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The Adventures of Hugh Trevor

T >> Thomas Holcroft >> The Adventures of Hugh Trevor




Clarke was an untaught orator. He had very strong feelings; and a
clear head; which are the two grand sources of eloquence. 'You know,'
said he, 'how much mischief I have done you; for it cannot be denied.
I struck you first, and knocked you down when you _was_ off your
guard. I set every body against you. I refused to shake hands with
you, over and over, when you had the goodness to offer to forgive me.
And, last of all, you may thank me for the fever; which brought you
to death's door. You forgave me this, as well as the rest. But that
was not all. That would not content you. Because I had been used ill,
without any malice of yours, nothing would satisfy you but to strip
yourself of the little _modicum_ that you had, and give it to me. So
that, I am sure, you have hardly a shilling to take you up to London.
And, when you are there, you are not so well off as I am: you have no
trade. I can turn my hand to twenty things: you have never been used
to hard work; and how you are to live God Almighty knows! For I am
sure I cannot find out; though I have been thinking of nothing else
for weeks and weeks past.'

'Why should you suppose I have no money?'

'Because I am sure of it. I asked and found out all that you had to
pay. The servants too told me how open-hearted you _was_; so that you
had given away all you had. Shame on 'em for taking it, say I! You are
not fit to live in this world! And then to send me ten pounds, who
have a house and home, and hands to work! But I'll be damned if I keep
it!'

'Nay but, indeed you must.'

'I will not! I will not! I would not forswear myself for all the money
in the world! And I have sworn it, again and again. So take it! Nay,
here, take it!--If you don't, I'll throw it down in the road; and let
the first that comes find it; for I'll not forswear myself. So pray
now, I beg, for God's sake, you will take it!'

I found it was in vain to contend with him: he was too determined, and
had taken this oath in the simplicity of his heart, that it might not
be possible for him to recede. I therefore accepted the money: but I
endeavoured, having received it to satisfy his oath, to persuade him
to take a part of it back again. My efforts were fruitless. 'He had
three half crowns,' he told me, 'in his pocket; which would serve his
turn, till he could get more: and he had left five guineas at home; so
that there was no fear his wife and children should want.'

Happy, enviable, state of independance! When a man and his wife and
family, possessed of five guineas, are so wealthy that they are in no
fear of want!

Having complied, because I found, though I could equal him in bodily
activity, I could not vanquish him in generosity, I requested him
to return to the place we just had passed through, and take up his
lodging.

He replied, 'To be sure he was a little tired; for he had set out a
good hour after me, and I had come at a rare rate. Not but that he
could keep his ground, though I was so good a footman; but that it did
not become him to make himself my companion.'

'Companion!' said I. 'Why are not you going back to Bath?'

'No: I have taken my leave of it. I shall go and set up my rest in
London. I have not been sharking to my master. I thought of it some
time since, and gave him fair notice; and more than that, I got him
another man in my room; which is all he could demand: and I hope he
will serve him as honestly as I have done.'

'What, would you forsake your wife and children?'

'Forsake my wife and children!'

[There was a mixed emotion of indignant sorrow and surprize in his
countenance.]

'I did not think, Mr. Trevor, you could have believed me to be such a
base villain.'

'I do not believe it! I never could believe it! I spoke thoughtlessly.
I saw you were too happy together for that to be possible.'

'Forsake my dear Sally, and our Bill, and Bet, and ----? No! I'd
sooner take up my axe and chop off my hand! There is not another man
in England has such a wife! I have seen bad ones enough; and, for the
matter of that, bad husbands too. But that's nothing. If you will do
me the favour, I should take it kind of you to let me walk with you,
and keep you company, now night is coming on, to the next town; and
then you may take some rest, and wait for the stage in the morning.
I shall make my way; and find you out, I suppose, fast enough in
London.'

'Are you then determined to go to town?'

'Yes: it is all settled. I told Sally; and she did cry a little to be
sure: but she was soon satisfied. She knows me; and I never in my life
found her piggish. God be her holy keeper!'

'Why then, come along. We'll go together. If I ride, you shall ride:
if you walk, so will I.'

'Will you? God bless you! You know how to win a man's heart! There is
not so good or so brave a fellow, I mean gentleman, upon the face of
the earth, damn me if there is! I beg your pardon! Indeed I do! But
you force it out of one! One can't remember to keep one's distance,
with you. However, I will try to be more becoming.'

