Part 4 (1/2)
Poor Anderson! tears gushed from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks while he was writing one of the letters, which, as I afterwards ascertained, was addressed to a young lady to whom he was engaged to be married. He wrote two letters, folded, sealed and directed them; these he handed to me, saying--
”Have the kindness to deliver these letters to the persons to whom they are addressed. Will you faithfully promise to do this?”
I promised, of course; he shook hands with me, and bade me farewell; then, calmly turning towards Romaine, he announced his readiness to die.
Up to that moment, I had tried to persuade myself that Anderson's life would be spared, thinking that Romaine must have had enough of blood after slaying his wife in that barbarous manner. But I was doomed to be terribly disappointed. Scarcely had Anderson muttered the words, ”I am ready to die,” when Romaine pulled the trigger of the upraised pistol, and the young merchant fell dead upon the floor, the bullet having penetrated his brain.
”Now I am satisfied, for I have had my revenge,” said the murderer, coolly, as he wiped the perspiration from his pallid brow.
”Blood-thirsty villain!” exclaimed I, unable longer to restrain my indignation--”you will swing upon the gallows for this night's work!”
”Not so,” rejoined Romaine, calmly, ”for I do not intend to survive this wholesale butchery, and did not, from the first. I was determined that Anderson should die, at all events. _He won the pistol_, for the coin fell with the tail uppermost. Had he stooped to examine it, I would have blown out his brains, just the same. But hark! the boarders and inmates of the house have been aroused by the report of the pistol, and they are hastening here. The gallows--no, no, I must avoid _that_! They shall not take me alive. Now, may heaven have mercy upon my guilty soul!”
With these words the unhappy man seized the Bowie knife and plunged it into his heart, thus adding the crime of suicide to the two atrocious murders which he had just committed.
Scarcely had this crowning point of the fearful tragedy been enacted, when a crowd of people, half-dressed and excited, rushed into the room.
Among them was the beautiful widow, Mrs. Raymond. On seeing the bleeding corpse of Romaine stretched upon the floor, she gave utterance to a piercing scream and fell down insensible.
In the horror and confusion that prevailed, I was unnoticed. I determined to leave the house, never to return, for I dreaded being brought before the public, as a witness, being a great hater of notoriety in any shape. (The reader may smile at this last remark; but I a.s.sure him, or her, that my frequent appearance before the public as a writer, has been the result of necessity--not of inclination.)
Accordingly, I left the house un.o.bserved, and took lodgings for the remainder of the night at a hotel. But sleep visited me not, for my mind was too deeply engrossed with the b.l.o.o.d.y scenes which I had witnessed, to suffer the approach of ”tired nature's sweet restorer.” In the morning I arose early, and investigated the condition of my finances.
The result of this examination was highly satisfactory, for I found that I was the possessor of a considerable sum of money.
I walked about the city until noon, uncertain how to act. I felt a strong disposition to travel, and see the world;--but I could not make up my mind in what direction to go. After a sumptuous dinner at Sandy Welch's ”Terrapin Lunch,”--one of the most famous _restaurants_ of the day--I indulged in a contemplative walk up Broadway. Such thoughts as these ran through my mind:--”I cannot help contrasting my present situation with the position I was in, three years ago. Then I was almost penniless, and gladly breakfasted on dry bread at a street pump; now I have three hundred dollars in my pocket, and have just dined like an epicurean prince. Then I was clad in garments that were coa.r.s.e and cheap; now I am dressed in the finest raiment that money could procure.
Then I had no trade; now I have a profession which will be to me an unfailing means of support. But, alas! then I was comparatively innocent, and ignorant of the wicked ways of the world; now, although only fifteen years of age, I am too thoroughly posted up on all the mysteries of city follies and vices. No matter: there's nothing like experience, after all.”
