Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. II (of 2)
TekstCHAPTER II.
WHAT HAD HAPPENED AT WATERMELON HILL DURING THE AUTHOR'S ABSENCE
This intelligence was balm to my spirit and medicine to my body; and the consequence was, that I recovered so rapidly as to be able to leave my bed in less than a week, and receive the visits and congratulations of many old friends, who seemed really glad of my return and recovery, though I have no doubt they were moved as much by curiosity to learn where I had been, and what adventures had befallen me during the long period of my exile; in which, however, I did not think it advisable to gratify them.
And now it was that I discovered that many changes, personally interesting to myself, had happened during my absence. When I first got upon my porch and looked about me, I almost doubted whether I was really on the forty-acre. My house had been carefully reparied, both within and without; a new and substantial stable, with other outbuildings, had been erected; new fences had been put up around my fields and orchards; cattle were lowing on my meadows, and horses whinnying in the stable, to be let loose with them upon the early grass. In a word, the forty-acre now looked more prosperous and flourishing than it had ever before looked mean and empoverished: it looked almost as well as it had done in the days of my father.
"How was all this change brought about?" I demanded of my brother-in-law, who, with my sister, had accompanied, or, indeed, rather led me to the porch.
"By the magic of money, industry, and a little common sense," said Alderwood, who, although a plain and bluff man, was a sensible one, and a most excellent farmer. "You must know, my dear Sheppard," said he, "that, when we found you were so far gone – "
"How," said I, in surprise, "how did you know I had gone far? I thought the general opinion was that I was murdered."
"Oh, yes," said my sister, nodding at her husband; "it was just as you say."
With that Alderwood smiled, and nodded back again, saying,
"Prue is right. When we discovered your condition – that is, when we found you had been murdered, as you say, and that there was no one to look to the poor forty-acre except the sheriff and the mortgagee, it was agreed between your sister and myself that I should take the matter in hand; for we were loath the property should go into the possession of strangers. Besides, Prudence insisted upon being near you – "
"That is," said Prudence, "near to where we supposed the murderers must have concealed your body."
"Exactly so," said Alderwood. "For this reason I left my own farm in the hands of my young brother Robert, came down hither, bag and baggage, applied a little of my loose cash (for I believe I have been somewhat more prosperous than you) to stopping the mouth of your mortgagee, building fences, banking meadows, spreading marl, and so on; and the consequence is, that we are getting the forty-acre into good condition again, so that, in a few years, it will pay the debts, and perhaps begin to make the fortune of its owner."
I grasped my brother-in-law's hand. I was moved by his kindness; and remembering how, after quarrelling with him, as related in the first book of this history, I had refused a reconciliation, and rejected his offers of assistance, his friendship and generosity appeared still more worthy of my gratitude.
"Poh!" said he, interrupting my thanks and professions of regard, but looking well pleased that I should be disposed to make them, "I was persuaded you would come to some day – that is, I mean, come back."
"That is," said Prudence, "we always had a notion you were not really dead, and that we should see you again, some time, alive and happy."
"I trust," said I, "you will long see me so; for I am now a changed, I hope, a wiser man – disposed to make the best of the lot to which Heaven has assigned me, and to sigh no longer with envy at the supposed superior advantages of others. I think, brother Alderwood, I shall now be contented with my condition, humble and even toilsome as it may be. I have seen enough of the miseries of my fellows – those even whom I most envied – during the two years of my absence, to teach me that every man has his share of them; that there is nothing peculiarly wretched in my own lot, and that I can be happy or not, just as I may choose to make myself. For this reason, I shall now bid adieu to indolence and discontent, the vile mother and viler daughter together, and do as my father did before me, that is, cultivate these few acres which my folly has left me, with my own hands; nor will I rest from my labours until I have discharged every claim against it, your own, my dear Alderwood, first of all; though I am sensible I can never repay the debt of kindness I owe you." "And this is really your intention?" demanded Alderwood, looking prodigiously gratified. "Your possessions are now limited, indeed; yet you have enough, with a little industry and care, to render you independent for life. And if you will really apply yourself to the farm – "
"I will," said I. "If labour and perseverance can do it, I will attain the independence you speak of; I will remove every encumbrance on the forty-acre, and then trust to pass such a life as modest wishes and a contented temper can secure me."
