Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 115: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ne ee ea. EE SS ee -_ 102 bitterly, bitterly did I reproach myself for having confided to him the fact that I had just now escaped from the hands of the brigands. Possibly if I had not been thus foolishly off my guard, he might not have thought it worth his while to send a solitary wayfarer, such as I was, into the lion’s den; and he might haye let me go my way. But under existing circumstances—with the knowledge that I had been captured in Florence, and that I had escaped from the captors—he would naturally attach importance to the incident, and would lose no time in handing me over again to the custody of those from whom I had fled. All this, however, depended upon the supposition that he really was in league with the banditti; whereas my con- jecture might possibly be altogether wrong, and the scoundrel’s villany might turn entirely upon some other pivot. But if so, of what nature could it be ? Alas! too clear, too clear indeed was it that if I had escaped from one danger, it was only to fall into another—and that whether congected with Marco Uberti’s horde of miscreant’s or any other gang, the villain Dorchester meant me mischief. Was my life about to be sacrificed in that cave in the midst of the Apennine mountains? Ah, but I would sell it dearly—I would fight until the very last !—and inspired by this thought, I sprang up from my seat and began to look about for the most suitable weapons of offence or defence. I turned out the contents of Dorchester’s trunk : there were no weapons of any kind: but on the shelf I found a knife—and this I clutched eagerly. Every nook and corner of the cave did I search in the hope of discovering fire-arms or a sword: but there were none. Again I went back to the trunk: I felt amongst the garments—but still unavail- ingly in respect to the hoped-for discoveries of better means of resistance than the poor weapon that I held in my hand. From amidst those arti- cles of raiment a printed paper fell out: I picked it up: and though in a state of almost frenzied bewilderment at the horrors of my position, I nevertheless had curiosity sufficient to examine it. It was a small hand-bill, announcing the escape of Dorchester from the prison of La Force in Paris, and offering a reward for his capture. It was dated about six months back, and gave a minute description of his personal appearance. Ah, the villain! here was the detection of another falsehood! Instead of a portion of his punishment being remitted through good conduct, he had escaped from custody. Doubtless it was in some well contrived disguise—an art in which he was proficient, as I knew to my cost; and perhaps he had preserved as a trophy of the exploit the hand- bill which had subsequently fallen into his posses- sion. But all this was a mere trifle for the occupation of my thoughts in comparison with the horrors of my own position. I renewed my examination of the cave: if had no window—it was hollowed completely out of the solid rock—and it was merely by three small holes, each not larger than an orange, in the massive door that the air penetrated. Escape from such a place appeared to be almost impossible: yet again and again did I renew the battering process at that door—and still imeffec- tually. . Once more too did I sit down, thoroughly ex- JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. hausted, to give way to my wretched, wretched meditations. Suppose that Dorchester never came back ? suppose that through vindictive malignity he had immured me there? or suppose that an ae- cident should suddenly cut short his life while now on his way to execute any purpose he might have in view or to fetch thither whomsoever he had gone to summon? Oh, in either of these eases I should be left to die of starvation!—for the provisions which were there must in a few days be exhausted. The idea was horrible. A burning thirst came upon me: I drained the contents of the pitcher from which I had previously drunk when at my meal. JI searched for more water—but there was none in the cave; and therefore if veritably im- mured there either purposely or through the result of the casualities previously supposed, I should not linger on for even so much as a few days, but should perish miserably of thirst long ere the provisions themselves would be exhausted ! I cannot now recollect all the horrible thoughts which kept trooping in unto my mind, when, ex- hausted with fatigue, I for the last time renounced the battering at the door. The atmosphere seemed to become oppressive, and even stifling: I felt as if I were in a coffin that was at first much tcoo large for me, but the sides, the bottom, and the lid of which were gradually and gradually closing in upon me, and thus by sure degrees shutting me up in a narrower and narrower compass. For several minutes at a time, too, did I completely lose my presence of mind: my brain appeared to be reeling, or else to be goaded with frenzy; and I could have shrieked out. “Oh, Annabei! Annabel!” I thought to myself; “after having liberated you from captivity, am I at the interval of a few weeks thus doomed to a more dreadful one?—a captivity too which can scarcely end otherwise than in a violent death!” But at length I grew ashamed of myself for thus giving way to what I conceived to be a weakness ; and I entered upon a train of more becoming re- flections. I remembered how often I had been placed in circumstances of frightful peril, and how succour had come because God had willed that it should be so:—and wherefore should it not be his dispensation that help was to reach me again? I knelt down and prayed: and on rising up, I felt infinitely solaced and strengthened. Half-an-hour had now passed since I was left alone a prisoner there; and the candle had burnt down to its socket. T looked about for another: there was none. I therefore had to resign myself to the prospect of being speedily enveloped in total darkness. *The darkness came—and never did it appear so intense. It was as if I were immersed in an atmosphere of ink, which though it hung upon me with an op- pressive weight, yet stifled not my breath alto- gether. Thus another half-hour passed; and during this interval I did not again lose my presence of mind. I prayed frequently—I thought of Anna- bel—I resigned myself to die, if death were indeed approaching: but I also vowed that my young life should not be surrendered up without a desperate resistance on my part. At length—when, as nearly as I could judge, that second half-hour jad expired—I heard the tramplines of horses’ feet: they were rapidly approaching the cave—and I held my breath to listen. They stopped: then came the sound of Gdooks NN