Dick Nancy, Gravedigger Rhuthun, 1875
Every night in the year, four of us sat in the small parlourof the George at Debenham--the undertaker, and the landlord,and Fettes, and myself. Sometimes there would be more; butblow high, blow low, come rain or snow or frost, we fourwould be each planted in his own particular arm-chair.Fettes was an old drunken Scotchman, a man of educationobviously, and a man of some property, since he lived inidleness. He had come to Debenham years ago, while stillyoung, and by a mere continuance of living had grown to be anadopted townsman. His blue camlet cloak was a localantiquity, like the church-spire. His place in the parlourat the George, his absence from church, his old, crapulous,disreputable vices, were all things of course in Debenham.He had some vague Radical opinions and some fleetinginfidelities, which he would now and again set forth andemphasise with tottering slaps upon the table. He drank rum- five glasses regularly every evening; and for the greaterportion of his nightly visit to the George sat, with hisglass in his right hand, in a state of melancholy alcoholicsaturation. We called him the Doctor, for he was supposed tohave some special knowledge of medicine, and had been known,upon a pinch, to set a fracture or reduce a dislocation; butbeyond these slight particulars, we had no knowledge of hischaracter and antecedents.
One dark winter night--it had struck nine some time beforethe landlord joined us--there was a sick man in the George,a great neighbouring proprietor suddenly struck down withapoplexy on his way to Parliament; and the great man's stillgreater London doctor had been telegraphed to his bedside.It was the first time that such a thing had happened inDebenham, for the railway was but newly open, and we were allproportionately moved by the occurrence.
'He's come,' said the landlord, after he had filled andlighted his pipe.
'He?' said I. 'Who?--not the doctor?'
'Himself,' replied our host.
'What is his name?'
'Doctor Macfarlane,' said the landlord.
Fettes was far through his third tumbler, stupidly fuddled,now nodding over, now staring mazily around him; but at thelast word he seemed to awaken, and repeated the name'Macfarlane' twice, quietly enough the first time, but withsudden emotion at the second.
'Yes,' said the landlord, 'that's his name, Doctor WolfeMacfarlane.'
Fettes became instantly sober; his eyes awoke, his voicebecame clear, loud, and steady, his language forcible andearnest. We were all startled by the transformation, as if aman had risen from the dead.
'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'I am afraid I have not beenpaying much attention to your talk. Who is this WolfeMacfarlane?' And then, when he had heard the landlord out,'It cannot be, it cannot be,' he added; 'and yet I would likewell to see him face to face.'
'Do you know him, Doctor?' asked the undertaker, with a gasp.
'God forbid!' was the reply. 'And yet the name is a strangeone; it were too much to fancy two. Tell me, landlord, is heold?'
'Well,' said the host, 'he's not a young man, to be sure, andhis hair is white; but he looks younger than you.'
'He is older, though; years older. But,' with a slap uponthe table, 'it's the rum you see in my face--rum and sin.This man, perhaps, may have an easy conscience and a gooddigestion. Conscience! Hear me speak. You would think Iwas some good, old, decent Christian, would you not? But no,not I; I never canted. Voltaire might have canted if he'dstood in my shoes; but the brains'--with a rattling fillipon his bald head--'the brains were clear and active, and Isaw and made no deductions.'
'If you know this doctor,' I ventured to remark, after asomewhat awful pause, 'I should gather that you do not sharethe landlord's good opinion.'
Fettes paid no regard to me.
'Yes,' he said, with sudden decision, 'I must see him face toface.'
There was another pause, and then a door was closed rathersharply on the first floor, and a step was heard upon thestair.
'That's the doctor,' cried the landlord. 'Look sharp, andyou can catch him.'
It was but two steps from the small parlour to the door ofthe old George Inn; the wide oak staircase landed almost inthe street; there was room for a Turkey rug and nothing morebetween the threshold and the last round of the descent; butthis little space was every evening brilliantly lit up, notonly by the light upon the stair and the great signal-lampbelow the sign, but by the warm radiance of the bar-roomwindow. The George thus brightly advertised itself topassers-by in the cold street. Fettes walked steadily to thespot, and we, who were hanging behind, beheld the two menmeet, as one of them had phrased it, face to face. Dr.Macfarlane was alert and vigorous. His white hair set offhis pale and placid, although energetic, countenance. He wasrichly dressed in the finest of broadcloth and the whitest oflinen, with a great gold watch-chain, and studs andspectacles of the same precious material. He wore a broad-folded tie, white and speckled with lilac, and he carried onhis arm a comfortable driving-coat of fur. There was nodoubt but he became his years, breathing, as he did, ofwealth and consideration; and it was a surprising contrast tosee our parlour sot--bald, dirty, pimpled, and robed in hisold camlet cloak--confront him at the bottom of the stairs.
