Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. II (of 2)

For this reason I began to fear his brain was touched; of which, indeed, I had soon the most fatal proof; for Barbara, having led him to his chamber, came back, assuring me that he was going mad, that his mind was already in a ferment, and, in a word, that that horrible distraction which sooner or later overtakes the confirmed drinker, was lighting the torch in his brain that could only go out with life itself. A physician was sent for: our fears were but too just, and before dawn the miserable youth was raving distracted.

The day that followed was one of distraction, not only to the wretched Abbot, but to myself; and I remember it as a confused dream. The only thing that dwells on my recollection, apart from the outcries in Abbot's chamber and the tumult in my own heart, is, that some one who owed me a sum of money, due that day, came and paid it into my hands with great punctiliousness, and that I received and wrote the acquittance for it with as much accuracy as if nothing were the matter, though my thoughts were far from the subject before me.

At eleven o'clock at night a messenger came to me from the prison, and his news was indeed frightful. The wretched Ralph had just been discovered with his throat cut from ear to ear, having made way with himself in despair.

A few moments after I was summoned to the death-bed of his brother.

I shall never forget the horror of that young man's dissolution. He lay, at times, the picture of terror, gazing upon the walls, along which, in his imagination, crept myriads of loathsome reptiles, with now some frightful monster, and now a fire-lipped demon, stealing out of the shadows and preparing to dart upon him as their prey. Now he would whine and weep, as if asking forgiveness for some act of wrong done to the being man is most constant to wrong – the loving, the feeble, the confiding; and anon, seized by a tempest of passion, the cause of which could only be imagined, he would start up, fight, foam at the mouth, and fall back in convulsions. Once he sat up in bed, and, looking like a corpse, began to sing a bacchanalian song; on another occasion, after lying for many minutes in apparent stupefaction, he leaped out of bed before he could be prevented, and, uttering a yell that was heard in the street, endeavoured to throw himself from the window.

But the last raving act of all was the most horrid. He rose upon his knees with a strength that could not be resisted, caught up his pillow, thrust it down upon the bed with both hands, and there held it, with a grim countenance and a chuckling laugh. None understood the act but myself: no other could read the devilish thoughts then at work in his bosom. It was the scene enacted in the chamber of his parent – he was repeating the deed of murder – he was exulting, in imagination, over a successful parricide.

In this thought he expired; for while still pressing upon the pillow with a giant's strength, he suddenly fell on his face, and when turned over was a corpse. He gave but a single gasp, and was no more.

The horror of the spectacle drove me from the chamber, and I ran to my own to fall down and die; when the blessed thought entered my mind, that the wo on my spirit, the anguish, the distraction, were but a dream – that my very existence, as the miser and broken-hearted father, was a phantasm rather than a reality, since it was a borrowed existence – and that it was in my power to exchange it, as I had done other modes of being, for a better. I was Sheppard Lee, not Abram Skinner; and this was but a voluntary episode in my existence, which I was at liberty to terminate.

The thought was rapture. I resolved to sally out and fasten upon the first body I could find, being certain I could be in none so miserable as I had been in that I now inhabited. Nay, the idea was so agreeable, the execution of it seemed to promise such certain release from a load of wretchedness, that I resolved to attempt it without even waiting for morning.

I seized upon my hat and cloak, and, for fear I might stumble into some poor man's body, as I had done in the case of Dawkins's, I opened my strong-box, and clapped into my pockets all the money it contained, designing to take precautionary measures to transfer it along with my spirit to the new tenement. I seized upon the loaned money that had been repaid that day, together with a small sum that had been in the box before; and, had there been a million in the coffer, I should have nabbed it all, without much question of the right I actually possessed in it. The whole sum was small, not exceeding four hundred dollars, all being in bank-bills. I should have been glad of more, but was too eager to exchange my vile casing, with its miseries, for a better, to think of waiting till bank-hours next day.

