The flight of the Israelite and Mike. Mirth changed to grief. Killing by kindness, and saving by neglect. A bright vision, and a supernatural seÁnce. The end of the miserly household.

On Twm’s rushing out of the house, he sought his bed in the hay-loft, and laying himself down, laughed incessantly, at the thought of the scene just passed; at the same time wondering what had become of his luckless fellow in mischief, whom he momentarily expected to follow him. Moses, however, was so confused by his head-drubbings from the broom of Sheeny, and tail-piercing from the fork of little Gwenny, that failing to see Twm in his retreat, he ran straight forward, without knowing whither. But the very legs of Moses without the guidance of his head, seemed to have a predilection for the favourite road which led to the house of feasting; as in this instance they bore him without pause, till housed in the hovel of Mike, the mat-man.

Poor Mike, he found busied in packing up, and loading his pony with a cargo of mats, and preparing for immediate departure, fearing that day-light would send somebody to take cognizance of the share which he had taken in devouring Morris Greeg’s swine-flesh. Moses related all that had passed, and entreated that he might become his companion in his present excursion; assuring him that he had as sweet a voice for crying mats as he could meet with in a month’s march.

Mike assented, and told him to fortify his stomach with what his hut afforded, against the dangers of the midnight air, a hint which was seldom thrown away upon him. The good-natured wife of the mat-man earnestly requested her husband to divide the head of the pig (the only part left!) between himself and Moses. That youth seconded the motion; observing it was dangerous to leave any portion of it behind, as, though dead, it might tell tales, and be claimed by some of the Greeg family; feelingly remarking, “if you have any more pork, rather than you should get into a scrape, I’ll risk it, and take it all myself.—I am not so selfish as to begrudge to carry it.”

Mike winked at his wife, intimating that he knew his customer. Next morning our hero called at the mat-man’s house, with the laudable desire of putting him on his guard, intending to communicate the adventures and disclosures of the preceding day. But he was doomed to disappointment. Mike had “cleared out” three hours before, escorted by the Israelite, whilst the wife had been left behind to “take care of the things,” and to be the link that should join them to more auspicious times. This breach of good-fellowship on the part of Moses, in leaving him so abruptly, piqued and fretted him not a little. With a commendable spirit that disdained to act the paltry part of a run-away, he entered the house of Morris Greeg at the usual breakfast hour, and took his meal in silence. Sheeny kept her bed this morning, overcome by the tumults of the preceding evening, and Shaan officiated in her place.

The absence of Moses was very slightly commented upon, both father and daughter declaring it would have been well for them if he had taken himself off much sooner; yet, under all this feigned indifference, it was very perceivable to Twm that his loss was much felt by them. Under a couple of old sacks on the settle by the fire lay the damaged body of Hukin Heer, where he had been groaning all night. Without the slightest reference to the past, Twm was told that his first job that morning would be to take Hukin home in a dung-cart, charging him to put plenty of clean straw under him, so that he might ride in style and comfort.

Thus Twm had to perform an office for an enemy, who the day before volunteered to do the same for him,—under different circumstances, that he was to be pinioned like a felon, bound hand and foot, and escorted to the county jail, a reversion of the scene which Twm liked rather than otherwise. It reminded him of the gallows which the scriptural Jew had made for some one else, but eventually took his position there himself.

On Twm’s return, after depositing Hukin with his wife, whose inquiries he cut short, by urging his haste, he was surprised to find that although it was the dinner hour, no food was prepared, nor was any one member of the family to be seen or heard. This unusual stillness he considered as strangely contrasting with the bustle and agitation of the previous day, nor could he in any way account for it. At length the deep silence was feebly broken by some voices upstairs, in the softened tones of pitying condolement, succeeded by the heavy sobbing of a female, amidst the earnest and agonized prayer of a gruff broken voice, which he at once knew to be that of Morris.

At length he recognized the well-known voice of Sheeny, amidst the loud wailing of her daughters, passionately exclaiming, “It is—O God, it is—that murderous disorder, the white-plague pest!” Such was the expressive name by which that awful visitor since known by the name of small-pox, was announced to be in the house. An indescribable vague feeling of terror thrilled through his whole frame, as the dreadful fact became known to him. As in those days scarcely any one knew how to treat this remorseless enemy of the race of man, its very existence in the neighbourhood was deemed a certain messenger of doom, and even in those rare cases where the life of the infected was spared, the envious demon stamped fearful foulness on the face of beauty, and hideously scarified the smoothest cheek, so that the parent knew not the features of his child.

The first hasty thought that crossed our hero’s mind, was to fly, and escape while yet clear of the contagion; but in an instant his nobler though mistaken feelings abjured the thought, bad as they had been to him, of deserting this afflicted family in the dark day of their heavy visitation. However, his presence was no more noticed than his absence would have been. Day after day, things remained in a similar state; at length the lower part of the house was absolutely deserted, or inhabited by him alone. Even the fire was extinguished, and the house might have been uninhabited for anything to be seen to the contrary. There were no sounds, except the occasional groans of Morris, and the cries of the frightened females. The family assembled together upstairs, almost courting infection by their presence, and Twm was therefore left to provide for his own wants.