'Macfarlane!' he said somewhat loudly, more like a heraldthan a friend.
The great doctor pulled up short on the fourth step, asthough the familiarity of the address surprised and somewhatshocked his dignity.
'Toddy Macfarlane!' repeated Fettes.
The London man almost staggered. He stared for the swiftestof seconds at the man before him, glanced behind him with asort of scare, and then in a startled whisper, 'Fettes!' hesaid, 'You!'
'Ay,' said the other, 'me! Did you think I was dead too? Weare not so easy shut of our acquaintance.'
'Hush, hush!' exclaimed the doctor. 'Hush, hush! thismeeting is so unexpected--I can see you are unmanned. Ihardly knew you, I confess, at first; but I am overjoyed--overjoyed to have this opportunity. For the present it mustbe how-d'ye-do and good-bye in one, for my fly is waiting,and I must not fail the train; but you shall--let me see--yes--you shall give me your address, and you can count onearly news of me. We must do something for you, Fettes. Ifear you are out at elbows; but we must see to that for auldlang syne, as once we sang at suppers.'
'Money!' cried Fettes; 'money from you! The money that I hadfrom you is lying where I cast it in the rain.'
Dr. Macfarlane had talked himself into some measure ofsuperiority and confidence, but the uncommon energy of thisrefusal cast him back into his first confusion.
A horrible, ugly look came and went across his almostvenerable countenance. 'My dear fellow,' he said, 'be it asyou please; my last thought is to offend you. I wouldintrude on none. I will leave you my address, however--'
'I do not wish it--I do not wish to know the roof thatshelters you,' interrupted the other. 'I heard your name; Ifeared it might be you; I wished to know if, after all, therewere a God; I know now that there is none. Begone!'
He still stood in the middle of the rug, between the stairand doorway; and the great London physician, in order toescape, would be forced to step to one side. It was plainthat he hesitated before the thought of this humiliation.White as he was, there was a dangerous glitter in hisspectacles; but while he still paused uncertain, he becameaware that the driver of his fly was peering in from thestreet at this unusual scene and caught a glimpse at the sametime of our little body from the parlour, huddled by thecorner of the bar. The presence of so many witnesses decidedhim at once to flee. He crouched together, brushing on thewainscot, and made a dart like a serpent, striking for thedoor. But his tribulation was not yet entirely at an end,for even as he was passing Fettes clutched him by the arm andthese words came in a whisper, and yet painfully distinct,'Have you seen it again?'
The great rich London doctor cried out aloud with a sharp,throttling cry; he dashed his questioner across the openspace, and, with his hands over his head, fled out of thedoor like a detected thief. Before it had occurred to one ofus to make a movement the fly was already rattling toward thestation. The scene was over like a dream, but the dream hadleft proofs and traces of its passage. Next day the servantfound the fine gold spectacles broken on the threshold, andthat very night we were all standing breathless by the bar-room window, and Fettes at our side, sober, pale, andresolute in look.
'God protect us, Mr. Fettes!' said the landlord, coming firstinto possession of his customary senses. 'What in theuniverse is all this? These are strange things you have beensaying.'
Fettes turned toward us; he looked us each in succession inthe face. 'See if you can hold your tongues,' said he.'That man Macfarlane is not safe to cross; those that havedone so already have repented it too late.'
And then, without so much as finishing his third glass, farless waiting for the other two, he bade us good-bye and wentforth, under the lamp of the hotel, into the black night.
We three turned to our places in the parlour, with the bigred fire and four clear candles; and as we recapitulated whathad passed, the first chill of our surprise soon changed intoa glow of curiosity. We sat late; it was the latest sessionI have known in the old George. Each man, before we parted,had his theory that he was bound to prove; and none of us hadany nearer business in this world than to track out the pastof our condemned companion, and surprise the secret that heshared with the great London doctor. It is no great boast,but I believe I was a better hand at worming out a story thaneither of my fellows at the George; and perhaps there is nowno other man alive who could narrate to you the followingfoul and unnatural events.