Taking possession, therefore, of this sum, and a dozen silver spoons that had been left in pledge a few days before, I hastened to put my plan into execution. I slipped down stairs, let myself out of the door as softly as if I had been an intruder, and set out, in a night of February, to search for a new body.

CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT A MAN MAY BE MORE USEFUL AFTER DEATH THAN WHILE LIVING

The reflection that I possessed the power (already thrice successfully exercised) to transfer my spirit, whenever I willed it, from one man's body to another, and so get rid of any afflictions that might beset me, was highly agreeable, and, under the present circumstances, consolatory. But there was one drawback to my satisfaction; and that was a discovery which I now made, that men's bodies were not to be had every day, at a moment's warning. This was the more provoking, as I knew there was no lack of them in the world, between eighty and ninety thousand men, women, and children having given up the ghost in the natural way that very day, whose corses would be on the morrow consigned to miserable holes in the earth, where they could and would be of no service to any person or persons whatever, the young doctors only excepted.

And here I cannot help observing, that it is an extremely absurd practice thus to dispose of – to squander and throw away, as I may call it – the hosts of human bodies that are annually falling dead upon our hands; whereas, with the least management in the world, they might be converted into objects of great usefulness and value.

According to the computation of philosophers, the population of the world may be reckoned in round numbers at just one thousand millions; of which number the annual mortality, at the low rate of three in a hundred, is thirty millions – and that without counting the extra million or two knocked on the head in the wars. Let us see what benefit might be derived from a judicious disposition of this mountain of mortality – I say mountain, for it is plain such a number of bodies heaped together would make a Chimborazo. The great mass of mankind might be made to subserve the purpose for which nature designed them, namely – to enrich the soil from which they draw their sustenance. According to the economical Chinese method, each of these bodies could be converted into five tons of excellent manure; and the whole number would therefore produce just one hundred and fifty millions of tons; of which one hundred and fifty thousand, being their due proportion, would fall to the share of the United States of America, enabling our farmers, in the course of ten or twelve years, to double the value of their lands. This, therefore, would be a highly profitable way of disposing of the mass of mankind. Such a disposition of their bodies would prove especially advantageous among American cultivators in divers districts, as a remedy against bad agriculture, and as the only means of handing down their fields in good order to their descendants. Such a disposition of bodies should be made upon every field of victory, so that dead heroes might be made to repair some of the mischiefs inflicted by live ones. The English farmers, it is well known, made good use of the bones left on the field of Waterloo; and though they would have done much better had they carried off the flesh with them, they did enough to show that war may be reckoned a good as well as an evil, and a great battle looked upon as a public blessing. A similar disposition (to continue the subject) of their mortal flesh might be, with great propriety, required, in this land, of all politicians and office-holders, from the vice-president down to the county collector; who, being all patriots, would doubtless consent to a measure that would make them of some use to their country. As for the president, we would have him reserved for a nobler purpose; we would have him boiled down to soap, according to the plan recommended by the French chymists, to be used by his successor in scouring the constitution and the minds of the people.

In this manner, I repeat, the great bulk of human bodies could be profitably appropriated; but other methods should be taken with particular classes of men, who might claim a more distinguished and canonical disposition of their bodies. The rich and tender would esteem it a cruelty to be disposed of in the same way with the multitude. I would advise, therefore, that their bodies should be converted into adipocire, or spermaceti, to be made into candles, to be burnt at the tops of the lamp-posts; whereby those who never shone in life might scintillate as the lights of the public for a week or two after. Their bones might be made into rings and whistles, for infant democrats to cut their teeth on.

