my brother William Rugg. He lives in Royal-Exchange Lane,
near King Street.” “I know of no such lane; and I am sure
there is no such street as King Street, in this town.” “No
such street as King Street ! Why woman you mock me. You
may as well tell me there is no King George. However, ma-
dam, you see I am wet and weary, I must find a resting place.
I will go to Hart's tavern, near the market.” “Which market,
sir for you seem perplexed ; we have several markets.”-
You know there is but one market near the Town dock.” “O,
the old market, but no such man as Hart kept there these twen-
ty years.” Here the stranger seemed disconcerted, and utter-
ed to himself quite audibly, “Strange mistake; how much this


PETER Rugg, THE Missing MAN. 75'
looks like Boston It certainly has a great resemblance to it ;
but I perceive my mistake now. Some other Mrs. Rugg, some
other ki. Then said he, “Madam, can you direct
me to Boston 2’ “Why this is Boston—the city of Boston; I
know of no other Boston.” “City of Boston it may be ; but it
is not the Boston where I live. I recollect now, I came over
a bridge instead of a ferry. Pray what bridge is that, I just
came over.” “It is Charles River Bridge.” “I perceive my
mistake, there is a ferry between Boston and Charlestown,
there is no bridge. Ah, I perceive my mistake, if I was in Bos-
ton my horse would carry.me directly to my own door. But my
horse shows by his impatience, that he is in a strange place.—
Absurd, that I should have mistaken this place for the old town
of Boston it is a much finer city than the town of Boston. It
has been built long since Boston. I fancy it must lie at a dis-
tance from this city, as the good woman seems ignorant of it.”
At these words, his horse began to chaſe, and strike the pave-
ment with his fore-feet ; the stranger seemed a little bewildered,
and said, “No home to night,” and giving the reins to his horse,
passed up the street, and I saw no more of him.”
It was evident that the generation to which Peter Rugg be-
longed had passed away. -
This was all the account of Peter Rugg, I could obtain from
Mrs. Croft ; but she directed me to an elderly man, Mr. James
Felt, who lived near her, and who had kept a record of the
principal occurrences for the last fifty years. At my request,
she sent for him; and after I had related to him the object of
my inquiry, Mr. Felt told me “he had known Rugg in his
youth ; that his disappearance had caused some surprise ; but
as it sometimes happens that men run away, sometimes to be
rid of others, and sometimes to be rid of themselves; and as
Rugg took his child with him, and his own horse and chair ;
and as it did not appear that any creditors made a stir, the oc-
currence soon mingled itself in the stream of oblivion; and
Rugg and his child, horse and chair, were soon forgotten.”—
“It is true,” said Mr. Felt, “sundry stories grew out of Rugg's
affair, whether true or false I cannot tell ; but stranger things
have happened in my day, without even a newspaper notice.”
“Sir,” said I, “Peter Rugg is now living. I have lately seen
Peter Rugg and his child, horse and chair; therefore, I pray
you to relate to me all you know or ever heard of him.” “Why,
my friend,” said James Felt, “that Peter Rugg is now a living
man I will not deny ; but that you have seen Peter Rugg and
his child is impossible, if you mean a small child, for Jenny
Rugg, if living, must be at least—let me see—Boston massa-
cre, 1770—Jenny Rugg was about ten years old. Why, sir,
Jenny Rugg, if living, must be more than sixty years of age.
That Peter Rugg is living, is highly probable, as he was only


PETER RUGG, THE Missing MAN. 77
“the storm is overwhelming you; the night is exceeding dark;
your little daughter will perish ; you are in an open chair, and
the tempest is increasing.” “Let the storm increase,” said
Rugg, with a fearful oath, “I will see home to-night, in spite of
the tast tempest 1 or may I never see home !” At these words he
gave the whip to his high spirited horse, and disappeared in
moment. But Peter Rugg did not reach home that night, no.
the next; nor, when he became a missing man, could he eve,
be traced beyond Mr. Cutter's in Menotomy. For a long time
after, on every dark and stormy night, the wife of Peter Rugg
would fancy she heard the crack of a whip, and the fleet tread
of a horse, and the rattling of a carriage, passing her door.—
The neighbors, too, heard the same noises, and some said they
knew it was Rugg's horse; the tread on the pavement was
perfectly familiar to them. This occurred so repeatedly, that
at length the neighbors watched with lanterns, and saw the real
Peter Rugg, with his own horse and chair, and child sitting
beside him, pass directly before his own door, his head turning
toward his house, and himself making every effort to stop his
horse, but in vain. The next day, the friends of Mrs. Rugg ex-
erted themselves to find her husband and child. They inquired
at every public house in town; but it did not appear that Rugg
made any stay in Boston. No one, after Rugg had passed his
own door, could give any account of him; though it was assert-
ed by some that the clatter of Rugg's horse and carriage over
the pavements shook the houses on both sides of the streets.- .
And this is credible, if indeed Rugg's horse and carriage did
ass on that night. For at this day, in many of the streets, a
loaded truck or team in passing, will shake the houses like an
earthquake. However, Rugg's neighbors never afterwards
watched again; some of them treated it all as a delusion, and
thought no more of it. Others, of a different opinion, shook
their heads, and said nothing. Thus Rugg and his child, horse
and chair, were soon forgotten; and probably many in the neigh-
borhood never heard a word on the subject.
“There was inded a rumour, that Rugg afterwards was seen
in Connecticut, between Suffield and Hartford, passing through
the country, like a streak of chalk. This gave occasion to
Rugg's friends to make further inquiry. But the more they in-
quired, the more they were baffled. . If they heard of Rugg, one
day in Connecticut—the next, they heard of him winding around
the hills in New-Hampshire; and soon after, a man in a chair,
with a small child, exactly answering the description of Peter
Rugg, would be seen in Rhode-Island, inquiring the way to
oston.
“But that which chiefly gave a colour of mystery to the story
of Peter Rugg, was the affair at Charlestown bridge. The toll-
gatherer asserted, that sometimes, on the darkest and most stormy
7t
º
º


78 PETER RUGG, THE MissiNG MAN.
nights, when no object could be discerned, about the time Rugg
was missing, a horse and wheel garriage, with a noise equal to
a troop, would at midnight, in utter contempt of the rates of
toll, pass over the bridge. This occurred so frequently, that
the toll-gatherer, resolved to attempt a discovery. Soon after,
at the usual time, apparently the same horse and carriage ap-
proached the bridge from Charlestown square. . . The toll-
gatherer, prepared, took his stand as near the middle of the
bridge as he dared, with a large three-legged stool in his hand.
As the appearance passed, he threw the stool at the horse, but
heard nothing, except the noise of the stool skipping across the
bridge. The toll-gatherer, on the next day asserted that the
stool went directly through the body of the horse; and he per-
sisted in that belief ever after. Whether Rugg, or whoever the
person was, ever passed the bridge again, the toll-gatherer would
never tell—and when questioned, seemed anxious to wave the
subject. And thus, Peter Rugg and his child, horse and car-
riage, remain a mystery to this day.”
This, sir, is all that I could learn of Peter Rugg in Boston.