In his young days Fettes studied medicine in the schools ofEdinburgh. He had talent of a kind, the talent that picks upswiftly what it hears and readily retails it for its own. Heworked little at home; but he was civil, attentive, andintelligent in the presence of his masters. They soon pickedhim out as a lad who listened closely and remembered well;nay, strange as it seemed to me when I first heard it, he wasin those days well favoured, and pleased by his exterior.There was, at that period, a certain extramural teacher ofanatomy, whom I shall here designate by the letter K. Hisname was subsequently too well known. The man who bore itskulked through the streets of Edinburgh in disguise, whilethe mob that applauded at the execution of Burke calledloudly for the blood of his employer. But Mr. K- was then atthe top of his vogue; he enjoyed a popularity due partly tohis own talent and address, partly to the incapacity of hisrival, the university professor. The students, at least,swore by his name, and Fettes believed himself, and wasbelieved by others, to have laid the foundations of successwhen he had acquired the favour of this meteorically famousman. Mr. K- was a BON VIVANT as well as an accomplishedteacher; he liked a sly illusion no less than a carefulpreparation. In both capacities Fettes enjoyed and deservedhis notice, and by the second year of his attendance he heldthe half-regular position of second demonstrator or sub-assistant in his class.
In this capacity the charge of the theatre and lecture-roomdevolved in particular upon his shoulders. He had to answerfor the cleanliness of the premises and the conduct of theother students, and it was a part of his duty to supply,receive, and divide the various subjects. It was with a viewto this last--at that time very delicate--affair that hewas lodged by Mr. K- in the same wynd, and at last in thesame building, with the dissecting-rooms. Here, after anight of turbulent pleasures, his hand still tottering, hissight still misty and confused, he would be called out of bedin the black hours before the winter dawn by the unclean anddesperate interlopers who supplied the table. He would openthe door to these men, since infamous throughout the land.He would help them with their tragic burden, pay them theirsordid price, and remain alone, when they were gone, with theunfriendly relics of humanity. From such a scene he wouldreturn to snatch another hour or two of slumber, to repairthe abuses of the night, and refresh himself for the laboursof the day.
Few lads could have been more insensible to the impressionsof a life thus passed among the ensigns of mortality. Hismind was closed against all general considerations. He wasincapable of interest in the fate and fortunes of another,the slave of his own desires and low ambitions. Cold, light,and selfish in the last resort, he had that modicum ofprudence, miscalled morality, which keeps a man frominconvenient drunkenness or punishable theft. He coveted,besides, a measure of consideration from his masters and hisfellow-pupils, and he had no desire to fail conspicuously inthe external parts of life. Thus he made it his pleasure togain some distinction in his studies, and day after dayrendered unimpeachable eye-service to his employer, Mr. K-.For his day of work he indemnified himself by nights ofroaring, blackguardly enjoyment; and when that balance hadbeen struck, the organ that he called his conscience declareditself content.
The supply of subjects was a continual trouble to him as wellas to his master. In that large and busy class, the rawmaterial of the anatomists kept perpetually running out; andthe business thus rendered necessary was not only unpleasantin itself, but threatened dangerous consequences to all whowere concerned. It was the policy of Mr. K- to ask noquestions in his dealings with the trade. 'They bring thebody, and we pay the price,' he used to say, dwelling on thealliteration--'QUID PRO QUO.' And, again, and somewhatprofanely, 'Ask no questions,' he would tell his assistants,'for conscience' sake.' There was no understanding that thesubjects were provided by the crime of murder. Had that ideabeen broached to him in words, he would have recoiled inhorror; but the lightness of his speech upon so grave amatter was, in itself, an offence against good manners, and atemptation to the men with whom he dealt. Fettes, forinstance, had often remarked to himself upon the singularfreshness of the bodies. He had been struck again and againby the hang-dog, abominable looks of the ruffians who came tohim before the dawn; and putting things together clearly inhis private thoughts, he perhaps attributed a meaning tooimmoral and too categorical to the unguarded counsels of hismaster. He understood his duty, in short, to have threebranches: to take what was brought, to pay the price, and toavert the eye from any evidence of crime.
One November morning this policy of silence was put sharplyto the test. He had been awake all night with a rackingtoothache--pacing his room like a caged beast or throwinghimself in fury on his bed--and had fallen at last into thatprofound, uneasy slumber that so often follows on a night ofpain, when he was awakened by the third or fourth angryrepetition of the concerted signal. There was a thin, brightmoonshine; it was bitter cold, windy, and frosty; the townhad not yet awakened, but an indefinable stir alreadypreluded the noise and business of the day. The ghouls hadcome later than usual, and they seemed more than usuallyeager to be gone. Fettes, sick with sleep, lighted themupstairs. He heard their grumbling Irish voices through adream; and as they stripped the sack from their sadmerchandise he leaned dozing, with his shoulder proppedagainst the wall; he had to shake himself to find the mentheir money. As he did so his eyes lighted on the dead face.He started; he took two steps nearer, with the candle raised.