The French and Italian philosophers, as I have learned from the newspapers, have made sundry strange, and, as I think, useful discoveries, in relation to the practicability of converting the human body into different mineral substances. One man changes his neighbour's bones into fine glass; a second turns the blood into iron; while a third, more successful still, transforms the whole body into stone. If these things be true, and I have no reason to doubt them, seeing that I found them, as I said before, in the newspapers, they offer us new modes of appropriation, applicable to the bodies of other interesting classes. Lovers might thus be converted into jewels, which, although false, could be worn with less fear of losing them than happens with living inamoratos; or, in case of extreme grief on the part of the survivers, into looking-glasses, where the mourners would find a solace in the contemplation of their own features. The second process, namely, the conversion of blood into iron, would be peculiarly applicable in the case of soldiers too distinguished to be cast into corn-fields; and, indeed, nothing could be more natural than that those whose blood we buy with gold, should pay us back our change in iron. The last discovery could be turned to equal profit, and would do away with the necessity of employing statuaries in all cases where their services are now required. But I would confine the process of petrifaction to those in whom Nature had indicated its propriety by beginning the process herself. None could with greater justice claim to have their bodies turned into stone, than those whose hearts were of the same material; and I should propose, accordingly, that such a transformation of bodies should be made only in the case of tyrants, heroes, duns, and critics.

But this subject, though often reflected on, I have had no leisure to digest properly. For which reason, begging the reader's pardon for the digression, I shall now leave it, and resume my story.

CHAPTER VIII.

SHEPPARD LEE'S SEARCH FOR A BODY. – AN UNCOMMON INCIDENT

I was provoked, I say, to think there were so many millions of dead bodies thrown away every year, for which I, in the greatest of my difficulties, should be none the better. Such was the extremity to which I was reduced, that I should have been content to change conditions with a beggar.

It was a night in February. The day had been uncommonly fine, with a soft southern air puffing through the streets; the frost was oozing from the pavement, and the flags – I beg their pardon, the bricks – were floating in the yellow mud, so that one walked as if upon a foundation of puddings. Such had been the state of things in the day; such also as late as at nine o'clock P. M.

But it was now eleven; the wind had chopped round to the northwest and northeast, and perhaps some half a dozen other points beside, for it seemed to blow in all directions, and the thermometer was galloping downward towards zero. A savage snow-storm had just set in, and with such sharp and piercing gusts of wind, and such fierce rattling of hail, that, had not my mind been in a ferment, I should have hesitated to expose myself to its fury. But I reflected that I was flying from wo and terror; and the hope of diving into some body that might introduce me to a life of sunshine, rendered me insensible to the rigours of the tempest.

Having stumbled about in the snow for a while, I began to inquire of myself whither I was going; and the answer, or rather the want of an answer, somewhat confounded me. Where was I to look for a dead body, at such a time of night? It occurred to me I had better refer to a newspaper, and see what persons had lately died in town and were yet unburied. I stepped accordingly into a barber's shop, that happened to be open, and snatched up an evening paper. The first paragraph I laid my eyes on contained an account of the forgeries of my son, Ralph Skinner. It was headed Unheard-of Depravity, and it blazoned, in italics and capitals, the crime, the unnatural crime of committing frauds in the name of a father.

The shock with which I beheld the fatal publication renewed my horror, and sharpened my desire to end it. I threw down the paper, without consulting the column of obituaries, and ran towards the Hospital, where, it appeared to me, I should certainly find one or more bodies which the doctors had no longer occasion for. But my visit was at a highly unseasonable hour, and the porter, being knocked out of a comfortable nap, got up in an ill humour. "Whose cow's dead now?" I heard him grumble from his lodge – "I wonder people can't break their necks by daylight!"

But my neck was not broken; and he listened to my eager inquiry – "whether there were no dead bodies in the house?" – with rage and indignation.

"I tell you what, mister," said he, "we takes no mad people in here, except they comes the regular way."

And with that he shut the door in my face, leaving me to wonder at his want of civility.

But the air was growing more frigid every moment, and the hour was waxing later and later. I ran to the Alms-house, not doubting, as that was a more democratic establishment, that I should be there received with greater respect. But good-breeding is not a whit more native to a leather shirt than to a silk stocking. My Cerberus here was cut from the same flint as the other; his civility had been learned in the same school, and his English studied from the same grammar.

"I tell you what, uncle Barebones," said he, without waiting to be questioned, "we takes no paupers here, except they comes with an order."