-
THE HAUNTED FOREST.
ON the borders of an extensive, dark, and almost trackless
forest, in Normandy, lived Antonio Fuseli. He had married,
early in life, a beautiful woman, whose many amiable and esti-
mable qualities ensured her the love and respect of all who
knew her ; they were blessed with three lovely children, two
sons and a daughter, who were all that the fond parents could
wish. The happiness of the whole was the ruling motive of
each ; and if complete enjoyment was ever bestowed on human
beings, it certainly was the lot of this highly favored family.
They were not, in the estimation of the world, rich ; but they
possessed an ample sufficiency of all the comforts of life ; the
were content with their lot, and envied not the state of the
proudest monarch. The children were educated, beneath their
parents’ eye, in habits of virtue, industry, and economy; and
as they grew into life, there seemed nothing left to wish."
Alphonso and Julien were the fellow laborers, the companions,
and oftentimes the counsellors, of their venerated father ; while
the lovely Adela was ever the affectionate and cheerful attendant
of her beloved mother, in whatever employment or recreation
she was engaged. She was the idol of her brothers, and returned
their affection with all the enthusiasm of a youthful, unsophisti-
cated heart. Her beauty and amiable deportment had obtained
for her the appellation of ‘the Flower of the Forest,’ through
the whole neighborhood : yet so little conscious was she of any
superiority she possessed over her young companions, and so
condescending to all, that even envy could find no trait in her
character on which to vent its malice. º
Years rolled on, and saw them enjoying this sunshine of the
soul:—But the experience of every day is sufficient to teach
us, that a state of complete and lasting felicity is not designed
to crown our earthly existence. Mutability and change are in-
delibly stamped on every enjoyment of life. The happiness of the
family of Fuseli, which had continued hitherto without any appar-
ent interruption, was destined to receive a severe check, in the
declining health of the affectionate wife and mother. They saw
her sinking under the pressure of a hopeless disease ; and their
saddened hearts felt every pang she endured. The patient
victim alone seemed entirely reconciled to the inevitable result.
Adela watched over her with the most untiring solicitude ; and
when the dread mandate arrived that deprived her of this adored
parent, she felt such a sense of utter desolation, that the world


80 THE HAUNTED FOREST.
appeared to present nothing worth living for. But her reason
and judgment soon aroused her from this torpor of grief, and she
was convinced that society had still claims on her exertions. .
She had a beloved father and dear brothers, whose kind and
affectionate attentions demanded a return on her part, and a
grateful heart prompted her to suppress her own sorrows, and
endeavour to solace theirs. Indeed the children began to feel
that their united energies were required to draw their remaining
parent from that state of fixed melancholy which seemed to have
taken possession of his mind. He received their endearments
with affectionate gratitude, and sometimes with cheerfulness;
but he would leave his home for hours, and not unfrequently for
whole days, and penetrate into the deep recesses of the gloomy
forest, to indulge, without interruption, the sorrow that pressed
so heavily on his heart. His children observed and deplored
it ; but regarding his solitude as sacred, they dared not intrude:
and they unitedly resolved to contribute all in their power to
increase the enjoyments of his home, by which means they
hoped to effect the change so much desired.
One evening he was from home later than usual, and his sons
were preparing to go in quest of him, when he entered the door
of his dwelling, with a trembling step, and the paleness of death
on his countenance. They were shocked and alarmed, and all
gathered around him with anxious inquiries if he was ill, and
proposed to call in medical advice. But he, in a faint and
agitated voice, assured them he was not ill, but greatly fatigued
from having extended his walk beyond the usual limits, and
requested that he might be permitted to retire to rest without
answering any more questions. Then affectionately bidding
them good night, and solemnly commending them to the protec-
tion of Heaven, he went to his own room. His children felt
that all was not right, and passed many hours together in vain
conjectures on his altered appearance. At length they separated
at a very late hour, but not to sleep—their fears for a beloved
and only parent were too strong to admit of repose.
When the morning sun began to shed its cheerful influence
around, they all arose from sleepless pillows, and, met in the
little parlor which had been the scene of so much domestic
enjoyment; they looked around the room, and at each other
with an expression of vague inquiry, as if to ask where those
joys had flown. The father was the first to break the profound
silence. “My children,” said he, “you need not be told that
the great object of all my exertions and solicitude in life, has
been the promotion of your happiness. I have endeavoured,
both by precept and example, to lead you in the paths of virtue
and honor. If I have erred, it was an error in judgment, and
not a design to mislead you; and I have been amply repaid in
your dutiful and correct conduct. I know all your local attach-


THE HAUNTED FOREST. 81
ments are centered in this pleasant spot, where you and I were
born. It is, therefore, with pain I inform you that we must
remove from this place, and that very speedily. I know you
will be surprised and afflicted at this sudden resolution, for sud-
den I acknowledge it is. I had thought to die amid the scenes
that gave me birth—but it must not be so.” (He went on
without interruption, for no one of his auditors had power to
speak.) “I have from a boy been accustomed to hear tales of
terror connected with the forest, to which I gave no credence;
but the events of yesterday have convinced me we are in a
dangerous neighborhood. I should feel that I had but ill per-
formed the duty of a father should I die and leave you exposed
to such influences. I cannot now be more explicit ; but as you
value your own happiness, and future peace of mind, I charge
you never to attempt to penetrate the forest beyond the little
fountain.” He ceased, and as they had never been in the habit
of questioning the propriety or wisdom of their father’s decisions,
they did not now venture to remonstrate.
In a short time a purchaser was found, and the once happy
family of Antonio Fuseli quit, forever, their paternal domain,
and settled in a distant part of the country.
Change of scene scemed to produce a favorable effect, and
they again enjoyed the calm serenity which ever attends the
virtuous. This, however, was but an evanescent joy. In less
than two years, death again visited their habitation, and they
were left orphans indeed—the eldest scarce twenty-two years
of age.
*ion time after the demise of the father, it was necessary
to look over his papers, in order to make a settlement of his
concerns. In a little private drawer in his escritoir, they found
a manuscript, in his well known hand, which developed the
mystery that had so long occupied their minds, but which they
had never ventured to mention in their father’s presence since
the day it occurred. - -
The address began with an affectionate exhortation to avoid,
carefully and resolutely, every temptation to which they may
be exposed, none of which would be likely to assail the young
more powerfully than the desire to possess riches. “But know
this, my children, that wealth procured by unlawful or unjusti-
fiable means, or in any way but by honest industry, can bring
no joy to the possessor ; and all who endeavour to enrich them-
selves by supernatural agency, are planting on their temples a
gilded crown of thorns—the greater the weight of jewels that
adorn it, the sharper the pang it inflicts. I well know you feel
a strong desire to be informed of the events of that ever memo-
rable day which has made an entire change in the prospects of
our family. You have never pained me by questions on that
subject, and I feel the full value of your delicacy and forbear-