'God Almighty!' he cried. 'That is Jane Galbraith!'
The men answered nothing, but they shuffled nearer the door.
'I know her, I tell you,' he continued. 'She was alive andhearty yesterday. It's impossible she can be dead; it'simpossible you should have got this body fairly.'
'Sure, sir, you're mistaken entirely,' said one of the men.
But the other looked Fettes darkly in the eyes, and demandedthe money on the spot.
It was impossible to misconceive the threat or to exaggeratethe danger. The lad's heart failed him. He stammered someexcuses, counted out the sum, and saw his hateful visitorsdepart. No sooner were they gone than he hastened to confirmhis doubts. By a dozen unquestionable marks he identifiedthe girl he had jested with the day before. He saw, withhorror, marks upon her body that might well betoken violence.A panic seized him, and he took refuge in his room. There hereflected at length over the discovery that he had made;considered soberly the bearing of Mr. K-'s instructions andthe danger to himself of interference in so serious abusiness, and at last, in sore perplexity, determined to waitfor the advice of his immediate superior, the classassistant.
This was a young doctor, Wolfe Macfarlane, a high favouriteamong all the reckless students, clever, dissipated, andunscrupulous to the last degree. He had travelled andstudied abroad. His manners were agreeable and a littleforward. He was an authority on the stage, skilful on theice or the links with skate or golf-club; he dressed withnice audacity, and, to put the finishing touch upon hisglory, he kept a gig and a strong trotting-horse. WithFettes he was on terms of intimacy; indeed, their relativepositions called for some community of life; and whensubjects were scarce the pair would drive far into thecountry in Macfarlane's gig, visit and desecrate some lonelygraveyard, and return before dawn with their booty to thedoor of the dissecting-room.
On that particular morning Macfarlane arrived somewhatearlier than his wont. Fettes heard him, and met him on thestairs, told him his story, and showed him the cause of hisalarm. Macfarlane examined the marks on her body.
'Yes,' he said with a nod, 'it looks fishy.'
'Well, what should I do?' asked Fettes.
'Do?' repeated the other. 'Do you want to do anything?Least said soonest mended, I should say.'
'Some one else might recognise her,' objected Fettes. 'Shewas as well known as the Castle Rock.'
'We'll hope not,' said Macfarlane, 'and if anybody does--well, you didn't, don't you see, and there's an end. Thefact is, this has been going on too long. Stir up the mud,and you'll get K- into the most unholy trouble; you'll be ina shocking box yourself. So will I, if you come to that. Ishould like to know how any one of us would look, or what thedevil we should have to say for ourselves, in any Christianwitness-box. For me, you know there's one thing certain--that, practically speaking, all our subjects have beenmurdered.'
'Macfarlane!' cried Fettes.
'Come now!' sneered the other. 'As if you hadn't suspectedit yourself!'
'Suspecting is one thing--'
'And proof another. Yes, I know; and I'm as sorry as you arethis should have come here,' tapping the body with his cane.'The next best thing for me is not to recognise it; and,' headded coolly, 'I don't. You may, if you please. I don'tdictate, but I think a man of the world would do as I do; andI may add, I fancy that is what K- would look for at ourhands. The question is, Why did he choose us two for hisassistants? And I answer, because he didn't want old wives.'
This was the tone of all others to affect the mind of a ladlike Fettes. He agreed to imitate Macfarlane. The body ofthe unfortunate girl was duly dissected, and no one remarkedor appeared to recognise her.
One afternoon, when his day's work was over, Fettes droppedinto a popular tavern and found Macfarlane sitting with astranger. This was a small man, very pale and dark, withcoal-black eyes. The cut of his features gave a promise ofintellect and refinement which was but feebly realised in hismanners, for he proved, upon a nearer acquaintance, coarse,vulgar, and stupid. He exercised, however, a very remarkablecontrol over Macfarlane; issued orders like the Great Bashaw;became inflamed at the least discussion or delay, andcommented rudely on the servility with which he was obeyed.This most offensive person took a fancy to Fettes on thespot, plied him with drinks, and honoured him with unusualconfidences on his past career. If a tenth part of what heconfessed were true, he was a very loathsome rogue; and thelad's vanity was tickled by the attention of so experienced aman.