And so saying, he slapped to the door with an energy that dislodged from the roof of his den a full hundred weight or more of snow, which fell in my face, and had wellnigh smothered me.

The case began to look desperate; but the difficulty of finding what I wanted only rendered my wits more active. I resolved to run to one of the medical schools, make my way into its anatomical repositories, and help myself to the best body I could find; for, indeed, I was in such a rage of desire to be released from my present tenement, that I did not design to stand upon trifles.

I set out accordingly, with this object in view; but fate willed I should seek my fortune in another quarter.

The storm had by this time begun to rage with uncommon violence; the winds were blowing like so many buglers and trumpeters on a militia-day, and the snow that had already fallen was whisked up every moment from the ground, and driven back again into the air, to mingle in contention with that which was falling. The atmosphere was thickened, or rather wholly displaced, by the whirling particles, so that, in a short time, the wayfarer could neither see nor breathe in the white chaos around him. It was, in truth, a savage, inclement night. The watchman betook him to his box, to snooze away the hours in comfort; the lamps went out, being of a spirit still more economical than their founders, and thinking, with great justice, that the streets which could do with them, could do equally well without them; the dogs were no longer heard yelping at the corners; and the pigs – the only spectres of Philadelphia – that run squeaking and gibbering up and down the streets in the night, to vanish at early cock-crowing, provided the hog-catchers are in commission, were one by one retreating to their secret strongholds, leaving the street to solitude, the snow-storm, and me.

I plodded on as well as I could, and with such effect, that, after a quarter hour's trudging, I knew not well whither, I stopped at last, I knew as little where. Instead of being in the heart of the city, as I supposed, I found myself somewhere in the suburbs, wedged fast in a snow-drift. One single lamp, and one single wick of that single lamp, had escaped the puffs of the tempest; it shone from aloft, through the rack of snow, like a fire-fly in a fog, dividing its faint beam betwixt my frozen visage and a low open shed hard by, the only objects, beside itself, that were visible.

I perceived that I was lost; and being more than half dead with cold, I dragged myself into the shed, to shelter me from the fury of the storm, and lament the ill fate that attended my efforts.

As I stepped into the wretched hole, I stumbled over a man lying coiled up on the ground, and so exposed to the air that his legs were already heaped over with snow. There was just light enough to discern a black jug lying broken at his side, from which arose the odour of corn-juice, but by no means of the true Monongahela savour.

I was struck by the fellow's appearance; he had evidently been lying there all the evening; the stumble I had made over him did not disturb him in the least, and my hand chancing to touch his face, I found it could as marble. I perceived he was dead; a discovery that filled me with uncommon joy; for my eagerness to change my condition was such, that I only saw in him a body to be taken possession of, without reading in the broken jug, and the miserable corner in which its victim had breathed his last, the newer wretchedness and degradation upon which I was rushing. Such is the short-sightedness of discontent; such the folly of the man who deems himself the unluckiest of his species.

With a trembling hand I thrust into the pockets of the corse the money and the silver spoons I had brought with me, being so far prudent that I was resolved not to trust the transfer of such valuables to my new body to accident. This being accomplished, I uttered the wish that had thrice served my turn before.

I wished, however, in vain; I muttered the charm a dozen times over, but with no more effect than if I had pronounced it to the lamp-post. The body lay unmoved, and I remained unchanged.

I became horribly disconcerted; a fear seized me that my good angel, if I had ever had one, had deserted me; or that the devil, if it was from him I derived my power of passing from body to body, had suddenly left me in the lurch; – in a word, that I had consumed all my privileges of transformation, and was chained to the body of Abram Skinner for life.

I beat my breast in despair, and then, changing from that to wrath, I began to belabour the ribs of the dead man with all the strength of my foot, as if he were answerable for my disappointment. Perhaps, indeed, the reader will think that he was; for at the third kick the corpse became animated, and to my astonishment rose upon its feet, saying, in accents tolerably articulate, though somewhat thick and tumultuous, "I say, Charlie, odd rabbit it, none on your jokes now, and none on your takin of folks up; 'cause how, folks is not half so drunk as you suppose. And so good night, and let's have no more words about it, and I'll consider you werry much of a gentleman."

