Between these and the fugitives whom curiosity had led to the road,
dialogues frequently took place, to which I was suffered to listen. From
every mouth the tale of sorrow was repeated with new aggravations. Pictures of their own distress, or of that of their neighbours, were
exhibited in all the hues which imagination can annex to pestilence and
poverty. My preconceptions of the evil now appeared to have fallen short of the
truth. The dangers into which I was rushing seemed more numerous and
imminent than I had previously imagined. I wavered not in my purpose. A
panic crept to my heart, which more vehement exertions were necessary to
subdue or control; but I harboured not a momentary doubt that the course
which I had taken was prescribed by duty. There was no difficulty or
reluctance in proceeding. All for which my efforts were demanded was to
walk in this path without tumult or alarm. Various circumstances had hindered me from setting out upon this journey
as early as was proper. My frequent pauses to listen to the narratives
of travellers contributed likewise to procrastination. The sun had
nearly set before I reached the precincts of the city. I pursued the
track which I had formerly taken, and entered High Street after
nightfall. Instead of equipages and a throng of passengers, the voice of
levity and glee, which I had formerly observed, and which the mildness
of the season would, at other times, have produced, I found nothing but
a dreary solitude. The market-place, and each side of this magnificent avenue, were
illuminated, as before, by lamps; but between the verge of Schuylkill
and the heart of the city I met not more than a dozen figures; and these
were ghost-like, wrapped in cloaks, from behind which they cast upon me
glances of wonder and suspicion, and, as I approached, changed their
course, to avoid touching me. Their clothes were sprinkled with vinegar,
and their nostrils defended from contagion by some powerful perfume. I cast a look upon the houses, which I recollected to have formerly
been, at this hour, brilliant with lights, resounding with lively
voices, and thronged with busy faces. Now they were closed, above and
below; dark, and without tokens of being inhabited. From the upper
windows of some, a gleam sometimes fell upon the pavement I was
traversing, and showed that their tenants had not fled, but were
secluded or disabled. These tokens were new, and awakened all my panics. Death seemed to
hover over this scene, and I dreaded that the floating pestilence had
already lighted on my frame. I had scarcely overcome these tremors, when
I approached a house the door of which was opened, and before which
stood a vehicle, which I presently recognised to be a _hearse_. The driver was seated on it. I stood still to mark his visage, and to
observe the course which he proposed to take. Presently a coffin, borne
by two men, issued from the house. The driver was a negro; but his
companions were white. Their features were marked by ferocious
indifference to danger or pity. One of them, as he assisted in thrusting
the coffin into the cavity provided for it, said, "I'll be damned if I
think the poor dog was quite dead. It wasn't the _fever_ that ailed him,
but the sight of the girl and her mother on the floor. I wonder how they
all got into that room. What carried them there?" The other surlily muttered, "Their legs, to-be-sure." "But what should they hug together in one room for?" "To save us trouble, to-be-sure." "And I thank them with all my heart; but, damn it, it wasn't right to
put him in his coffin before the breath was fairly gone. I thought the
last look he gave me told me to stay a few minutes." "Pshaw! He could not live. The sooner dead the better for him; as well
as for us. Did you mark how he eyed us when we carried away his wife and
daughter? I never cried in my life, since I was knee-high, but curse me
if I ever felt in better tune for the business than just then. Hey!" continued he, looking up, and observing me standing a few paces distant,
and listening to their discourse; "what's wanted? Anybody dead?" I stayed not to answer or parley, but hurried forward. My joints
trembled, and cold drops stood on my forehead. I was ashamed of my own
infirmity; and, by vigorous efforts of my reason, regained some degree
of composure. The evening had now advanced, and it behooved me to
procure accommodation at some of the inns. These were easily distinguished by their _signs_, but many were without
inhabitants. At length I lighted upon one, the hall of which was open
and the windows lifted. After knocking for some time, a young girl
appeared, with many marks of distress. In answer to my question, she
answered that both her parents were sick, and that they could receive no
one. I inquired, in vain, for any other tavern at which strangers might
be accommodated. She knew of none such, and left me, on someone's
calling to her from above, in the midst of my embarrassment. After a
moment's pause, I returned, discomfited and perplexed, to the street. I proceeded, in a considerable degree, at random. At length I reached a
spacious building in Fourth Street, which the signpost showed me to be
an inn. I knocked loudly and often at the door. At length a female
opened the window of the second story, and, in a tone of peevishness,
demanded what I wanted. I told her that I wanted lodging. "Go hunt for it somewhere else," said she; "you'll find none here." I
began to expostulate; but she shut the window with quickness, and left
me to my own reflections. I began now to feel some regret at the journey I had taken. Never, in
the depth of caverns or forests, was I equally conscious of loneliness. I was surrounded by the habitations of men; but I was destitute of
associate or friend. I had money, but a horse-shelter, or a morsel of
food, could not be purchased. I came for the purpose of relieving
others, but stood in the utmost need myself. Even in health my condition
was helpless and forlorn; but what would become of me should this fatal
malady be contracted? To hope that an asylum would be afforded to a sick
man, which was denied to one in health, was unreasonable. The first impulse which flowed from these reflections was to hasten back
to _Malverton_; which, with sufficient diligence, I might hope to regain
before the morning light. I could not, methought, return upon my steps
with too much speed. I was prompted to run, as if the pest was rushing
upon me and could be eluded only by the most precipitate flight. This impulse was quickly counteracted by new ideas. I thought with
indignation and shame on the imbecility of my proceeding. I called up
the images of Susan Hadwin, and of Wallace. I reviewed the motives which
had led me to the undertaking of this journey. Time had, by no means,
diminished their force. I had, indeed, nearly arrived at the
accomplishment of what I had intended. A few steps would carry me to
Thetford's habitation.