'I'm a pretty bad fellow myself,' the stranger remarked, 'butMacfarlane is the boy--Toddy Macfarlane I call him. Toddy,order your friend another glass.' Or it might be, 'Toddy,you jump up and shut the door.' 'Toddy hates me,' he saidagain. 'Oh yes, Toddy, you do!'
'Don't you call me that confounded name,' growled Macfarlane.
'Hear him! Did you ever see the lads play knife? He wouldlike to do that all over my body,' remarked the stranger.
'We medicals have a better way than that,' said Fettes.'When we dislike a dead friend of ours, we dissect him.'
Macfarlane looked up sharply, as though this jest werescarcely to his mind.
The afternoon passed. Gray, for that was the stranger'sname, invited Fettes to join them at dinner, ordered a feastso sumptuous that the tavern was thrown into commotion, andwhen all was done commanded Macfarlane to settle the bill.It was late before they separated; the man Gray was incapablydrunk. Macfarlane, sobered by his fury, chewed the cud ofthe money he had been forced to squander and the slights hehad been obliged to swallow. Fettes, with various liquorssinging in his head, returned home with devious footsteps anda mind entirely in abeyance. Next day Macfarlane was absentfrom the class, and Fettes smiled to himself as he imaginedhim still squiring the intolerable Gray from tavern totavern. As soon as the hour of liberty had struck he postedfrom place to place in quest of his last night's companions.He could find them, however, nowhere; so returned early tohis rooms, went early to bed, and slept the sleep of thejust.
At four in the morning he was awakened by the well-knownsignal. Descending to the door, he was filled withastonishment to find Macfarlane with his gig, and in the gigone of those long and ghastly packages with which he was sowell acquainted.
'What?' he cried. 'Have you been out alone? How did youmanage?'
But Macfarlane silenced him roughly, bidding him turn tobusiness. When they had got the body upstairs and laid it onthe table, Macfarlane made at first as if he were going away.Then he paused and seemed to hesitate; and then, 'You hadbetter look at the face,' said he, in tones of someconstraint. 'You had better,' he repeated, as Fettes onlystared at him in wonder.
'But where, and how, and when did you come by it?' cried theother.
'Look at the face,' was the only answer.
Fettes was staggered; strange doubts assailed him. He lookedfrom the young doctor to the body, and then back again. Atlast, with a start, he did as he was bidden. He had almostexpected the sight that met his eyes, and yet the shock wascruel. To see, fixed in the rigidity of death and naked onthat coarse layer of sackcloth, the man whom he had left wellclad and full of meat and sin upon the threshold of a tavern,awoke, even in the thoughtless Fettes, some of the terrors ofthe conscience. It was a CRAS TIBI which re-echoed in hissoul, that two whom he had known should have come to lie uponthese icy tables. Yet these were only secondary thoughts.His first concern regarded Wolfe. Unprepared for a challengeso momentous, he knew not how to look his comrade in theface. He durst not meet his eye, and he had neither wordsnor voice at his command.
It was Macfarlane himself who made the first advance. Hecame up quietly behind and laid his hand gently but firmly onthe other's shoulder.
'Richardson,' said he, 'may have the head.'
Now Richardson was a student who had long been anxious forthat portion of the human subject to dissect. There was noanswer, and the murderer resumed: 'Talking of business, youmust pay me; your accounts, you see, must tally.'
Fettes found a voice, the ghost of his own: 'Pay you!' hecried. 'Pay you for that?'
'Why, yes, of course you must. By all means and on everypossible account, you must,' returned the other. 'I dare notgive it for nothing, you dare not take it for nothing; itwould compromise us both. This is another case like JaneGalbraith's. The more things are wrong the more we must actas if all were right. Where does old K- keep his money?'
'There,' answered Fettes hoarsely, pointing to a cupboard inthe corner.
'Give me the key, then,' said the other, calmly, holding outhis hand.
There was an instant's hesitation, and the die was cast.Macfarlane could not suppress a nervous twitch, theinfinitesimal mark of an immense relief, as he felt the keybetween his fingers. He opened the cupboard, brought out penand ink and a paper-book that stood in one compartment, andseparated from the funds in a drawer a sum suitable to theoccasion.