With these words the corpse picked up that fragment of the jug that had the handle to it, leaving the others, as well as his hat, behind him; and staggering out of the shed, he began to walk away. I was petrified; he was stalking off with my money, and a dozen of Mrs. Smith's silver spoons!

"You villain!" said I, running after him, "give me back my property."

"I'm a free man," said the sot; "I'm no man's property. And so, Charlie, don't go for to disturb me, for I knows my way home as well as anybody."

"But the four hundred dollars and the silver spoons," said I, seizing him by the shoulders, and endeavouring to empty the pockets I had but a moment before filled. "If you resist, you rogue, I'll put you in jail."

"I won't go to jail for no Charlie in the liberty," said the man of the jug, who to the last moment seemed to have no other idea than that he had fallen into the hands of a guardian of the night, and was in danger of being introduced to warmer quarters than those he was leaving. He spoke with the indignation of a freeborn republican, who felt his rights invaded, and was resolute to defend them; and, lifting up the fragment of his jug, he suddenly bestowed it upon my head with such good-will that I was felled to the earth. He took advantage of my downfall to decamp, carrying with him the treasure with which I had so bountifully freighted him. I pursued him as well as I could, calling upon the watch for assistance, and shouting murder and robbery at the top of my voice. But all was in vain; the watch were asleep, or I had wandered beyond their jurisdiction; and after a ten minutes' chase I found myself more bewildered than before, and the robber vanished with his plunder.

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PHILANTHROPIST

I should have cursed my simplicity in mistaking a drunkard for a dead man; but I had other evils to distress me besides chagrin. I was lost in a snow-storm, fainting with fatigue, shivering with cold, and afar from assistance, there not being a single house in sight. It was in vain that I sought to recover my way; I plunged from one snow-bank into another; and I believe I should have actually perished, had not succour arrived at a moment when I had given over all hopes of receiving it.

I had just sunk down into a huge drift on the roadside, where I lay groaning, unable to extricate myself, when a man driving by in a chair, hearing my lamentations, drew up, and demanded, in a most benevolent voice, what was the matter.

"Who art thou, friend?" said he, "and what are thy distresses? If thou art in affliction, peradventure there is one nigh at hand who will succour thee."

"I am," said I, "the most miserable wretch on the earth."

"Heaven be praised!" said the stranger, with great devoutness of accent; "for in that case I will give thee help, and the night shall not pass away in vain. Yea, verily, I will do my best to assist thee; for it is both good and pleasant, a comeliness to the eye and a refreshment to the spirit, to do good deeds among those who are truly wretched."

"And besides," said I, "I am sticking fast in the snow, and am perishing with cold."

"Be of good heart, and hold still for a moment, and I will come to thy assistance."

And with that honest Broadbrim (for such I knew by his speech he must be) descended from the chair, and helped me out of the drift; all which he accomplished with zeal and alacrity, showing not more humanity, as I thought, than satisfaction at finding such a legitimate object for its display. He brushed the snow from my clothes, and perceiving I was shivering with cold, for I had lost my cloak some minutes before, he transferred one of his own outer garments, of which, I believe, he had two or three, to my shoulders, plying me all the time with questions as to how I came into such a difficulty, and what other griefs I might have to afflict me, and assuring me I should have his assistance.

"Hast thou no house to cover thy nakedness?" he cried; "verily, I will find thee a place wherein thou shalt shelter thyself from snow and from cold. Art thou suffering from lack of food? Verily, there is a crust of bread and the leg of a chicken yet left in my basket of cold bits, and thou shalt have them, with something further hereafter. Hast thou no family or friends? Verily, there are many humane persons of my acquaintance who will, like myself, consider themselves as thy brothers and sisters. Art thou oppressed with years as well as poverty? Verily, then thou hast a stronger claim to pity, and it shall be accorded thee."