*
82 THE HAUNTED FOREST.
ance; I am therefore giving you proof of the entire confidence
I have in you, by gratifying your natural curiosity on a subject
which I have never been able to bring my mind to converse.
When our Heavenly Father saw fit to deprive me of what I
held most dear and valuable in your ever lamented mother, I
sought the solitude of the forest, as a place where I could indulge
my sorrows without fear of interruption. I threw up a little
moss seat on the brink of the fountain, whose plaintive murmur
seemed so in unison with the tone of my feelings; and near it
I erected a humble monument of stone, commemorative of the
virtues of the dear departed one. Here it was my delight to sit
whole hours, while my spirit seemed to hold communion with
beings of another world; and I always returned, as you must
have observed, calm, and often cheerful, to enjoy the comforts
...that yet remained to me in my dear children. It is true I some-
iimes heard strange noises, like whispering voices or a distant
laugh ; but I ever regarded them as the effect, of imagination,
or the wind in the tall trees, and felt no sensation of fear. But,
on that never to be forgotten day, as I sat lost in soothing con-
templation, I distinctly heard sounds of distress quite near me,
and some one calling for assistance. It was an appeal that I
thought I had no right to withstand. Prompted by feelings of
humanity, I instantly arose and attempted to force a passage
through the tangled underwood, beyond which I had never
penetrated. It was a long time before I effected my purpose ;
but at length I found an opening through which I crept, and
soon discovered the object of my search. It was a little decrepit
old man, on the ground, struggling to free himself from the
weight of a bag that was fastened to his shoulders. He had
fallen beneath his burthen, and lay apparently unable to move.
I offered him my assistance, and, after undoing the strap which
bound his pack, helped him to rise on his feet. He expressed
much gratitude, and requested, as an additional favor, that I
would assist him to raise his burthen from the ground, and carry
it a short distance, to a place where it was to be deposited. I
took hold on one side; but what was my astonishment to find its
weight as much as our united strength could raise | I told him
I did not wonder he had fallen under it, but I was surprised to
find that a man so aged and feeble could have taken a single
step encumbered with such a load. “Alas! sir,” said he, “I have
borne it a weary way ; but I serve a master who never thinks .
the weight of his gold can be a burthen to any one. Yet he is
very liberal withall, and never grudges us a share of his treas-
ures.” On hearing that it was gold we were bearing, my heart
misgave me;-I supposed I had put myself in the power of a
gang of robbers, who would not hesitate to take the life of any
one who had thus accidently discovered their haunts. While
my mind was thus occupied, my ears were assailed by the most


THE HAUNTED FOREST. 83
*
deafening shouts and hoarse peals of laughter, which so com-
pletely terrified me, that I refused to proceed another step.
The old man urged me to go on, assuring me I had nothing to
fear, and that he would request me to assist him no further than
round a projecting point of rock that was just before us, promis-
ing me I should be amply rewarded for my trouble. I proceeded
on, through fear, but gave myself up for lost. I felt that I was
alone and unarmed, in the midst of a savage host, whom I
expected to encounter at every turn. We reached the point,
when my guide raising a small trap door which opened into an
immense cave, discovered such heaps of shining metal as almost
bewildered my senses; and emptying his bag, he shook the
contents into the vault, where instantly a man of majestic figure,
but of a very stern aspect, appeared, and bestowed many com-
mendations on him for his industry and fidelity. He then turned
his dark piercing eyes on me, saying, ‘You have brought me a
new servant.” The old man gave a most significant nod. I now
felt that I was in the presence of the great banditt, and that the
crisis of my fate was fast approaching ; yet I assumed courage
to inform him it was impossible for me to enter his service, as I
had a family dependant on my care, whom I could not desert on
any consideration. He told me he well knew I had a family;
but I might serve him, and still reside with them. I had only
to obligate myself to come to him, at a stated hour every day,
and perform such offices as he should appoint me; in return for
which I should be at full liberty to enter the vault whenever I
pleased, and take from it as much gold as I chose. I assured
him I possessed a sufficiency, and had no desire for more
wealth—still thinking I was among free booters. He then took
from his pocket a well filled purse, which he offered as a reward
for what I had already done ; but, under the same impression,
I persisted in declining to receive any share of his unlawful
gains. I saw the storm gathering in his countenance. He
turned on me a look full of terror, which flashed conviction on
my mind that I was not holding converse with a being of this
world. That look bespoke the demon ; and in a voice more
appalling than the hoarsest thunder, he said, ‘grovelling wretch,
if you are not to be tempted we will try other methods;’ and
stamping furiously with his foot on the ground, I was instantly
surrounded by the most horrible shapes, and my ears were
assailed by noises, such as none but demons could utter. I
turned, and fled with incredible speed, as if assisted by an invisi-
ble power, finding myself close pursued, until I came to the
, opening through which I had passed, and crossed the little
brook that ſalls from the fountain, and which runs the whole
length of the forest. I had now successfully escaped from their
malice, as I well knew that no evil spirit has power to cross a
running stream. My senses were nearly gone; and my strength