"You may begin to pass it immediately, then," said Alderwood, "for the forty-acre is already clear of every encumbrance. Yes," he continued, seeing me look surprised, "I tell you nothing but the truth. Aikin Jones, your old friend and overseer – "
"He is a villain!" said I, "and he defrauded me."
"So it is pretty commonly supposed; but, as we have no legal proof of his dishonesty, the less we say of it the better. He has gone to settle his accounts at a tribunal where craft and policy can avail him nothing. He died eight months ago, and they say who know best, in great agony and fear of spirit. Now, whether he was moved by old feelings of friendship, or was struck with remorse at seeing the condition to which he had reduced you – "
"What condition?" said I.
"Oh," said my sister, "the ruin of your affairs; nothing more." And Alderwood nodded his head by way of assent to the explanation.
"In short," said he, "Mr. Aikin Jones, whatever may have been his motive, thought fit to bequeath you a legacy – "
"What!" said I; "how could he leave a legacy to a man universally considered dead?"
"Oh," said my sister, "he never would believe that. There were a good many people had their doubts on that subject."
"Yes," said Alderwood; "and Mr. Aikin Jones was one of them. And so, finding himself dying, and being seized perhaps with compunction for the wrongs he had done you, he left you a legacy, – no great matter, indeed, considering how much of your estate he died possessed of. It sufficed, however, to pay off your mortgage, principal and interest, and to improve and stock the forty-acre just as you now see it. So you see, my dear Sheppard, you are not so badly off as you supposed. Your farm is small, yet your father drew from it a fortune; and I believe a good farmer might do the same thing a second time. But you are not very learned in agricultural matters. I will remain with you a while – at least until your health is re-established – and be your teacher. When you find yourself competent to the management of the farm I will bid you farewell, assured that you will lead a happier life than you ever knew before."
This intelligence with regard to my little homestead was highly agreeable to me; nor was I less pleased with my brother-in-law's resolution to remain with me for a time, while I acquired a knowledge of agriculture, and confirmed myself in new habits of industrious and active application.
CHAPTER III.
CONTAINING THE SUBSTANCE OF A SINGULAR DEBATE BETWIXT THE AUTHOR AND HIS BROTHER, WITH A PHILOSOPHIC DEFENCE OF THE AUTHOR'S CREDIBILITY
And now, having arrived at the close of my adventurous career, I have but a few additions to make to my story before concluding it entirely.
I took an early opportunity to impart to my brother-in-law a faithful account of my adventures, as well as a resolution which I had already formed to commit them to writing, and publish them for the benefit of the world; for I was persuaded they contained a moral which might prove of service to many persons, who, like myself, had fallen into the error of supposing they were assigned to a harsher lot than their fellows.
This resolution Alderwood opposed with all his might, being concerned lest such an enterprise as writing a book should divert my mind from the labours of the farm, and, indeed, seduce me again into habits of idleness. Besides, he was afraid the strangeness of my adventures would cause them to be received with incredulity, whereby I might suffer in reputation, and be looked upon only as a dreamer and teller of falsehoods. His chief reasons, however, I doubt not, were the two first mentioned; for he was anxious I should now think of nothing but my farm. His dislike to my design was, in truth, so great, that, having exhausted all the arguments he could muster in the vain design to overcome it, he had resort to a new mode of opposition, an expedient highly ingenious, but not a little ridiculous. He endeavoured to shake my own faith in my story! – to convince me that I had imagined all I have related, and that, in a word, I had never encountered any adventures at all. I protest I am diverted to this day when I think of the mingled anxiety and address which he displayed on the occasion. He assured me, and that quite plumply, that during the whole two years (to speak strictly, it was only twenty months) of my wanderings, I had never once been off the forty-acre farm; that I had never been in any body besides my own; and that the whole source of the notion on my part lay in a hallucination of mind which had suddenly attacked me, filling me with ridiculous conceits of various transformations, such as never had happened, and never could happen, to any human being. And this absurd account he persisted in as long as he could with any decency, giving me repeated hints that my mother had died insane, and that it was not therefore strange I should have been a little odd once in my life. I showed him the place where I had been digging under the beech-tree (where, by-the-way, I was weak enough afterward to make Jim Jumble sink a pit twelve feet deep, to satisfy myself that Captain Kid's money really did not lie there); which place, however, he averred was as great a proof of the truth of his story as of mine: "For," said he, "none but a madman would dig for Captain Kid's money." I led him to the willow-bushes, and the old worm fence in the marsh, where I had found Squire Higginson's body; which he allowed I might have done, but protested that other persons had found it also; and that instead of going home alive in Squire Higginson's barouche, it had been carried to Philadelphia in a coffin; and as for Higginson's being clapped into prison for my murder, it was I, he said who had been confined on suspicion of having been concerned in his, until, as he said, it was found that I was out of my wits, and that Higginson had died of an apoplexy.
