not breathe in words. The healthy, strong-made man, who could have borne
almost any fatigue of active exertion, was wasting beneath the close
confinement and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison. The slight and
delicate woman was sinking beneath the combined effects of bodily and
mental illness. The child's young heart was breaking.
'Winter came, and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain. The poor girl
had removed to a wretched apartment close to the spot of her husband's
imprisonment; and though the change had been rendered necessary by their
increasing poverty, she was happier now, for she was nearer him. For two
months, she and her little companion watched the opening of the gate as
usual. One day she failed to come, for the first time. Another morning
arrived, and she came alone. The child was dead.
'They little know, who coldly talk of the poor man's bereavements, as
a happy release from pain to the departed, and a merciful relief from
expense to the survivor--they little know, I say, what the agony of
those bereavements is. A silent look of affection and regard when all
other eyes are turned coldly away--the consciousness that we possess the
sympathy and affection of one being when all others have deserted us--is
a hold, a stay, a comfort, in the deepest affliction, which no wealth
could purchase, or power bestow. The child had sat at his parents'
feet for hours together, with his little hands patiently folded in each
other, and his thin wan face raised towards them. They had seen him pine
away, from day to day; and though his brief existence had been a joyless
one, and he was now removed to that peace and rest which, child as he
was, he had never known in this world, they were his parents, and his
loss sank deep into their souls.
'It was plain to those who looked upon the mother's altered face,
that death must soon close the scene of her adversity and trial. Her
husband's fellow-prisoners shrank from obtruding on his grief and
misery, and left to himself alone, the small room he had previously
occupied in common with two companions. She shared it with him; and
lingering on without pain, but without hope, her life ebbed slowly away.
'She had fainted one evening in her husband's arms, and he had borne her
to the open window, to revive her with the air, when the light of the
moon falling full upon her face, showed him a change upon her features,
which made him stagger beneath her weight, like a helpless infant.
'"Set me down, George," she said faintly. He did so, and seating himself
beside her, covered his face with his hands, and burst into tears.
'"It is very hard to leave you, George," she said; "but it is God's
will, and you must bear it for my sake. Oh! how I thank Him for having
taken our boy! He is happy, and in heaven now. What would he have done
here, without his mother!"
'"You shall not die, Mary, you shall not die;" said the husband,
starting up. He paced hurriedly to and fro, striking his head with his
clenched fists; then reseating himself beside her, and supporting her in
his arms, added more calmly, "Rouse yourself, my dear girl. Pray, pray
do. You will revive yet."
'"Never again, George; never again," said the dying woman. "Let them
lay me by my poor boy now, but promise me, that if ever you leave this
dreadful place, and should grow rich, you will have us removed to
some quiet country churchyard, a long, long way off--very far from
here--where we can rest in peace. Dear George, promise me you will."
'"I do, I do," said the man, throwing himself passionately on his knees
before her. "Speak to me, Mary, another word; one look--but one!"
'He ceased to speak: for the arm that clasped his neck grew stiff and
heavy. A deep sigh escaped from the wasted form before him; the lips
moved, and a smile played upon the face; but the lips were pallid, and
the smile faded into a rigid and ghastly stare. He was alone in the
world.
'That night, in the silence and desolation of his miserable room, the
wretched man knelt down by the dead body of his wife, and called on God
to witness a terrible oath, that from that hour, he devoted himself to
revenge her death and that of his child; that thenceforth to the last
moment of his life, his whole energies should be directed to this one
object; that his revenge should be protracted and terrible; that his
hatred should be undying and inextinguishable; and should hunt its
object through the world.
'The deepest despair, and passion scarcely human, had made such fierce
ravages on his face and form, in that one night, that his companions
in misfortune shrank affrighted from him as he passed by. His eyes were
bloodshot and heavy, his face a deadly white, and his body bent as if
with age. He had bitten his under lip nearly through in the violence of
his mental suffering, and the blood which had flowed from the wound had
trickled down his chin, and stained his shirt and neckerchief. No
tear, or sound of complaint escaped him; but the unsettled look, and
disordered haste with which he paced up and down the yard, denoted the
fever which was burning within.
'It was necessary that his wife's body should be removed from the
prison, without delay. He received the communication with perfect
calmness, and acquiesced in its propriety. Nearly all the inmates of the
prison had assembled to witness its removal; they fell back on either
side when the widower appeared; he walked hurriedly forward, and
stationed himself, alone, in a little railed area close to the lodge
gate, from whence the crowd, with an instinctive feeling of delicacy,
had retired. The rude coffin was borne slowly forward on men's
shoulders. A dead silence pervaded the throng, broken only by the
audible lamentations of the women, and the shuffling steps of the
bearers on the stone pavement. They reached the spot where the bereaved
husband stood: and stopped. He laid his hand upon the coffin, and
mechanically adjusting the pall with which it was covered, motioned
them onward. The turnkeys in the prison lobby took off their hats as it
passed through, and in another moment the heavy gate closed behind it.
He looked vacantly upon the crowd, and fell heavily to the ground.
'Although for many weeks after this, he was watched, night and day, in
the wildest ravings of fever, neither the consciousness of his loss,
nor the recollection of the vow he had made, ever left him for a
moment. Scenes changed before his eyes, place succeeded place, and
event followed event, in all the hurry of delirium; but they were all
connected in some way with the great object of his mind. He was sailing
over a boundless expanse of sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the
angry waters, lashed into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every
side. There was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the
howling storm; her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast, and her
deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the sides, over which huge
waves every instant burst, sweeping away some devoted creatures into the
foaming sea. Onward they bore, amidst the roaring mass of water, with a
speed and force which nothing could resist; and striking the stem of the
foremost vessel, crushed her beneath their keel. From the huge
whirlpool which the sinking wreck occasioned, arose a shriek so loud and
shrill--the death-cry of a hundred drowning creatures, blended into one
fierce yell--that it rung far above the war-cry of the elements, and
echoed, and re-echoed till it seemed to pierce air, sky, and ocean. But
what was that--that old gray head that rose above the water's surface,
and with looks of agony, and screams for aid, buffeted with the waves!