84 The HAUNTED FOREST.
entirely failing, I sunk on the earth, and distinctly heard them,
as they desisted from the chase, saying, ‘if he had but touched
a piece of our master's gold, he could not have foiled us thus.
Had he yielded to one temptation, we might have found him an
easy prey.” I returned thanks, most fervently, that I had been
thus preserved; and after recovering strength to rise on my
feet, I returned home, firmly determined never again to enter
that fatal place. When alone, I seriously revolved the proba-
ble consequences of leaving my dear children exposed to such
dangerous influences, when they should no longer have the
experience of a father to guide their youthful steps. And the
result was a determination to tear myself from that endeared
spot and sacrifice all my local attachments to their happiness.
You are now in possession of all the motives by which I have
been actuated, and I trust you will know how to appreciate
them. May that Almighty Power, which has preserved me
through life, guide and guard you, my children, and shed
unnumbered blessings on you.”
That this communication should differently affect those, to
whom it was jointly addressed, will be no matter of surprise to
any one who has studied the human heart, or has the slightest
knowledge of the various feelings that arise from the same
source, as the characters of the individuals most immediately
concerned may vary. -
Alphonso, who was of a bold, aspiring temper, perused it with
attention, and felt really grateful for the kindness that had dic-
tated the many cautions it contained ; but he felt the sparks of .
avarice and ambition (which had hitherto lain nearly dormant
under the mild counsels and virtuous example of his pious
parents) now rising to an uncontrollable flame. The more
placid, and regulated spirit of Julien, prompted him to return
thanks that he had been timely forewarned of dangers, which
made him shudder to think of, and would have proved destructive
to his happiness had he fallen on them unawares. He saw in
his present lot all that his ambition aspired to.
The gentle Adela, who had ever been the favorite compan-
ion of both brothers, began to feel that the eldest took less
delight, than formerly, in conversing with her ; she carefully
retraced every part of her past conduct towards him, but could
not discover in what she had offended him. It was in vain that
she strove to amuse or please him. She would take her lute,
and although she touched it with inimitable grace and skill, and
accompanied it with the touching tones of her sweet voice, and
sang his most favorite airs, yet she could not draw from him the
slightest expression of approbation. She could freely pour her
complaints into the ear of the affectionate Julien, and they both
joined in lamenting a change, for which they could not account.
They mourned together, that one who had ever been so kind,


THE HAUNTED for EST. 85
so cheerful and so happy, should now abandon society, and seem
entirely lost to all the engagements of life; but they encouraged
a hope that a little time would unfold the mystery. -
The truth was, Alphonso's mind was wholly absorbed in
olden dreams; new feelings and desires were awakened ; and
he delighted in nothing but devising plans, by which he might
possess himself of some of the treasures of the cavern, without
violating the injunction of his revered parent, which he had ever
held sacred, or placing himself in the power of the demons.
For this reason, he avoided, as much as possible, the society of
his brother and sister, from whom he was peculiarly solicitous
to conceal all that was passing in his mind. -
Things went on in this state for some weeks. At last he
came to the desperate resolution to endure it no longer, but go
to the place and see for himself. “I could wish,” he would
often say to himself, “that my dear father had inquired what
the services were that he would be expected to perform—per-
haps they were not hard, or sinful—I may just find out what
nature they are of, and perhaps enrich myself, and place my
beloved brother and sister in a higher station than their unaspir-
ing hearts ever dreampt of The lovely Adela is too fair a
flower to bloom in the shade of obscurity. How proud shall I
be to place her in a situation equal to her merit. I must, at
least, make the experiment. The motive will justify the means;
and if I do not succeed, they shall never know I have attempted
it.” After his resolution was taken, he seemed more cheerful,
conversed through the day, as in former times, and returned the
caresses of his sweet sister with increased tenderness. They
were delighted with the change, and felt that domestic happiness
would again be a resident in their little circle. -
One evening, after much pleasant and interesting conversa-
tion, the eldest brother informed them that he had a short journey
to perform, which would oblige him to be absent a week or
more, and they must make themselves as happy as possible in
his absence. They regretted the separation, and hoped his
return would not be long delayed.
Early in the morning he took an affectionate leave of them,
and set forward with his mind full of great plans for a future life
of splendor. He travelled on, rapidly revolving in his mind the
vast sums of money, and the honors that seemed to await his
acceptance. But when he arrived in the neighborhood of his
former residence, and every object that met his eye told a tale
of by-gone days, his heart beat with a variety of contending
emotions. The scene of all his early enjoyments, and the inno-
cent sports of his infant days, brought a most vivid recollection
of the pious lessons and amiable example of his departed parents,
and his over-wrought feelings found timely vent in a copious
shower of tears. His first resolution was to return instantly
8 -
*


THE HAUNTED FOREST. 87
water in her face, she soon revived, and opened on him a pair
of eyes which rivalled the diamonds that decorated her person.
He politely offered to conduct her to a place of safety, which
she accepted with the most lively expressions of gratitude,
informing him that her father's residence was about a mile
distant—that, tempted by the freshness of the morning, she had
walked out unattended, and penetrated the forest beyond her
usual bounds, where she had met this disastrous adventure ;
and, she added, had you not appeared to rescue me from the
villain, my life must have fallen a sacrifice to my temerity. She
raised her bright eyes to his face, and he saw her beautiful
countenance suffused with a blush that spoke volumes to his
heart.
They soon arrived at the gate of a splendid mansion, and
passed through throngs of servants to a saloon, where sat a man
of stately appearance, who rose as they entered, and exclaimed,
“My daughter ſ” She threw herself into his arms, overcome
with emotion, and sobbing aloud on his breast, said, “My dear
father, but for the courage and gallantry of this gentleman, you
had been, at this moment, childless.” “Explain yourself, my
child,” said he, and pressing Alphonso affectionately by the hand,
requested him to be seated; while his daughter related all that
has been told above, interspersed with the most flattering enco-
miums on the generosity of her deliverer.
The father loaded him with professions of gratitude and
friendship, and insisted that he should be their guest for the
present. This invitation, so congenial to his present feelings
and wishes, was not to be declined. The young lady left
the room, and after changing her disordered dress, returned
in a garb more splendid and becoming than any thing he had
ever beheld ; and he thought he had never cast his eyes on a
being so lovely. Our hero was then conducted to a chamber,
where a great variety of superb dresses were spread before
him, and he was requested to select what was most to his fancy,
and array himself for dinner. There was company expected,
and his travelling attire would not comport with the occasion, as
he was to be introduced as the particular friend of the master
of the mansion and his fair daughter. He was so dazzled that
it was a long time ere he could decide; and when full dressed,
he could hardly leave the large mirror that displayed his glitter-
ing figure from head to foot. A servant at length came to
summon him to the table. -
When he entered the dining room, he was introduced to each
one of the party, who sat down to an elegant repast, and quaffed
the richest wines from cups of pure gold. When the subject
of the lady Lusette’s deliverance was introduced, all the com-
pany were unanimous in the praises of her preserver. “You
are indeed a favorite of fortune,” said a youth who sat next him.