The manner of Clarke was more impressive than his words: though they,
generally speaking, were not unapt.

We pursued our way together, mutually gratified by what had passed.
Perhaps there is no sensation that so cheers, and sooths the soul, as
the knowledge that there are other human beings, whose happiness seems
knitted and bound up with our own; willing to share our fate, receive
our favours, and, whenever occasion offers, to return them ten fold!
And the pleasure is infinitely increased, when those who are ambitious
of being beloved by us seem to feel, and acknowledge, that we have
more amply the power of conferring than even of receiving happiness.




CHAPTER VI


_A foolish guide, and a gloomy night: The fears and dangers of
darkness: Casual lights lead to error, and mishap_


While we had been discussing the above points, we had sat down; and
rose to pursue our journey, as soon as we had brought them to a
conclusion. We were on the borders of a forest. As we proceeded, we
came up with a countryman; who, enquiring where we were going, told us
that, by striking a little out of the road, we might save half a mile.
We had nine miles to travel, to the inn at which the stage coaches
stopped; and were very willing, Clarke especially, to shorten the
way. The countryman said he was going part of the road; and that the
remainder was so plain it could not be mistaken. Accordingly, we put
ourselves under his guidance.

The sun had been down, by this time, nearly an hour and a half. The
moon gave some light; but the wind was rising, she was continually
obscured by thick swift-flying clouds, and our conductor advised us to
push on, for it was likely to be a very bad night.

In less than a quarter of an hour his prophecy began to be fulfilled.
The rain fell, and at intervals the opposing clouds and currents of
air, aided by the impediments of hills and trees, gave us a full
variety of that whistling, roaring, and howling, which is heard in
high winds.

The darkness thickened upon us, and I was about to request the
countryman to lead us to some village, or even barn, for shelter, when
he suddenly struck into another path; and, bidding us good night,
again told us 'we could not miss our road.' We could not see where he
was gone to; and, though we repeatedly called, we called in vain: he
was too anxious to get shelter himself to heed our anxiety, and was
soon out of hearing.

So long as we could discern, the path we were in appeared to be
tolerably beaten: but we now could no longer trace any path; for
it was too dark for the ground to have any distinct colour. We had
skirted the forest; and our only remaining guide was a hedge on our
left.

In this hedge we placed our hopes. We followed its direction, I know
not how long, till it suddenly turned off, at an angle; and we found
ourselves, as far as we could conjecture, from the intervening lights
and the strenuous efforts we made to discover the objects around us,
on the edge of some wild place, probably a heath, with hills, and
consequently deep vallies, perhaps streams of water, and precipices.

We paused; we knelt down, examined with our eyes, and felt about with
our hands, to discover whether we yet were in a path; but could find
none.

We continued our consultation, till we had begun to think it advisable
to return, once more guided by the hedge. Yet this was not only
very uncertain, but the idea of a retrograde motion was by no means
pleasant.

While we were in this irresolute dilemma, we thought we saw a light;
that glimmered for a moment, and as suddenly disappeared. We watched,
I know not how long, and again saw it twinkle, though, as we thought,
in something of a different direction. Clarke said it was a Will o'the
whisp. I replied, it might be one, but, as it seemed the only chance
we had, my advice was to continue our walk in that direction; in hopes
that, if it were a light proceeding from any house or village, it
would become more visible as we approached.

We walked on, I know not how far; and then paused; but discovered no
more of the light. We walked again; again stood still, and looked on
every side of us, either for the light or any other object; but we
could see nothing distinctly. The obscure forms around us had varied
their appearance; and whether they were hills, or clouds, or what
they were, we could not possibly discover: though the first we still
thought was the most probable.

By this time, we had no certain recollection of which way we had come;
or to what point we were directing our course. We were continually in
doubt: now pausing; now conjecturing; now proceeding.

We continued to wander, we knew not whither. Sometimes it appeared
we went up hill; and sometimes down. We had stepped very cautiously,
and therefore very slowly; had warned each other continually to be
careful; and had not dared to take twenty steps at a time, without
mutually enquiring to know if all were safe.

We continued, environed as it were by the objects that most powerfully
inspire fear; by the darkness of night, the tumult of the elements,
the utter ignorance of where we were or by what objects surrounded,
and the dejectedness which our situation inspired. Thieves and
assassins might be at our back, and we could not hear them: gulphs,
rocks, or rivers, in our front, or on either side, and we could
not see them. The next step might plunge us, headlong, we knew not
whither.