One look, and he had sprung from the vessel's side, and with vigorous
strokes was swimming towards it. He reached it; he was close upon it.
They were HIS features. The old man saw him coming, and vainly strove to
elude his grasp. But he clasped him tight, and dragged him beneath
the water. Down, down with him, fifty fathoms down; his struggles grew
fainter and fainter, until they wholly ceased. He was dead; he had
killed him, and had kept his oath.
'He was traversing the scorching sands of a mighty desert, barefoot and
alone. The sand choked and blinded him; its fine thin grains entered the
very pores of his skin, and irritated him almost to madness. Gigantic
masses of the same material, carried forward by the wind, and shone
through by the burning sun, stalked in the distance like pillars of
living fire. The bones of men, who had perished in the dreary waste, lay
scattered at his feet; a fearful light fell on everything around; so
far as the eye could reach, nothing but objects of dread and horror
presented themselves. Vainly striving to utter a cry of terror, with
his tongue cleaving to his mouth, he rushed madly forward. Armed with
supernatural strength, he waded through the sand, until, exhausted
with fatigue and thirst, he fell senseless on the earth. What fragrant
coolness revived him; what gushing sound was that? Water! It was indeed
a well; and the clear fresh stream was running at his feet. He drank
deeply of it, and throwing his aching limbs upon the bank, sank into a
delicious trance. The sound of approaching footsteps roused him. An old
gray-headed man tottered forward to slake his burning thirst. It was HE
again! Fe wound his arms round the old man's body, and held him back. He
struggled, and shrieked for water--for but one drop of water to save
his life! But he held the old man firmly, and watched his agonies with
greedy eyes; and when his lifeless head fell forward on his bosom, he
rolled the corpse from him with his feet.
'When the fever left him, and consciousness returned, he awoke to find
himself rich and free, to hear that the parent who would have let him
die in jail--WOULD! who HAD let those who were far dearer to him than
his own existence die of want, and sickness of heart that medicine
cannot cure--had been found dead in his bed of down. He had had all
the heart to leave his son a beggar, but proud even of his health and
strength, had put off the act till it was too late, and now might
gnash his teeth in the other world, at the thought of the wealth his
remissness had left him. He awoke to this, and he awoke to more. To
recollect the purpose for which he lived, and to remember that his enemy
was his wife's own father--the man who had cast him into prison, and
who, when his daughter and her child sued at his feet for mercy,
had spurned them from his door. Oh, how he cursed the weakness that
prevented him from being up, and active, in his scheme of vengeance! 'He
caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss and misery,
and conveyed to a quiet residence on the sea-coast; not in the hope of
recovering his peace of mind or happiness, for both were fled for ever;
but to restore his prostrate energies, and meditate on his darling
object. And here, some evil spirit cast in his way the opportunity for
his first, most horrible revenge.
'It was summer-time; and wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, he would issue
from his solitary lodgings early in the evening, and wandering along
a narrow path beneath the cliffs, to a wild and lonely spot that had
struck his fancy in his ramblings, seat himself on some fallen fragment
of the rock, and burying his face in his hands, remain there for
hours--sometimes until night had completely closed in, and the long
shadows of the frowning cliffs above his head cast a thick, black
darkness on every object near him.
'He was seated here, one calm evening, in his old position, now and then
raising his head to watch the flight of a sea-gull, or carry his eye
along the glorious crimson path, which, commencing in the middle of the
ocean, seemed to lead to its very verge where the sun was setting, when
the profound stillness of the spot was broken by a loud cry for help; he
listened, doubtful of his having heard aright, when the cry was repeated
with even greater vehemence than before, and, starting to his feet, he
hastened in the direction whence it proceeded.
'The tale told itself at once: some scattered garments lay on the beach;
a human head was just visible above the waves at a little distance from
the shore; and an old man, wringing his hands in agony, was running to
and fro, shrieking for assistance. The invalid, whose strength was now
sufficiently restored, threw off his coat, and rushed towards the sea,
with the intention of plunging in, and dragging the drowning man ashore.
'"Hasten here, Sir, in God's name; help, help, sir, for the love of
Heaven. He is my son, Sir, my only son!" said the old man frantically,
as he advanced to meet him. "My only son, Sir, and he is dying before
his father's eyes!"
'At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checked himself in
his career, and, folding his arms, stood perfectly motionless.
'"Great God!" exclaimed the old man, recoiling, "Heyling!"
'The stranger smiled, and was silent.
'"Heyling!" said the old man wildly; "my boy, Heyling, my dear boy,
look, look!" Gasping for breath, the miserable father pointed to the
spot where the young man was struggling for life.
'"Hark!" said the old man. "He cries once more. He is alive yet.
Heyling, save him, save him!"
'The stranger smiled again, and remained immovable as a statue. '"I have
wronged you," shrieked the old man, falling on his knees, and clasping
his hands together. "Be revenged; take my all, my life; cast me into the
water at your feet, and, if human nature can repress a struggle, I will
die, without stirring hand or foot. Do it, Heyling, do it, but save my
boy; he is so young, Heyling, so young to die!"
'"Listen," said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely by the
wrist; "I will have life for life, and here is ONE. MY child died,