88 THE HAUNTED FOREST.
“I cannot but envy you the honor of this day's achievement.”
“When I first saw the young lady in such danger,” replied
Alphonso, “I almost feared it would be out of my power to
rescue her, as I thought she was in the hands of one of the
infernal spirits which inhabit this forest.” At this moment a
tremendous groan was uttered ; and on looking up he saw the
! face of every guest, and even the fair countenance of the lovely
Lusette, darkened by a terrific frown. He was silent—and
after a few moments pause, the master of the feast proposed
removing to another apartment, where music and dancing filled
up the time till a very late hour ; and the enchanted Alphonso
had the felicity of receiving the fair hand of her he had saved
from death in the morning, as a partner for the evening.
His senses were perfectly entranced; and for three successive
days, he rode, he walked, he danced, he sung and feasted,
without a thought of home, or of the future—every faculty of
his mind was absorbed in the time being, for the object of his
adoration was the sharer in all his joys. At length, a thought
of the still dear friends he had left behind, and a desire to make
them acquainted with his fair prospects, gave him resolution to
tear himself away; and he mentioned his intention to his kind
entertainers. They tried, by every blandishment, to prevail
on him to alter his plan ; but consented to his departure, on
condition of a promise to return soon, and pass a longer time
with them. To this proposal he gladly assented, for the spell
was close woven around him ; and he took his leave, loaded
with rich and valuable presents; Lusette bid him adieu with a
sigh, which his unpractised heart feelingly responded. She
took from her finger a ring of great value, which she placed on
his, saying, with the most winning softness, “Remember your
promise.” Of this he needed not to be reminded. A beautiful
horse, richly caparisoned, was presented him, and he was fur-
nished with a guide, who soon extricated him from the forest,
and took him, by a different route, to the place from which he
entered it. He there disposed of the horse that had brought
him from home, and set forward on his return in a much superior
style to that in which he had commenced his journey. -
He was most affectionately received on his arrival by his dear
brother and sister, who had passed the time of his absence in
anxious and fruitless conjectures as to the nature of the business
that had called him from home, which he had not thought proper
to intrust to them; for there had hitherto been no secrets in
this family of love. They were so much delighted to see him
return in safety, that they did not, that night, remark the altera-
tion in his personal appearance. But the next day, when they
had leisure to notice his costly attire, the diamond ring on his
finger, the elagant horse he rode, and saw him ostentatiously
display large sums of gold, they were lost in wonder and aston-
* .


90 - THE HAUNTED FORf's T.
him there were conditions to be performed on his part, to which
he might not accede : in which case he was at full liberty to
reject the alliance ; “although,” added he, with a deep drawn
sigh, “I should have much to fear from the effects of such a
refusal on the health and spirits of a beloved daughter. The
truth is, Alphonso, I have discovered that Lusette loves you.”
Enraptured, as he was, he readily promised to comply with
the terms, be they what they might; feeling that the services
required would fall far short of the value of the reward, and that
his highest felicity would consist, in devoting his life to her
gratification. He was then left to seek the object of his adora-
tion, and hear, from her lips, a confirmation of his happiness.
A reciprocation of vows succeeded, and the overjoyed lover now
felt that his lot was truly enviable.
The evening passed in revelry and mirth. At the stroke of
midnight, a servant came to the happy Alphonso, and told him
the Baron desired to speak with him in private. He instantly
left the room, and found his host in an adjoining apartment,
prepared with a glimmering lamp : he spoke only the words,
“ Follow me ;” and opening a door, began to descend a long
flight of stone steps, which terminated in a large vault, con-
nected with an immense subterranean passage, so damp and
gloomy, that he shuddered as he advanced, the lamp scarcely
affording light to direct their footsteps. At the end of this, they
entered a spacious apartment, in the center of which was a
large caldron, throwing up a glaring blue flame, which quivered
round the walls, and presented such a scene of horror, as almost
chilled his blood. -
The entire walls were draperied with skeletons; huge heaps
of skulls and human bones were scattered on the floor, and
hideous shapes flitted around in every direction. Terrified and
amazed, he fearfully inquired for what purpose he had been
brought into this charnel-house 2 His guide, assuming an
authoritative tone, commanded him to dispense with questions,
and attend to his instructions. He was then required to bind
himself, by the most tremendous oaths, to be eternally the slave
of the adorable Lusette; and never to think of any other woman
as a wife. -
To all that was proposed he acceded. . His passion for the
lady on one hand, and his fears on the other, would not suffer
him to offer any resistance. All around him he heard a con-
tinual whispering and suppressed laughter, and his hair rose on
his head with terror. He was then informed that the extra
service required of him was merely to gratify a whim of his
betrothed, to suffer himself to be harnessed, with a number of
her discarded lovers, to a car, and draw her through the forest,
at a certain hour, every night. Degrading as this proposition
seemed to him, and however inconsistent with all her profes-
* -
z


THE HAUNTED Forest. - 93
After travelling three or four days, without obtaining any clue
to his route, they entered a pleasant road, which led through a
delightfully romantic, but unfrequented tract of country; and
proceeded on without seeing any thing like a human habitation,
until the shadows of evening began to close around them. As
night-fall approached, the heart of Julien beat with anxious
fears for his beloved sister, who had never been accustomed to
exposure ; and he feared they should be under the necessity of
passing the night unsheltered in the open air. At this crisis
they saw a venerable man approaching, in the dress of a hermit.
His form was somewhat bowed, and his snowy locks, and long
silvery beard, plainly indicated that the frosts of many winters
had passed over him. He carried a staff in his hand; yet he
walked with a firm step ; and as he advanced to meet them, the
benevolent expression of his countenance inspired them with
confidence and respect. They reined in their horses, and
inquired of him the distance to the nearest habitation. “My
children,” said the old man, “you are far from the haunts of
men. A journey of many hours will scarcely bring you to a
convenient shelter. But I have a cell at hand, where you shall
be welcome to all the accommodations it affords.” There was
so much of genuine courtesy in the manner of the speaker, that
they felt no hesitation in accepting the invitation; and with
many expressions of gratitude, they entered the humble cell,
where they were simply, but most hospitably entertained. After
supper they entered freely into conversation, and informed their
friendly entertainer of the object of their present journey, and,
the ill success which had hitherto attended all their inquiries.
He listened attentively to a recital of every circumstance of
their brother’s departure, and all they knew of his adventures;
and he replied, with a deep drawn sigh, “Your narrative too
plainly discovers to me the fate of your deluded brother. He
is, undoubtedly, one among the wretched beings who have been
drawn, by various temptations, into the power of the malicious
fiends in the haunted forest.” At the mention of this terrible
name, a cold shuddering seized them; conviction flashed on
their minds, and Adela was near fainting ; but by the timely
application of some restoratives, which the good hermit had at
hand, she soon recovered, and their kind host went on : “I feel,
my children, that you have been providentially directed to me,
as I have long been in possession of a talisman, which is des-
tined to destroy the glamour of that ill fated forest, when in the
hands of unsullied innocence.” He then drew from his bosom
a small pearl case, from which he took a brilliant gem, inscribed
with the words, “Wirtue and Integrity;” and suspending it to a
chain of the purest gold, the old man hung it on the neck of the
lovely Adela; telling her, if she attended strictly to his instruc-
tions, she had it now in her power to release her unhappy
-