Comforting myself with this philosophical reflection, I strolled on. A newsboy came along, bawling out, at the top of his voice--”Here's the extra _Sun_, with a full account of the two murders and suicide in William street last night--only one cent!” Of course I purchased a copy; and, upon perusing the account, I could not help smiling at the ludicrous and absurd exaggerations which it contained. It was a perfect modern tragedy of _Oth.e.l.lo_, with Romaine as the Moor, Mrs. Romaine as Desdemona, and Anderson as a sort of cross between Iago and Michael Ca.s.sio. I was not alluded to in any way whatever, which caused me to rejoice exceedingly.[D]
Suddenly remembering the two letters which had been confided to my care by the unfortunate Anderson, I resolved to deliver them immediately. One was directed to a Mr. Sargent, in Pine street. I soon found the place, which was a large mercantile establishment. Over the door was the sign ”_Anderson & Sargent_.” This had been poor Anderson's place of business, and Sargent had been his partner. I entered, found Mr. Sargent in the counting-room, and delivered to him the letter. He opened it, read it through coolly, shrugged his shoulders, and said--
”I have already been made acquainted with the full particulars of this melancholy affair. Anderson was a clever fellow, and I'm sorry he's gone, although his death will certainly promote my interests. He gives me, in this letter, every necessary instruction as to the disposition of his property, and he also directs me to present you with the sum of two hundred dollars, both as an acknowledgement of your services and as a token of his friends.h.i.+p. I will fill out a check for the amount immediately.”
This instance of Anderson's kindness and generosity, almost at the very moment of his death, deeply affected me; and, at the same time, I could not help feeling disgusted with the heartlessness displayed by Sargent, who regarded the tragical death of his partner merely as an event calculated to advance his own interests.
Having received the check, I withdrew from the august presence of Mr.
Sargent, who was a tall, thin, hook-nosed personage, of unwholesome aspect and abrupt manners. I drew the money at the bank, and then hastened to deliver the other letter, which was addressed to Miss Grace Arlington, whose residence was designated as being situated in one of the fas.h.i.+onable squares up-town. I had no difficulty in finding the house, which was of the most elegant and aristocratic appearance. My appeal to the doorbell was responded to by a smart-looking female domestic, who, on learning my errand, ushered me into the presence of her mistress. Miss Grace Arlington was a very lovely and delicate young lady, whose soft eyes beamed with tenderness and sensibility, whose voice was as sweet as the music of an angel's harp, while her step was as light as the tread of a fairy whose tiny feet will not crush the leaves of a rose. When I handed her the letter, and she recognized the well known handwriting, she bestowed upon me a winning and grateful smile which I shall never forget. My heart misgave me as she opened the missive, for I could well divine its contents; and I almost reproached myself for being the messenger of such evil tidings. I watched her closely as she read. She was naturally somewhat pale, but I saw her face grow ghastly white before she had read two lines. When she had finished the perusal of the fatal letter, she pressed her hand upon her breast, murmured ”Oh G.o.d!” and would have fallen to the floor if I had not caught her in my arms.
”Curses on my stupidity!” I muttered, as I placed her insensible form upon a sofa--”I ought to have prepared her gradually for the terrible announcement which I knew that letter to contain!”
I rang the bell furiously, and the almost deafening summons was answered by half-a-dozen female servants, who, on seeing the condition of their young Mistress, set up a loud chorus of screams. The uproar brought Mr.
Arlington, the father of the young lady, to the scene. He was a fine-looking old gentleman, a retired merchant and a _millionaire_. I hastened to explain to him all that had occurred, and Anderson's letter, which lay upon the floor, confirmed my statements. Mr. Arlington was horror-struck, for he, as well as his daughter, had until that moment been in happy ignorance of the b.l.o.o.d.y affair. The old gentleman had first established Anderson in business, and he had always cherished for that unfortunate young man the warmest friends.h.i.+p. No wonder, then, that he was overpowered when he became aware of the tragical end of him whom he had expected so shortly to become his son-in-law.
A celebrated physician, who resided next door, was sent for. He happened to be at home, and arrived almost instantly. He knelt down beside the broken-hearted girl, and, as his fingers touched her wrist, a look of profound grief settled upon his benevolent face.
”Well, Doctor,” exclaimed Mr. Arlington, breathlessly, ”what is the matter with my child? She will recover soon, will she not? It is merely a fainting fit produced by the reception of unwelcome news.”
”Alas, sir!” replied the Doctor, in a tone of deep sympathy, as he brushed away the tears from his eyes--”I may as well tell you the melancholy truth at once. The sudden shock caused by the unwelcome news you speak of, has proved fatal; your daughter is dead!”
Poor old Arlington staggered to a seat, covered his face with his hands, and moaned in the agony of his spirits. Notwithstanding all his wealth, how I pitied him!