Part 47 (1/2)
”It was but now, that when appealed to by him, you stated that you had seen him before.”
”So I did, and I told the truth--I had seen him before. I saw him go to hold the gentleman's horse, but he did not see me. I stole his bundle and his stick, which he left on the bench, and that's how they were found in our possession. Now you have the truth, and you may either acknowledge that there is little justice, by eating your own words, and letting him free, or you may hang him, rather than acknowledge that you are wrong. At all events, his blood will now be on your hands, and not mine. If Phill Maddox had not turned tail, like a coward, I should not have been here; so I tell the truth to save him who was doing me a kind act, and to let him swing who left me in the lurch.”
The judge desired that this statement might be taken down, that further inquiry might be made, intimating to the jury, that I should be respited for the present; but of all this I was ignorant. As there was no placing confidence in the a.s.sertions of such a man as Ogle, it was considered necessary that he should repeat his a.s.sertions at the last hour of his existence, and the gaoler was ordered not to state what had pa.s.sed to me, as he might excite false hopes.
When I recovered from my fit, I found myself in the gaoler's parlour, and as soon as I was able to walk, I was locked up in a condemned cell.
The execution had been ordered to take place on the Thursday, and I had two days to prepare. In the mean time, the greatest interest had been excited with regard to me. My whole appearance so evidently belied the charge, that everyone was in my favour. Ogle was re-questioned, and immediately gave a clue for the apprehension of Maddox, who, he said, he hoped would swing by his side.
The gaoler came to me the next day, saying, that some of the magistrates wished to speak with me; but as I had made up my mind not to reveal my former life, my only reply was, ”That I begged they would allow me to have my last moments to myself.” I recollected Melchior's idea of destiny, and imagined that he was right. ”It was my destiny,” thought I; and I remained in a state of stupor. The fact was, that I was very ill, my head was heavy, my brain was on fire, and the throbbing of my heart could have been perceived without touching my breast.
I remained on the mattress all day, and all the next night, with my face buried in the clothes! I was too ill to raise my head. On Wednesday morning I felt myself gently pushed on the shoulder by someone; I opened my eyes; it was a clergyman. I turned away my head, and remained as before. I was then in a violent fever. He spoke for some time: occasionally I heard a word, and then relapsed into a state of mental imbecility. He sighed, and went away.
Thursday came, and the hour of death,--but time was by me unheeded, as well as eternity. In the mean time Maddox had been taken, and the contents of Armstrong's bundle found in his possession; and when he discovered that Ogle had been evidence against him, he confessed to the robbery.
Whether it was on Thursday or Friday I knew not then, but I was lifted off the bed, and taken before somebody--something pa.s.sed, but the fever had mounted up to my head, and I was in a state of stupid delirium.
Strange to say, they did not perceive my condition, but ascribed it all to abject fear of death. I was led away--I had made no answer--but I was free.
PART THREE, CHAPTER SEVEN.
WHEN AT THE LOWEST SPOKE OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL, ONE IS SURE TO RISE AS IT TURNS ROUND--I RECOVER MY SENSES, AND FIND MYSELF AMONGST FRIENDS.
I think some people shook me by the hand, and others shouted as I walked in the open air, but I recollect no more. I afterwards was informed that I had been reprieved, that I had been sent for, and a long exhortation delivered to me, for it was considered that my life must have been one of error, or I should have applied to my friends, and have given my name. My not answering was attributed to shame and confusion-- my gla.s.sy eye had not been noticed--my tottering step when led in by the gaolers attributed to other causes; and the magistrates shook their heads as I was led out of their presence. The gaoler had asked me several times where I intended to go. At last, I had told him, _to seek my father_, and darting away from him I had run like a madman down the street. Of course he had no longer any power over me: but he muttered as I fled from him, ”I've a notion he'll soon be locked up again, poor fellow! it's turned his brain for certain.”
As I tottered along, my unsteady step naturally attracted the attention of the pa.s.sers-by; but they attributed it to intoxication. Thus was I allowed to wander away in a state of madness, and before night I was far from the town. What pa.s.sed, and whither I had bent my steps, I cannot tell. All I know is, that after running like a maniac, seizing everybody by the arm that I met, staring at them with wild and flas.h.i.+ng eyes; and sometimes in a solemn voice, at others, in a loud, threatening tone, startling them with the interrogatory, ”Are you my father?” and then darting away, or sobbing like a child, as the humour took me, I had crossed the country; and three days afterwards I was picked up at the door of a house in the town of Reading, exhausted with fatigue and exposure, and nearly dead. When I recovered, I found myself in bed, my head shaved, my arm bound up, after repeated bleedings, and a female figure sitting by me.
”G.o.d in heaven! where am I?” exclaimed I faintly.
”Thou hast called often upon thy earthly father during the time of thy illness, friend,” replied a soft voice. ”It rejoiceth me much to hear thee call upon thy Father which is in heaven. Be comforted, thou art in the hands of those who will be mindful of thee. Offer up thy thanks in one short prayer, for thy return to reason, and then sink again into repose, for thou must need it much.”
I opened my eyes wide, and perceived that a young person in a Quaker's dress was sitting by the bed working with her needle; an open Bible was on a little table before her. I perceived also a cup, and parched with thirst, I merely said, ”Give me to drink.” She arose, and put a teaspoon to my lips; but I raised my hand, took the cup from her and emptied it. O how delightful was that draught! I sank down on my pillow, for even that slight exertion had overpowered me, and muttering, ”G.o.d, I thank thee!” I was immediately in a sound sleep, from which I did not awake for many hours. When I did, it was not daylight. A lamp was on the table, and an old man in a Quaker's dress was snoring very comfortably in the arm-chair. I felt quite refreshed with my long sleep, and was now able to recall what had pa.s.sed. I remembered the condemned cell and the mattress upon which I lay, but all after was in a state of confusion. Here and there a fact or supposition was strong in my memory; but the intervals between were total blanks. I was, at all events, free, that I felt convinced of, and that I was in the hands of the sect who denominate themselves Quakers: but where was I? and how did I come here? I remained thinking on the past, and wondering, until the day broke, and with the daylight roused up my watchful attendant. He yawned, stretched his arms, and rising from the chair, came to the side of my bed. I looked him in the face. ”Hast thou slept well, friend?”
said he.
”I have slept as much as I wish, and would not disturb you,” replied I, ”for I wanted nothing.”
”Peradventure I did sleep,” replied the man; ”watching long agreeth not with the flesh, although the spirit is most willing. Requirest thou anything?”
”Yes,” replied I, ”I wish to know where I am?”
”Verily, thou art in the town of Reading, in Berks.h.i.+re, and in the house of Pheneas Cophagus.”
”Cophagus!” exclaimed I; ”Mr Cophagus, the surgeon and apothecary?”
”Pheneas Cophagus is his name; he hath been admitted into our sect, and hath married a daughter of our persuasion. He hath attended thee in thy fever and thy frenzy, without calling in the aid of the physician, therefore do I believe that he must be the man of whom thou speakest; yet doth he not follow up the healing art for the lucre of gain.”
”And the young person who was at my bedside, is she his wife?”
”Nay, friend, she is half-sister to the wife of Pheneas Cophagus by a second marriage, and a maiden, who was named Susannah Temple at the baptismal font; but I will go to Pheneas Cophagus and acquaint him of your waking, for such were his directions.”