I then referred to a circumstance that had happened during my late sickness, as affording the fullest confirmation of my story. The circumstance was this. While still lying tormented with fever, but at a moment when my mind was sound and lucid, Jim Jumble put a newspaper into my hand, in which, by a singular coincidence, appeared an account of my late transformation in Virginia, with an allusion to the fate of Zachariah Longstraw, by which I learned, for the first time, what had become of his body after I left it. From the article, which, strangely, and yet naturally enough, was headed "Outrageous Humbug, and Fatal Consequence thereof," it seemed to be universally believed that Dr. Feuerteufel's mummy was no mummy at all, but a living man, as I myself had heard it called in the village, with whom he had leagued in a conspiracy to hoax and swindle the good people of the south out of their money; and that the imposture had been detected by Mr. Arthur Megrim, who, proceeding to force the glass box, was knocked down by the pretended dead man, and so unfortunately killed, the mummy and his accomplice, the doctor, making their escape in the confusion. The editor of the paper, after noticing a second account, by which it was asserted that the unfortunate Megrim, though overturned by the pretended mummy in his flight, had received no injury from him, but, on the contrary, had died of sheer fright and horror, being of a nervous, hypochondriacal turn, and acknowledging that this account was more probable, inveighed warmly against the villany and audacity of the swindlers; who, he said, were more legitimate objects on whom to wreak the vengeance of Lynchdom than the people of that district had found in Zachariah Longstraw, the philanthropist. And here the editor reminded his readers of the fate of that excellent and distinguished individual, who had died in the Lynchers' hands the preceding autumn, against the ringleaders of whom his nephew, Mr. Jonathan Truelove, had so vainly attempted to establish legal proceedings.
To this account, I say, I referred as containing an argument of my truth not to be resisted; but, unfortunately, the paper had by some means or other vanished, and Alderwood said my story went for nothing without it. That paper, I have always thought, he had himself got possession of and secreted. But had I even retained and shown it to him, I doubt whether it would have affected him in the least; for he was one of those skeptical men who believed a thing none the sooner for finding it in a newspaper.
In a word, there is no expressing the obstinacy of my brother in rejecting my story, nor the adroitness with which he met such proofs as I could give him of the truth of it. The last instance of it which I shall relate was his taking the part of the German doctor, Feuerteufel, who, he declared, had not only never made a mummy of me, but had not laid claim to me as his property, though he himself (that is, my brother-in-law) had been present at least a dozen times when the German doctor did so in my sick-chamber, from which Alderwood was so instrumental in expelling him. He even insisted that this man, having made a second and last visit to our village to hunt plants and reptiles, had been employed (and at his own instance too) to cure me of that very malady he so ridiculously would have me believe I had been afflicted with, and that it was to him, under Heaven, I owed my restoration to health. Nay, he even went the length of showing me what he called the doctor's bill; and, true enough, it was a bill, with a receipt in full upon it; but the amount being prodigiously great, I saw at once into the whole affair, which was nothing less than a masked contract betwixt my brother-in-law and the doctor, whereby the latter secretly covenanted, in consideration of the large sum received from the former, to persecute me no longer with his claims, and perhaps to leave the country altogether.
Besides all this, my brother attacked me by demanding by what means it was that I had transferred my spirit so often, and so easily, from one body to another. And this being a question on which the reader may require satisfaction as well as my brother, I must allow that it presents a difficulty, and a very great one. All that I can say to this is, first, that I did transfer my spirit from body to body, and no less than seven different times; secondly, that these seven translations of spirit indicated in me the possession of a peculiar power to make them; and thirdly, that the existence of such a peculiar power, however wonderful it may appear, is not beyond the bounds of philosophic probability.