94 THE HAUNTED FOREST.
brother from the most intolerable slavery. “But be sure you
never suffer the brightness of this inestimable jewel to contract
the slightest tarnish. Keep it ever bright, as it is now ; for on
its unsullied brilliancy depends its influence, which will infallibly
diminish if it is suffered to corrode.”
He spent some time in giving them particular directions how
to proceed on their great undertaking, and bestowing on them
his truly parental advice ; and then, preparing them beds of
dried leaves, and fervently invoking the blessing and protection
of Heaven on them, invited them to repose themselves. . -
They slept soundly until the old man awoke them, at the dawn
of the morning, to join in his early devotions. After which they
partook of his humble breakfast, and took their leave, attended
by the blessing and benediction of their kind and pious friend.
They proceeded on their eventful journey, much relieved by
the information they had gained, yet saddened by the idea of
the shocking situation to which the unhappy Alphonso had
reduced himself by his deplorable infatuation. Ere night they
came in view of well remembered scenes, the familiarity of
which brought such a crowd of painful recollections, as almost
overpowered them. They rested, for the night, in the vicinity
of their earliest home ; and they proceeded, at an early hour in
the morning, to an entrance into the dreaded forest, which their
good friend, the hermit, had pointed out; expressing, at the
same time, his unqualified approbation of their scrupulous
observance of the prohibition their beloved parent had enjoined
in regard to crossing the brook. They walked on, hardly able
to find a path through which they could proceed. They pene-
trated far into the gloomy recesses of the tangled wood; and
seeing night approaching, endeavoured to fortify their minds
against the horrors they expected to encounter in passing it in
such a spot. As yet, they had heard or seen nothing to alarm
or terrify them; but every rustling leaf, in such a place, was
enough to startle these youthful adventurers. They, however,
by mutual encouragement, rallied their spirits to proceed, hav-
ing been informed that nothing could be effected unless they
could summon courage to pass a night in the forest. -
An old dilapidated castle appeared at a distance; and in this
they resolved to take shelter from the chill air, as the gathering
clouds and distant thunder threatened a coming tempest. They
entered, beneath a ruined gateway, and, climbing with difficulty
over heaps of rubbish, came to the interior, in which they thought
they might make a shift to remain. . In a short time they found
themselves involved in thick and impenetrable darkness, and
heard such terrific sounds, as almost curdled the blood in their
veins. Deep and dismal groans, hissing, and clanking of chains,
shrieks of despair, and horrible *..." mingled with the
raging tempest. Hoarse peals of thunder shook the tottering
-


-
96 THE HAUNTED FOREST.
the forest forever. “Since my power and dominion have been
set at defiance by a girl and a paultry pebble, the seat of my
kingdom is henceforth removed.” So saying, he stampped with
his foot—the earth cleft asunder—and the whole demoniac crew,
castle and all, sunk with a deafening crash, and left the little
group to thank their kind deliverer, and rejoice in their escape
from their disgraceful thraldom.
The dawn of morning rose on this astonished and rejoicing
party; they hastened to extricate themselves from the snares
of the forest, and the family of Fuseli again sought their peace-
ful home, where they were welcomed with many testimonials of , ,
real joy by their household and friends, among whom much
anxiety had been experienced for their safety.
Alphonso felt that he had forever lost that sunshine of the
mind which is the attendant of unsullied innocence ; and con-
scientiously believing that his vows, though given to a demon,
precluded his entering into a matrimonial engagement. No
entreaties could dissuade him from a resolution he had formed
to enter a convent, and pass the remainder of his life in acts of
penitence. -
Julien soon after married a young lady of the most amiable
character; and the lovely Adela attracted the affections of a
gentleman of shining merit, whose wealth and influence placed
her in a station she was well qualified to adorn; and the talisman
of Virtue and Integrity was never suffered to diminish in bril-
liancy in her happy family.
. There are now roads cut through the once dreaded forest.
Postillions often entertain travellers with stories of the deeds
of darkness that have been perpetrated on some particular part
of their route; and a large chasm, not far from the road side,
is still shown as the one through which the pandemonium
vanished.


LONELY MAN OF 'THE OCEAN. 99
poison with the festive viands which had been liberally distrib-
uted to the whole crew at the farewell entertainment of the
Invincible. Loëffler, although a German, was no great believer
In tales of mystery and dark vengeance. A more fearful idea
than even that of poison once or twice half-insinuated itself into
his mind, but was forced from it with horror.
The wind, which had blown favorably for the first ten days
of the voyage, now seemed totally to die away, and left the ves-
sel becalmed in the midway ocean. But for the idle rocking
occasioned by the under swell of the broad Atlantic waves, she
might have seemed a fixture to those seas; for not even the
minutest calculable fraction in her latitude and longitude could
have been discovered, even by the nicest observer, for fourteen
days. All this while a tropical sun sent its burning, searching
rays on the vessel, whose increasing siek and dying gasped for
air; and unable either to endure the suffocation below, or the
fiery sunbeams above, choaked the gangways in their restless
passage to and from deck, or giving themselves up in despair,
called on death for relief. The whole crew were in consterna-
tion ; and they who had still health and strength left to manage
or clear the ship, went about their usual duties with the feelings
of men who might, at a moment's warning, be summoned from
them to death and eternal doom.
Loëffler had shown much courage during these fearful scenes,
but when he beheld sickness and death mysteriously extending
their reign around him, and bearing away the best and the
bravest of that gallant crew, he began to think that the avenging
hand of God was upon her; and turning his eye towards the
broad sheet of ocean waves which rolled between him and the
north-eastern horizon, was heard to murmur, “Farewell —
farewell ?” .
One night, after having for some time tended the beds of the
sick and dying, Loëffler retired to his couch, and endeavored to
gain in slumber a brief forgetfulness of all the thoughts that
weighed down his spirit. But a death-like sickness came over
him ; his little cabin seemed to whirl round as if moving on a
pivot, while his restless limbs found no space for their feverish
evolutions in his confined berth. Christian began to think that
his hour was coming, and he tried to raise his soul in prayer;
but while he essayed to fix his thoughts on Heaven, he felt that
his reason was fast yielding to the burning fever which seemed
almost to be consuming his brain. He called for water, but
none heard or answered his cries He crawled on deck, and,
as the sun had now set several hours, hoped for a breath of the
fresh air of heaven. He threw himself down, and turned his
face towards the dark sky. . But the atmosphere was sultry,
heavy, oppressive. It appeared to lie like an insupportable
weight on his chest. He called for the surgeon, but he called


LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. - 101
warn your captain ſ” The professional man stooped towards
his pestilential patient, and whispered softly, “We know all—
have known all from the beginning. Think you that all this
fumigation—this smoking of pipes—this separation, as far as
might be, of the whole from the sick, were remedies to arrest
the spread of mortality from poisoned viands 2 But breathe not,
for Heaven's sake, your suspicions among this hapless crew.
Fear is, in these cases, destruction. I have still hopes that the
infection may be arrested.” But the surgeon’s words were
wasted on air. His patient’s senses, roused only for an instant,
had again wandered into the regions of delirious fancy, and the
torture of his swollen members rendered that delirium almost
frantic. The benevolent surgeon administered a nostrum, look-
ed with compassion on a fellow being whom he considered
doomed to destruction, and secure (despite his superior’s fate)
in what he had ever deemed professional exemption from inſec-
tion, prepared to descend to the second-deck. He never reached
it. A shivering fit was succeeded by deathly sickness. All the
powers of nature seemed to be totally and instantaneously broken
up ; the poison had reached the vitals, as in a moment—and
the last hope of the fast-sickening crew was no more | Those
on deck rushed in overpowering consternation to the cabin of
the captain. Death had been there, too ! He was extended,
not only lifeless, but in a state of actual putrescence
The scenes that followed are of a nature almost too appalling,
and even revolting, for description. Let the reader conceive
(if he can without having witnessed such a spectacle) the con-
dition of a set of wretched beings, pent within a scorched
prison-house, without commander, without medical assistance ;
daily falling faster and faster, until there were not whole enough
to tend the sick, nor living enough to bury the dead; while the
malady became every hour more baleful and virulent, from the
increasing heat of the atmosphere, the number of living without
attendance, and dead without a grave. - -
It was about five days after the portentous deaths of the sur-
geon and commander, that Loëffler awoke from a deep and
lengthened, and, as all might well have deemed, a last slumber,
which had succeeded the wild delirium of fever. He awoke
like one returning to a world which he had for some time quitted.
It was many minutes ere he could recollect his situation. He
found himself still above deck, but placed on a mattress, and in
a hammock. A portion of a cordial was near him. He drank
it with the avidity, yet the difficulty, of exhaustion, and slightly
partook of a sea-mess, which, from its appearance, might have
been laid on his couch some days previously to the sleeper's
awakening. Life and sense now rapidly revived in the naturally
| * In foreign climates I have often heard the livi -
-- - e livid spots about the heart, above
described, : as the tokens of the plague. p 3.


102 LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN.
:
strong constitution of our young German. But they brought
with them the most fearful and appalling sensations.
The sun was blazing in the midst of heaven, and seemed to
be sending its noontide ardór on an atmosphere loaded with
pestilential vapor. With returned strength, Loëffler called
aloud; but no voice answered him. He began to listen with
breathless attention ; not a sound, either of feet or voices, met
his ear. A thought of horror, that for a moment half-stilled the
pulsation at his heart, rushed on Loëffler’s mind. He lay for a
moment to recover himself, and collecting those powers of mind
and body, over which a certain moral firmness of character,
already noticed (joined, be it observed, with the better strength
of good principles), had given him a master's command—he
quitted his couch, and stood on deck. God of mercy what a
sight met Loëffler's eye | The whole deck was strewed with
pestilential corpses, presenting every variety of hue which could
mark the greater or less progress of the hand of putrefaction,
and every conceivable attitnde which might indicate either the
state of frantic anguish, or utter and hopeless exhaustion, in
which the sufferers had expired. The hand, fast stiffening in
its fixed clasp on the hair; the set teeth and starting eyeballs
showed where death had come as the reliever of those insup-
portable torments which attend the plague when it bears down
its victim by the accumulated mass of its indurated and baleful
ulcerations. Others, who had succumbed to its milder, more
insidious, yet still more fatal (because more sudden and utterly
hopeless) attack, lay in the helpless and composed attitude which
might have passed for sleep; but the livid and purple marks of
these last corpses, scarce capable of being borne to their grave
in the “integrity of their dimensions,” showed that the hand of
corruption had been even more busy with them than with the
fiercer and more tortured victims of the pestilence. The Invin-
cible, once the proudest and most gallant vessel which ever rode
out a storm, or defied an enemy, now floated like a vast pest-
house on the waters; while the sun of that burning zone poured
its merciless and unbroken beams on the still and pestiferous
atmosphere. Not a sound, not a breeze, awoke the silence of
the sullen and baleful air; not a single sail broke the desolate
uniformity of the horizon: sea and sky seemed to meet only to
close in that hemisphere of poisonous exhalations. Christian
sickened ; he turned round with a feeling of despair, and bury-
ing his face in the couch he had just quitted, sought a moment's
refuge from the scene of horror. That moment was one of
prayer; the next was that of stern resolution. . He forced
down his throat a potation, from which his long-confirmed habits
i of sobriety would formerly have shrunk with disgust; and,
under the stimulous of this excitement, compelled himself to the
revolting office of swallowing a food which he felt necessary to