These fears were not all imaginary. Finding the ground very uneven on
a sudden, and stumbling dangerously myself, I stood still--I did not
hear my companion!--I called--I received no answer! I repeated, in a
louder tone, 'Clarke! Where are you?'--Still no answer!

I then shouted, with all the fear that I felt, and heard a faint
response, that seemed to be beneath me, and at a prodigious distance.
It terrified; yet it relieved. We had spoken not three minutes before.
I stood silent, in hopes he would speak again: but my fears were too
violent to remain so long. I once more called; and he replied, with
rather a louder voice which lessened the apparent distance, 'Take
care! You'll dash yourself to pieces!'

'Are you hurt?' said I.

'I hope not much,' returned he. 'For God's sake take care of
yourself!'

'Can you walk?'

'I shall be able presently, I believe.'

'How can I get to you?'

'I don't know.'

'Stay where you are, and I will try.'

'For God in heaven's sake don't! You'll certainly break your neck! I
suppose I am in a chalk pit, or at the bottom of a steep crag.'

'I will crawl to you on my hands and knees.'

'Good God! You will surely kill yourself!'

'Nothing can be more dangerous than to lie here on the wet ground. We
must only take care to keep within hearing of each other.'

While I spoke, I began to put my crawling expedient in practice; still
calling to Clarke, every half minute, and endeavouring to proceed in
the direction of his voice.

I found the rough impediments around me increase; till, presently, I
came to one that was ruder than the rest. I crawled upon it, sustained
by my knees and right hand, and stretching forward with my left. I
groped, but felt nothing. I cautiously laid my belly to the ground and
stretched out my other arm. Still it was vacancy. I stretched a little
more violently; feeling forward, and on each side; and I seemed to be
projected upon a point, my head and shoulders inclining over a dark
abyss, which the imagination left unfathomable.

I own I felt terror; and the sensation certainly was not lessened,
when, making an attempt to recover my position and go back, my support
began to give way. My effort to retreat was as violent as my terror:
but it was too late. The ground shook, loosened, and, with the
struggle I made carrying me with it, toppled headlong down. What the
height that I fell was I have no means of ascertaining; for the heath
on which we were wandering abounds with quarries, and precipices; but
either it was, in fact, or my fears made it prodigious.

Had this expedient been proposed under such circumstances, as the
only probable one of bringing me and Clarke together again, who would
not have shuddered at it? Yet, though it is true I received a violent
shock, I know of no injury that it did me. As soon as I recovered my
presence of mind, I replied to Clarke; whose questions were vehement;
he having heard me fall. After mutual enquiry, we found we were both
once more upon our legs, and had escaped broken bones. Though they had
been severely shaken: Clarke's much the most violently.

But where were we now? How should we discover? Perhaps in a stone
quarry; or lime pit. Perhaps at the edge of waters. It might be we had
fallen down only on the first bank, or ridge of a quarry; and had a
precipice ten fold more dreadful before us.

While we were conjecturing, the stroke of a large clock, brought
whizzing in the wind, struck full upon our ear. We listened, with the
most anxious ardour. The next stroke was very, very faint: a different
current had carried it a different way: and, with all our eager
attention, we could not be certain that we heard any more.

Yet, though we had lost much time and our progress had been
excessively tedious, it could not be two o'clock in the morning. It
might indeed very probably be twelve.

The first stroke of the clock made us conjecture it came from some
steeple, or hall tower, at no very great distance. The second carried
our imaginations we knew not whither. We had not yet recovered courage
enough to take more steps than were necessary to come to each other;
and, while we were considering, during an intermitting pause of the
roaring of the wind, we distinctly heard a cur yelp.

Encouraged by this, we immediately hallooed with all our might. The
wind again began to chafe, and swell, and seemed to mock at our
distress. Still we repeated our efforts, whenever the wind paused:
but, instead of voices intending to answer our calls, we heard shrill
whistlings; which certainly were produced by men.

Could it be by good men? By any but night marauders; intent on
mischief, but disturbed and alarmed? They were signals indubitably;
for we shouted again, they were again given, and were then repeated
from another quarter: at least, if they were not, they were
miraculously imitated, by the dying away of the wind.