'Now, look here,' he said, 'there is the payment made--firstproof of your good faith: first step to your security. Youhave now to clinch it by a second. Enter the payment in yourbook, and then you for your part may defy the devil.'
The next few seconds were for Fettes an agony of thought; butin balancing his terrors it was the most immediate thattriumphed. Any future difficulty seemed almost welcome if hecould avoid a present quarrel with Macfarlane. He set downthe candle which he had been carrying all this time, and witha steady hand entered the date, the nature, and the amount ofthe transaction.
'And now,' said Macfarlane, 'it's only fair that you shouldpocket the lucre. I've had my share already. By the bye,when a man of the world falls into a bit of luck, has a fewshillings extra in his pocket--I'm ashamed to speak of it,but there's a rule of conduct in the case. No treating, nopurchase of expensive class-books, no squaring of old debts;borrow, don't lend.'
'Macfarlane,' began Fettes, still somewhat hoarsely, 'I haveput my neck in a halter to oblige you.'
'To oblige me?' cried Wolfe. 'Oh, come! You did, as near asI can see the matter, what you downright had to do in self-defence. Suppose I got into trouble, where would you be?This second little matter flows clearly from the first. Mr.Gray is the continuation of Miss Galbraith. You can't beginand then stop. If you begin, you must keep on beginning;that's the truth. No rest for the wicked.'
A horrible sense of blackness and the treachery of fateseized hold upon the soul of the unhappy student.
'My God!' he cried, 'but what have I done? and when did Ibegin? To be made a class assistant--in the name of reason,where's the harm in that? Service wanted the position;Service might have got it. Would HE have been where I amnow?'
'My dear fellow,' said Macfarlane, 'what a boy you are! Whatharm HAS come to you? What harm CAN come to you if you holdyour tongue? Why, man, do you know what this life is? Thereare two squads of us--the lions and the lambs. If you're alamb, you'll come to lie upon these tables like Gray or JaneGalbraith; if you're a lion, you'll live and drive a horselike me, like K-, like all the world with any wit or courage.You're staggered at the first. But look at K-! My dearfellow, you're clever, you have pluck. I like you, and K- likes you. You were born to lead the hunt; and I tell you,on my honour and my experience of life, three days from nowyou'll laugh at all these scarecrows like a High School boyat a farce.'
And with that Macfarlane took his departure and drove off upthe wynd in his gig to get under cover before daylight.Fettes was thus left alone with his regrets. He saw themiserable peril in which he stood involved. He saw, withinexpressible dismay, that there was no limit to hisweakness, and that, from concession to concession, he hadfallen from the arbiter of Macfarlane's destiny to his paidand helpless accomplice. He would have given the world tohave been a little braver at the time, but it did not occurto him that he might still be brave. The secret of JaneGalbraith and the cursed entry in the day-book closed hismouth.
Hours passed; the class began to arrive; the members of theunhappy Gray were dealt out to one and to another, andreceived without remark. Richardson was made happy with thehead; and before the hour of freedom rang Fettes trembledwith exultation to perceive how far they had already gonetoward safety.
For two days he continued to watch, with increasing joy, thedreadful process of disguise.
On the third day Macfarlane made his appearance. He had beenill, he said; but he made up for lost time by the energy withwhich he directed the students. To Richardson in particularhe extended the most valuable assistance and advice, and thatstudent, encouraged by the praise of the demonstrator, burnedhigh with ambitious hopes, and saw the medal already in hisgrasp.
Before the week was out Macfarlane's prophecy had beenfulfilled. Fettes had outlived his terrors and had forgottenhis baseness. He began to plume himself upon his courage,and had so arranged the story in his mind that he could lookback on these events with an unhealthy pride. Of hisaccomplice he saw but little. They met, of course, in thebusiness of the class; they received their orders togetherfrom Mr. K-. At times they had a word or two in private, andMacfarlane was from first to last particularly kind andjovial. But it was plain that he avoided any reference totheir common secret; and even when Fettes whispered to himthat he had cast in his lot with the lions and foresworn thelambs, he only signed to him smilingly to hold his peace.