LONELY MAN OF THE OCEAN. " .. 105
*
of the motions of time. He listened, therefore, with an ear
half-fearful, half-hopeful, to the risings of the blast. At first it
began to whistle shrilly through the shrouds and rigging ; the
whistle deepened into a thundering roar, and the idle rocking
of the ship was changed into the boisterous motion of a storm-
beaten vessel. Loëffler, however, threw himself as usual on
deck for his night's repose; and, wrapped in his sea-cloak, was
rocked to slumber even by the stormy lullaby of the elements.
Towards midnight the voice of the tempest began to deepen
to a tone of ominous and apparently concentrating force, which
might have started the most reckless slumberer. Sheets of
lightning—playing from one extremity of the sky to the other—
showed the dense masses of rent and scattered clouds which
blackened the face of heaven; while the peal of thunder that
followed seemed to pour its full tide of fury immediately over
the fated ship. The blast, when contrasted with the still atmo-
sphere and oppressive heat which had preceded it, appeared to
Loëffler piercing, and even wintry cold; while the fierce and
unintermittant motion of the vessel rendered it almost difficult
for him to preserve a footing on deck. By every fresh flash of
lightning, he could see wide-spread and increasing sheets of
surge running towards the ship with a fury that half suggested
the idea of malevolent volition on their part; while they dashed
against the sides with a violence which seemed to drive in her
timbers, and swamped the deck with foam and billows. Whether
any of these storm-tossed waves made their way below—or
whether the ship, so long deprived of nautical examination, had
sprung a leak in the first encounter of the tempest—Loëffle
could not determine ; but the conviction that she was filling
with water forced itself on his mind. He again cast his eyes to
the north-eastern horizon, and again uttered aloud—“Farewell
farewell (22 -
The loneliness of his situation, to which time, though it had
not reconciled, had habituated him, came upon him with the
renewed and appalling sensations of novelty. National and
early-acquired feelings obtained a temporary triumph over indi-
vidual strength of character. The torn and misshapen clouds,
as their black forms were from time to time rendered visible by
the blue light that darted through them, appeared to our young
German like careering spirits of the tempest; and the rent sails,
as they flapped backwards and forwards, or were driven like
shattered pennons of the blast, seemed, as the momentary light
cast their dark shadows athwart the deck, to be foul fiends of
the ocean, engaged in the malign work of dismantling that gal-
lant ship. To Loëffler’s temporarily excited imagination, even
the tossing billows seemed, in that portentous light, to “surge
up” by hundreds the faces of those who had found beneath them
a dismål and untimely grave; and the lost mariners appeared
l
\
*


o
THE WRECKERS OF ST. AGNES.
THERE are few parts of England more wild and desolate than
the mining districts of Cornwall. Nature, as a counterpoise to
the treasures which she has lavished on this region of her
bounty, has imparted to its features a most forbidding aspect.
Bleak and barren plains, unenlivened by vegetation, with neither
tree nor shrub to protect the traveller from the wind that sweeps
across their surface, and danger in every step, from the innu-
merable shafts by which they are intersected.
It is truly an inhospitable country; and the nature of the
inhabitants seems quite in accordance with its unfriendly charac-
teristics—repulsive and ungainly in appearance, disgusting and
ferocious in manner, cruel by nature, and treacherously cunning.
Not a step have they gained from the barbarous state of their
savage ancestors. I allude more particularly to the town and
district of St. Agnes., near Truro, and its people. St. Agnes
is a small place, situated on the coast of Cornwall, about ten
miles from Truro, across one of those sterile plains, almost cov-
ered with the refuse of mines, and perforated in every direction,
like a gigantic rabbit-warren. The road, so called, through
this waste, is little better than a track, which it would be diffi-
cult and dangerous to traverse, without a guide. Many a wan-
derer has found a nameless grave, by venturing rashly across
those dreary moors.
It was late in the autumn when I visited St. Agnes, and it
was towards the close of a gloomy day that I found myself at
the residence of Captain Thomas, so I shall call him, whose
acquaintance I had made in London, and who had succeeded in
persuading me, that the only sure way to make a fortune was,
by investing a trifle of ready money in a copper-mine. He held
the rank of captain by the custom of the country, as a mine is
conducted, like a ship, by a captain and officers. The captain
was rather a decent specimen of his caste ; for, where all are
combinations of the miner, smuggler, wrecker, and, conse-
quently, ruffian, a man even of decent manners is something.
He had one fault, however, which I afterwards discovered :- *
He would have considered it a most meritorious employment, to
have robbed even his own father. rather than not to have robbed
at all.
Our repast being over, and I, like a witless booby, having
invested my bank-notes in his pouch, in exchange for certain
bits of paper he was pleased to call shares; and having received


s
THE WRECKERS OF ST. AGNES. 113
we have nºt had a godsend worth telling about these two years.
I’ve seen the time when we’ve had a matter of a dozen wracks
in a season.”
“Well, never mind, Master Knox,” said a pert-looking, snub-
nosed fellow, named Roberts, who I at first glance took for an
attorney, but afterwards found that he was a mining-agent.
From his more constant intercourse with Truro, he was rather
better dressed than some of his companions; but his town
breeding gave him no other advantage than a conceited, saucy
air. º: mind, Master Knox,” said he, jingling a bunch
of seals which peeped from beneath the waistcoat of that worthy,
“you have made the most of your luck, and if you don't get
any more you won’t harm.” -
“Why, yes,” said the fellow, drawing out a handsome gold
watch, which accorded curiously with his coarse attire. “I don’t
complain of the past; and yet I had a narrow escape with this ;
if it had n't been for my boy Jem, I should have lost it.”
“He’s a 'cute child, that boy of yours,” remarked one.
“There never was a 'cuter. I’ll tell you, sir,” said he,
addressing me. “It is two years ago, come December, on a
Sunday, when we were all in church, that we had news of a
wrack. Well, off we all started you may be sure, and the par-
son not the last, to see what it had pleased God to send us.
We found on coming up, that it was a French India-man. She
had gone to pieces off the rocks, and the goods were floating
about like dirt. I was n’t long in making the most of it; and
Jem was just going off for the cart, when I 'spied, half covered
with weed, and hidden by a piece of rock, the body of a French-
man. I soon saw I had got a prize, for he was loaded with
money and trinkets. These I quickly eased him of, seeing as
he’d never want ’em ; but to make sure, I hit 'un a good slap
over the head just to see whether the life was in 'un or no.”
[Here one or two of the auditors grinned.] “Well, I was just
going away, when I see’d a diamond ring on his finger, and the
finger being swelled with the water, I cuts it off” [displaying at
the same time a knife of rather formidable proportions] “and walks
off with my goods. I hadn't gone far, when little Jem runs after,
crying, “Dad, dad 1 hit 'un again dad he grin'th, he grin'th !”
I looked back, and sure enough that rascally French thief—
whether it was drawing the blood or not, I don't know—but he
was moving his arm about, and opening his eyes, as though he
were bent on taking the bread out of my mouth. This put me
in a precious rage—these Frenchmen are always a spiteful set,
and hate Englishmen as they hate the devil. So I makes no
more ado but I hits’un a lick with the tail of a rudder laying
close by, and I’ll warrant me he never come to ask for my
goods. -
The miscreant chuckled over this horrid recital with all the


- - -
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