In a little while, we again heard the cur yelp; and immediately
afterward a howling, which was so mingled with the blast, that we
could not tell whether it were the wind itself, the yelling of a dog,
or the agonizing cries of a human voice: but it was a dreadfully
dismal sound. We listened with perturbed and deep attention; and it
was several times repeated, with increasing uncertainty, confusion and
terror.

What was to be done? My patience was exhausted. Danger itself could no
longer detain me; and I told Clarke I was determined to make toward
the village, or whatever the place was, from whence, dangerous and
doubtful as they were, these various sounds proceeded.

Finding me resolute, he was very earnest to have led the way; and,
when I would not permit him, he grasped me by the hand, and told me
that, if there were pitfalls and gulphs, and if I did go down, unless
he should have strength enough to save me, we would go down together.




CHAPTER VII


_Difficulties and dangers in succession: A place of horrors its
inmates: A dialogue worthy of the place_


As we were cautiously and slowly taking step by step, and, as new
conjectures crossed us, stopping to consider, we again saw a dancing
light; but more distinctly, though, as we imagined, not very near. We
repeated our calls; but, whether they were or were not heard, they
were not answered. We ventured, however, to quicken our pace; for we
continued, at intervals, to catch the light.

Presently, we saw the light no more; and a considerable time again
elapsed, which was spent in wandering as this or that supposition
directed us; till at last, suddenly and very unexpectedly, we
perceived lines and forms, that convinced us they appertained to
some house, or mansion; and, as it appeared to us, a large one. We
approached it, examined, shouted, and endeavoured to discover which
was the entrance. But all was still, all dark, all closed.

We continued our search on the outside; till, at length, we came to
a large gate that was open; which we entered, and proceeded to some
distance till we arrived at a door, that evidently belonged to an
out-house or detached building. It was shut; and, feeling about,
we found that the key was in the lock. We had little hesitation in
profiting by the accident. We had been shelterless too long, and the
circumstances pleaded too powerfully, for us to indulge any scruples;
and accordingly we entered.

We had no sooner put our heads within the door but we found ourselves
assaulted with a smell, or rather stench, so intolerable as almost
to drive us back: but the fury of the elements, and perhaps the less
delicate organs of Clarke, who seemed determined to profit by the
shelter we had obtained, induced us to brave an inconvenience which,
though excessively offensive at first, became less the longer we
continued.

Groping about, we discovered some barrels, and lumber; behind which
there was straw. Here we determined to lie down; and rest our bruised
and aching bones. Our cloaths had been drenched and dried more than
once, in the course of the night; and they were at present neither wet
nor dry.

We had scarcely nestled together in our straw, before we again heard
the yelping of the cur, and presently afterward the same dismal
howls repeated. To these, at no great distance, succeeded the shrill
whistling signals. Our imaginations had been so highly wrought up that
they were apt at horrible conjectures; and, for my part, my own was at
that moment very busily employed in conjuring them up.

In the very midst of this activity, we heard the voices of men,
walking round the building. They again whistled, with a piercing
shrillness; and, though we heard nothing distinctly, yet we caught
tones that were coarse, rude, and savage; and words, that denoted
anger and anxiety, for the perpetration of some dark purpose no doubt
corresponding to the fierce and threatening sounds we heard.

They approached. One of them had a lanthorn. He came up to the door;
and, finding it open, boisterously shut it; with a broad and bitter
curse against the carelessness of some man, whose name he pronounced,
for leaving it open; and eternally damning others, for being so long
in doing their business.

We were now locked in; and we soon heard no more of the voices.

In spite of all these alarms, the moment they ceased our condition,
comparing it with the tempest and difficulties without, seemed to be
much bettered; and we once more prepared ourselves for sleep, while
fear gave place to fatigue.

Our rest was of short duration. We began indeed to slumber; but I
was presently disturbed by Clarke, whom I found shaking in the most
violent agitation and horror that I ever witnessed in any human being.

I asked 'What is the matter?'

He replied with a groan!

I was awakened from wild slumbers of my own, and strongly partook of
his sensations; but endeavoured however to rouze him to speech, and
recollection. Again and again I asked 'What have you heard? What ails
you?'

It was long before he could utter an articulate sound. At last,
shaking more violently as he spoke, and with inexpressible horror in
his voice, he gasping said--'A dead hand!'--

'Where?'--

'I felt it!--I had hold of it!--It is now at my neck.'

