The silence that reigned around was intense, almost
inconceivable to those accustomed to the busy world without. I missed the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, the
distant lowing of cattle, the hum of human voices, every sound of life;
all was still, for it was _the silence of the grave_. The only sound at
all audible, and that was so indistinct and muffled from the pile of
earth that covered me that, had my sense of hearing not been excited to
an abnormal pitch, I should not have heard it, and that was the sound of
the church clock as it struck the hour. I had been buried in the morning
at about ten o'clock, and I remember counting the hours until ten
o'clock at night. Every hour appeared to me a century, until, exhausted
with the agony of mind I had endured, I fell asleep and dreamed of
Molly. I thought that I was by her side walking under the trees in a
part of the country that I had never seen before. There was a house at some distance, which she said belonged to her aunt. I was telling her all about how I came to be buried alive, and she was
listening to me and looking up in my face with tearful eyes, for she had
heard that I was dead. I also dreamed that I saw a serpent moving in the
grass at her feet. I sprang up and beat it severely with my cane. At
first it attempted to defend itself, but at length it escaped from me
severely bruised. The dream then changed from one subject to another, but Molly was by my
side throughout. It was exceedingly vivid, and I doubted not at the time
but that I was by her side in reality. I know not how long I had been asleep when I heard a confused noise
while still in a dreaming state, and I awoke to find myself once more in
my coffin. "Oh, why was not this dream allowed to last?" I groaned to myself, and
tried to fall asleep again, hoping to take up the thread of my dream at
the point that I had lost it, but in vain, for now I heard the same
noise in reality over my head. It was the sound of men's voices. Who
could they be? Was I still dreaming? No! They were the resurrectionists, or the "body-snatchers," as we generally
call them. They had come to rob my body in order to sell it to some
doctor. How my heart beat for joy! "I shall be saved! I shall be saved!" said I to myself. "O merciful God!" I prayed in spirit, "who scornest not to make the
meanest of thy creatures thine instruments, I thank Thee for having
heard my prayers and delivered me from this fearful death. I am unworthy
of all thy mercies, O God! Perform thy miracles on men more worthy." The body-snatchers had now shovelled all the earth away that covered me,
and they began to lift the coffin out of the grave. Had it been my
friend's coffin instead of my own, I should have stigmatised the men who
attempted to disinter his body as thieves, robbers, a set of midnight
marauders; but in the present instance I blessed them as my deliverers,
as my brothers. My heart yearned towards them, for my hopes began to
revive. It would be discovered that I was not dead, at least, I hoped so, and
when my trance should pass off I should be able to find some way of
seeing Molly again. The next moment the outer coffin was wrenched open;
then they proceeded to force the leaden one. This was soon done, and I
now felt the chill night air. To lift me out, thrust me headfirst into a
sack, and shovel the earth into the grave again, was the work of a
moment, and I now felt myself laid across the shoulder of one of the
men, and carried off. "Where was I bound for?" I asked myself. The men began talking together, so I resolved to listen--to learn, if
possible, what they were going to do with me. "A fine corpse, Bill," said one body-snatcher to the other. "Aye, my word," replied Bill, "but what a weight he be!" "Ah! I dare say; these youngsters are so full of blood and muscle," said
the other. "Tell you what it is, Tom," said my bearer, "you must lend me a hand or
I shall never bring him safely to the doctor's to-night. Here, just take
him on your shoulders a bit!" I then felt myself transferred from the shoulders of Bill to those of
Tom. "Begad! you're right," said the latter. "He be a load, sure_ly_." "Well," said Bill, "the doctor has got the full worth of his money, and
no mistake. For less than ten guineas I wouldn't have undertaken the
task on such a night as this. Hark! how the wind howls. My teeth chatter
in spite of myself. Poor Jack! Many's the good draught of malt he has
drawn for me in his father's tap-room!" "Peace, you fool!" cried Tom; "don't talk so loud, or the thing will get
wind in the village, and we shall get torn to pieces. Hush! there is
someone behind the hedge." Then they walked on in silence for some time, and on the way I was once
more hoisted on to the shoulders of Bill. "Oh, you beggar, what a weight you be!" said Bill, addressing me. "Well,
we're paid for it, so I suppose I must carry you," and off we trudged
again. "This is the way to Dr. Slasher's house," said Tom. "I see a light in
the windows; he is awaiting us." "Well," said Bill, "we've been pretty punctual. It is not much past
twelve o'clock. Here we are at last." The two men stopped, and one threw some earth against the doctor's
window. The next moment I heard footsteps within, and the door was
opened noiselessly. "Hush!" said the doctor's voice. The two men entered the house, when I was taken out of my sack and
deposited upon a table in the doctor's study. It was the same doctor who
had attended me during my illness. "Fine specimen, sir," said Bill, "and tough work enough we've had to
get him, neither; the ground's as hard as a brick-bat." "Ah!" said the doctor, abstractedly, feeling me all over. "Yes, sir," said the other; "and how heavy he be too!" "Humph!" said the doctor. "It is a bitter cold night," said Bill. "The wind howled among the trees
while we was at work enough to make one's blood curdle." "Ha!" said the doctor; "I know what that means. A glass of grog wouldn't
be unacceptable, unless I mistake." "Well, sir, you've just guessed about right," said Bill. "A glass of
grog now and then, just to keep out the cold is a very fine thing, as
you, being a doctor, sir, I've no doubt are well aware." "Ha! ha!" laughed the doctor. "I perceive you understand the theory of
the circulation of the blood. Well, as you have done your work well,
I'll just put the kettle on the hob, and you shall have a good stiff
glass apiece." "That's the sort of thing, eh, Tom? The doctor is a real gentleman, and
no mistake." Tom acquiesced, and soon the doctor produced a tall bottle of brandy,
and more than half filling two tumblers, and popping a couple of lumps
of sugar into each glass, he lifted the kettle from the hob and filled
them up to the brim. Then, stirring up the sugar at the bottom with the
handle of his dissecting knife, he handed a glass to each of his
creatures across my body. "Here's luck, sir," said one of them, nodding. "I looks towards you, sir," said the other, sipping his grog.