At length an occasion arose which threw the pair once moreinto a closer union. Mr. K- was again short of subjects;pupils were eager, and it was a part of this teacher'spretensions to be always well supplied. At the same timethere came the news of a burial in the rustic graveyard ofGlencorse. Time has little changed the place in question.It stood then, as now, upon a cross road, out of call ofhuman habitations, and buried fathom deep in the foliage ofsix cedar trees. The cries of the sheep upon theneighbouring hills, the streamlets upon either hand, oneloudly singing among pebbles, the other dripping furtivelyfrom pond to pond, the stir of the wind in mountainous oldflowering chestnuts, and once in seven days the voice of thebell and the old tunes of the precentor, were the only soundsthat disturbed the silence around the rural church. TheResurrection Man--to use a byname of the period--was not tobe deterred by any of the sanctities of customary piety. Itwas part of his trade to despise and desecrate the scrollsand trumpets of old tombs, the paths worn by the feet ofworshippers and mourners, and the offerings and theinscriptions of bereaved affection. To rusticneighbourhoods, where love is more than commonly tenacious,and where some bonds of blood or fellowship unite the entiresociety of a parish, the body-snatcher, far from beingrepelled by natural respect, was attracted by the ease andsafety of the task. To bodies that had been laid in earth,in joyful expectation of a far different awakening, therecame that hasty, lamp-lit, terror-haunted resurrection of thespade and mattock. The coffin was forced, the cerementstorn, and the melancholy relics, clad in sackcloth, afterbeing rattled for hours on moonless byways, were at lengthexposed to uttermost indignities before a class of gapingboys.
Somewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a dying lamb, Fettesand Macfarlane were to be let loose upon a grave in thatgreen and quiet resting-place. The wife of a farmer, a womanwho had lived for sixty years, and been known for nothing butgood butter and a godly conversation, was to be rooted fromher grave at midnight and carried, dead and naked, to thatfar-away city that she had always honoured with her Sunday'sbest; the place beside her family was to be empty till thecrack of doom; her innocent and almost venerable members tobe exposed to that last curiosity of the anatomist.
Late one afternoon the pair set forth, well wrapped in cloaksand furnished with a formidable bottle. It rained withoutremission--a cold, dense, lashing rain. Now and again thereblew a puff of wind, but these sheets of falling water keptit down. Bottle and all, it was a sad and silent drive asfar as Penicuik, where they were to spend the evening. Theystopped once, to hide their implements in a thick bush notfar from the churchyard, and once again at the Fisher'sTryst, to have a toast before the kitchen fire and vary theirnips of whisky with a glass of ale. When they reached theirjourney's end the gig was housed, the horse was fed andcomforted, and the two young doctors in a private room satdown to the best dinner and the best wine the house afforded.The lights, the fire, the beating rain upon the window, thecold, incongruous work that lay before them, added zest totheir enjoyment of the meal. With every glass theircordiality increased. Soon Macfarlane handed a little pileof gold to his companion.
'A compliment,' he said. 'Between friends these little d-daccommodations ought to fly like pipe-lights.'
Fettes pocketed the money, and applauded the sentiment to theecho. 'You are a philosopher,' he cried. 'I was an ass tillI knew you. You and K- between you, by the Lord Harry! butyou'll make a man of me.'
'Of course we shall,' applauded Macfarlane. 'A man? I tellyou, it required a man to back me up the other morning.There are some big, brawling, forty-year-old cowards whowould have turned sick at the look of the d-d thing; but notyou--you kept your head. I watched you.'
'Well, and why not?' Fettes thus vaunted himself. 'It was noaffair of mine. There was nothing to gain on the one sidebut disturbance, and on the other I could count on yourgratitude, don't you see?' And he slapped his pocket tillthe gold pieces rang.
Macfarlane somehow felt a certain touch of alarm at theseunpleasant words. He may have regretted that he had taughthis young companion so successfully, but he had no time tointerfere, for the other noisily continued in this boastfulstrain:-
'The great thing is not to be afraid. Now, between you andme, I don't want to hang--that's practical; but for allcant, Macfarlane, I was born with a contempt. Hell, God,Devil, right, wrong, sin, crime, and all the old gallery ofcuriosities--they may frighten boys, but men of the world,like you and me, despise them. Here's to the memory ofGray!'
It was by this time growing somewhat late. The gig,according to order, was brought round to the door with bothlamps brightly shining, and the young men had to pay theirbill and take the road. They announced that they were boundfor Peebles, and drove in that direction till they were clearof the last houses of the town; then, extinguishing thelamps, returned upon their course, and followed a by-roadtoward Glencorse. There was no sound but that of their ownpassage, and the incessant, strident pouring of the rain. Itwas pitch dark; here and there a white gate or a white stonein the wall guided them for a short space across the night;but for the most part it was at a foot pace, and almostgroping, that they picked their way through that resonantblackness to their solemn and isolated destination. In thesunken woods that traverse the neighbourhood of the burying-ground the last glimmer failed them, and it became necessaryto kindle a match and re-illumine one of the lanterns of thegig. Thus, under the dripping trees, and environed by hugeand moving shadows, they reached the scene of theirunhallowed labours.