For a moment I paused: not daring to stretch out my arm, and examine.
I trembled in sympathy with him. At length I ventured.

Never shall I forget the sensation I experienced, when, to my full
conviction, I actually felt a cold, dead, hand, between my fingers!

I was suffocated with horror! I struggled to overcome it: again it
seized me; and I sunk half entranced!

At this very instant, the shrill sound of the whistle rung, piercing,
through the dismal place in which we were imprisoned. It was answered.
The same hoarse voices once more were heard: but in tones fifty fold
more dire.

One terror combated the other, and we were recalled to some sense
of distinguishing and understanding. We lay silent, not daring to
breathe, when we heard the door unlock. Our feelings will not readily
be conceived, while the following dialogue passed. 'What a damned
while you have kept us waiting, such a night as this!'

'What ails the night? It is a special good night, for our trade.'

'What the devil have you been about?'

'About? Doing our business, to be sure: and doing it to some purpose,
I tell you. Is not the night as bad for us as for you? Who had the
best of it, do you think? What had you to do, but to keep on the
scout?'

'How came you to leave the door open, and be d--mn'd to you?'

'Who left the door open, Jack Dingyface? We left the key in it,
indeed; for such lubbers as you to pass in and out: while we had all
the work to do, and all the danger to boot.'

'Who do you call lubber, Bull-calf? We have had as much to do as
yourselves. There has been an alarm given; for we have heard noises
and hallooing all night. For my part, I don't much like it. We shall
be smoked: nay it is my belief we are already; and I have a great mind
to decamp, and leave the country.'

'You are always in a panic. Who is to smoke us?'

'Well, mark my words, it will come upon us when we least think of it.'

'Think of ----! Hold up the lanthorn. Come, heave in the sack--We were
d--mn'd fools, for taking such a hen-hearted fellow among us. Lift
the sack an end. Why don't you lend a hand, and keep it steady, while
I untie it? Do you think a dead man can stand on his legs? D--mn my
body, the fool is afraid he should bite.'

'You are a hardened dog, Randal, bl--st me!'

'Come, tumble the body out. Lay hold! Here! Heave this way. So: that
will do. We may leave him. He will not run away. His journey is over.
He will travel no farther, to-night. He can't say however but we have
provided him with a lodging.'

'D--mn me, where do you expect to go to?'

'To bed. It's high time.'

'I never heard such a dare devil dog in all my life!'

'Don't let that trouble you; for you will never be like me.'

'What is that?'

'What is what?'

'I saw a head.'

'Where?'

'Behind the tub.'

'What then? Is there any wonder in seeing a head, or a body either, in
this place?'

'Nay, but, a living head!'

'A living ass!'

'I am sure, I saw the eyes move.'

'Ah! white-livered lout! I wonder what the devil made such a quaking
pudding poltroon think of taking to our trade! Come: I am hungry: let
us go into the kitchen, and get some grub; and then to bed. Pimping
Simon, here, will see his grandmother's ghost, if we stay five minutes
longer.'




CHAPTER VIII


_The scene continued; and our terrors increased: An interesting
dialogue, that unravels the mystery: The beginning of a new
acquaintance_


Here to our infinite ease they quitted us, went through an inner door
that led to the house, locked it after them, and left us, not only
with the dead hand, not only with the dead body, but in the most
dismal human slaughterhouse that murder and horror ever constructed,
or ever conceived. Such were our impressions: and such, under the same
circumstances, they would have been, perhaps, of the bravest man, or
man-killer, that ever existed. Alexander and Cæsar themselves would
have shook, lying as we lay, hearing what we heard, and seeing what we
saw: for, by the light of the lanthorn, we beheld limbs, and bones,
and human skeletons, on every side of us. I repeat: horror had nothing
to add.

The dancing lights we had seen, the shrill signals and the dreadful
howls that we had heard, were now no longer thought mysterious. It
was no _ignis fatuus_; but the lanthorn of these assassins: no dog or
wolf, baying the moon; but the agonizing yells of murder!

The men were four in number. The idea of attacking them several times
suggested itself. Nor was it so much overpowered by the apprehension
of the arms with which I concluded such men must be provided, as that
my mind was rendered irresolute by the dreadful pictures, real and
imaginary, which had passed through my mind.

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