No man can be so ignorant or skeptical as to deny, that there are several different faculties of a most marvellous nature, with which a few individuals in the world are mysteriously endowed, while the great mass of men are entirely without them; and to the number of these supernatural endowments there is scarce a year passes by without adding a new one. What can be, or ought to be, considered a more surprising faculty than that of ventriloquism, – the art of throwing the voice into places and things afar from the operator, of taking, as it were, the lungs, glottis, &c. from his body, and clapping them into a chest, log, stone wall, or other inanimate substance, or into the body of another? and how few are there in the world who possess the power of doing so! One man thumps his chin with his fingers, and draws from it pure and agreeable musical tones, and another whistles a melody in parts; while men in general might thump and whistle till their teeth fell out without producing any music worth listening to. What can be more wonderful than the faculty recently developed by the advocates and practitioners of a new system of medicine, who, by shaking a bottle in a peculiar way, give to its contents a medical virtue which did not exist before, and which another man, – the patient, for example, – might shake till doomsday without imparting?*
The Natural Bonesetter is one instance of the possession of a faculty both rare and astonishing, and so is any old woman who can pow-wow the fire out of a burn. Not to multiply inferior instances, however, I will ask the reader if any faculty can be deemed more incredible than that of the magnetizer, who, by flourishing his digits about your body, now cures your rheumatism, and now sets you sound asleep – unless it be that of the magnetized slumberer, who reads a sealed letter laid on his epigastrium, sees through millstones and men's bodies, and renders oraculous responses to any question that may be proposed him, even though it be upon subjects of which, while awake, he is entirely ignorant.
In fine, granting all these things to be true (and who shall dare to doubt them), why should it not be granted that an individual should possess the power of transferring his spirit from body to body at will – a power but little more extraordinary (if indeed it be more extraordinary) than the other faculties which are admitted to have actual existence?
To me it seems that the thing is natural enough, though still, I grant, extremely wonderful. Many persons are thought to possess the ventriloquial, and even the magnetic power, without being conscious of the endowment, accident having been in all cases the cause of their being made acquainted with its existence. In the same way, it is not improbable that other persons besides myself may possess the faculty of reanimating dead bodies, without suspecting it; for I can scarce believe the faculty should be confined entirely to myself.
CHAPTER IV.
BEING THE LAST CHAPTER OF ALL
I never could succeed in convincing my brother-in-law of the truth of my relation – or rather – for I have always thought his incredulity was assumed for the purpose mentioned – I never could overcome his opposition to the design I formed of writing and committing it to the press. For this reason I ceased talking of it more, and even affected to believe the foolish story he had told me of my having conceived my adventures in a mere fit of delirium. This I did not so much out of compliment to him, as from a desire to have him believe I would let nothing divert me from the business of my farm, which, indeed, I immediately addressed myself to in such good earnest as secured his hearty approval and zealous congratulations.
In secret, however, and in the intervals of toil, I employed myself recording my adventures, while their impression was still strong on my memory; and now, having happily brought them to a conclusion, I commit them to the world, confident that, if they surprise nobody else, they will cause some astonishment to my brother Alderwood.
It is now some time since I have been deprived of his and my sister's company at Watermelon Hill, they having retired to their own farm as soon as my brother was well convinced I was capable of managing my own affairs. My only society now consists of honest Jim Jumble, his wife Dinah, and my sister's oldest son, Sheppard Lee Alderwood (for he was named after me), a lad of fourteen years, but uncommonly shrewd and sensible, for whom I have contracted a strong affection, and to whom, if I should die unmarried, as is quite probable, I design bequeathing my little patrimony.
Jim Jumble is as independent and saucy as ever, but I can bear with his humours, he is so faithful, industrious, and, as I may add, so happy to see his master once more prospering in the world. He and Dinah are singing all day long.
My estate is small, and it may be that it will never increase. I am, however, content with it; and content is the secret of all enjoyment. I am not ashamed to labour in my fields. On the contrary, I have learned to be grateful to Providence that it ordained me to a lot of toil, wherein I find the truest source of health, self-approbation, and happiness. My only trouble is an occasional stiffness and sluggishness of joints and muscles, which Jim Jumble tells me is "all owing to my being naturally a lazy man," but which I myself suppose was caused by my remaining so long a mummy. To counterbalance this evil, however, I find in myself an astonishing hardiness of constitution, particularly in resisting quinsies, catarrhs, and defluxions on the breast, to which I was formerly very liable; and this immunity I know not how to account for, unless by supposing that my body was hardened by the process of mummifying, and that it still continues to be water-proof.
At all events – be my body what it may, hardy or frail, stiff or supple, I am satisfied with it, and shall never again seek to exchange it for another.