They were both experienced in such affairs, and powerful withthe spade; and they had scarce been twenty minutes at theirtask before they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffinlid. At the same moment Macfarlane, having hurt his handupon a stone, flung it carelessly above his head. The grave,in which they now stood almost to the shoulders, was close tothe edge of the plateau of the graveyard; and the gig lamphad been propped, the better to illuminate their labours,against a tree, and on the immediate verge of the steep bankdescending to the stream. Chance had taken a sure aim withthe stone. Then came a clang of broken glass; night fellupon them; sounds alternately dull and ringing announced thebounding of the lantern down the bank, and its occasionalcollision with the trees. A stone or two, which it haddislodged in its descent, rattled behind it into theprofundities of the glen; and then silence, like night,resumed its sway; and they might bend their hearing to itsutmost pitch, but naught was to be heard except the rain, nowmarching to the wind, now steadily falling over miles of opencountry.
They were so nearly at an end of their abhorred task thatthey judged it wisest to complete it in the dark. The coffinwas exhumed and broken open; the body inserted in thedripping sack and carried between them to the gig; onemounted to keep it in its place, and the other, taking thehorse by the mouth, groped along by wall and bush until theyreached the wider road by the Fisher's Tryst. Here was afaint, diffused radiancy, which they hailed like daylight; bythat they pushed the horse to a good pace and began to rattlealong merrily in the direction of the town.
They had both been wetted to the skin during theiroperations, and now, as the gig jumped among the deep ruts,the thing that stood propped between them fell now upon oneand now upon the other. At every repetition of the horridcontact each instinctively repelled it with the greaterhaste; and the process, natural although it was, began totell upon the nerves of the companions. Macfarlane made someill-favoured jest about the farmer's wife, but it camehollowly from his lips, and was allowed to drop in silence.Still their unnatural burden bumped from side to side; andnow the head would be laid, as if in confidence, upon theirshoulders, and now the drenching sack-cloth would flap icilyabout their faces. A creeping chill began to possess thesoul of Fettes. He peered at the bundle, and it seemedsomehow larger than at first. All over the country-side, andfrom every degree of distance, the farm dogs accompaniedtheir passage with tragic ululations; and it grew and grewupon his mind that some unnatural miracle had beenaccomplished, that some nameless change had befallen the deadbody, and that it was in fear of their unholy burden that thedogs were howling.
'For God's sake,' said he, making a great effort to arrive atspeech, 'for God's sake, let's have a light!'
Seemingly Macfarlane was affected in the same direction; for,though he made no reply, he stopped the horse, passed thereins to his companion, got down, and proceeded to kindle theremaining lamp. They had by that time got no farther thanthe cross-road down to Auchenclinny. The rain still pouredas though the deluge were returning, and it was no easymatter to make a light in such a world of wet and darkness.When at last the flickering blue flame had been transferredto the wick and began to expand and clarify, and shed a widecircle of misty brightness round the gig, it became possiblefor the two young men to see each other and the thing theyhad along with them. The rain had moulded the rough sackingto the outlines of the body underneath; the head was distinctfrom the trunk, the shoulders plainly modelled; something atonce spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastlycomrade of their drive.
For some time Macfarlane stood motionless, holding up thelamp. A nameless dread was swathed, like a wet sheet, aboutthe body, and tightened the white skin upon the face ofFettes; a fear that was meaningless, a horror of what couldnot be, kept mounting to his brain. Another beat of thewatch, and he had spoken. But his comrade forestalled him.
'That is not a woman,' said Macfarlane, in a hushed voice.
'It was a woman when we put her in,' whispered Fettes.
'Hold that lamp,' said the other. 'I must see her face.'
And as Fettes took the lamp his companion untied thefastenings of the sack and drew down the cover from the head.The light fell very clear upon the dark, well-mouldedfeatures and smooth-shaven cheeks of a too familiarcountenance, often beheld in dreams of both of these youngmen. A wild yell rang up into the night; each leaped fromhis own side into the roadway: the lamp fell, broke, and wasextinguished; and the horse, terrified by this unusualcommotion, bounded and went off toward Edinburgh at a gallop,bearing along with it, sole occupant of the gig, the body ofthe dead and long-dissected Gray.
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