Rarely could he meet with any one to enquire, as his feelings prompted, who were the sufferers, and how they fared. The third day since the commencement of the sickness, as he sat lonely and languidly, from the disordered state of his stomach, unable to partake of the dry food before him, a shriek of women announced some fatality to have taken place. Morris came down, with streaming eyes and agitated face, and for the first time in his life grasping his hand in friendly wise, emphatically proved how suffering had subdued his selfishness, and humanized his hard heart. At length, with broken voice, he said, “She is gone—my youngest girl is gone,—and I fear my little Gwen will follow soon.”

Even while commiserating with Morris, Twm complained of a head-ache, and a loathing sickness, with a feverish burning of the whole frame, that was overwhelming him. Morris immediately saw that he was infected, and told him to go and lie down; informing his family of the feeling evinced by him for their suffering, and that he was decidedly in the disorder. Then taking his staff he hurried to the different cottages that were thinly scattered among the lonely mountain cwms or dingles, with the hope that either kindness or considerations of interest would induce an elderly female or two to engage with him as nurses, to watch and attend the sick.Accordingly, two that had gone through the ordeal of the frech wen, or the white pest, as the small-pox was called, accompanied him home. They commenced their office by making a regular, roasting fire, and feasting themselves in the best manner the house afforded, attending to number one first, as it behoved all nurses to do, their patients for the time being of course quite a secondary consideration. Feasting to inaugurate their arrival, they averred was an ancient custom, and must be adhered to. He knew not whether it was an ancient one; but that it is a convenient one, none could deny. Twm soon found himself at the height of the malady. Well for him was it, that the fever and other accompaniments of this fearful disorder removed from him all desire for food—for none was brought to him; none called to offer their kindly offices, nor to inquire how he fared; and he had to feel in the acutest degree the abandoned lot of that “no man’s child,” the sick and suffering parish apprentice. His bed in the hay-loft was an old hop-sack, half filled with the chaff of oats; and his covering an old tattered blanket, and a musty rug that had served several offices for horses.

Thus, with the whistling of the wind through the numerous crevices of the crazy walls, and the rain dripping on him at times, through the imperfect rotten thatch, he remained hours, days, and dreary nights, groaning away his time, impatiently longing for death, or speedy recovery. When daylight dawned, his mind wearied by aches and pains of the body, and by a complete absence of the power of thought, would seek some occupation and amusement in speculation on the formation of the dark heavy folds of the numerous cob-webs that waved to and fro over his head, from the mouldy beams and rafters, like the triumphant flags of squalid penury; while the squeaking of mice, that ran in troops about him, became the miserable music that served to vary the monotony of his heavy hours.

One night, while doubly darkened, both by the deep shades of midnight, and his eyes scaled by the glutinous adhesion of the putrid “pest,” lonely and uncared for, he was cheered and comforted in a manner as mysterious as it was delightful. In after years, when referring to the circumstances about to be detailed, marvellous and incredible as it may appear, he always protested with a solemnity that he deemed the subject called for, that he was neither absorbed in slumber at its occurrence, nor under the influence of the slightest delirium, but wakeful and sensible as ever he was during his healthful mid-day avocations.

Turning upon his humble bed, wearied by the long and continued gloom, weakened by continual aches and pains, a chorus of sweet voices broke upon his ear, ravishing from the beauty of its strains. In an instant afterwards, the wretched gloom was dispersed by a brilliant light which burst into the loft, and made all the old familiar objects radiant with a most unearthly brilliance. Simultaneously with the sight and sound, pleasant sensations sprang within his breast, and every pain had vanished. While striving with the efforts of reason to account for what he had felt and mentally beheld, to his unutterable wonder, a tall female form appeared beside his lowly bed, in full glow of youth and beauty, arrayed in costly attire.

She had nothing about her allied to what he called the supernatural—all seemed perfect reality—and although exceedingly lovely, and benevolent in aspect, she was nothing more nor less than a living “lady of the land,” in widow’s weeds of the costly habiliments of the present time. As he sank abashed from her fixed and smiling gaze, she extended one of the finest hands he had ever beheld, and pointed to two marriage rings, one above the other, on the third finger of the left hand. He gazed steadfastly on the rings, and, as he thought, he saw a third one above the others, of a much paler hue; but on viewing it closer, it appeared simply a white narrow silken ribbon, tied in that peculiar fashion, called a true-lover’s knot. Twice he looked from the finger to the face, struggling to give utterance to the question that was trembling on his lips, as to the meaning indicated, when a shriek from the house thrilled through his heart; the glorious vision with the heavenly accompaniments of light and music, were in an instant gone.

The lovely picture vanished, leaving poor Twm more chagrined than ever was Tantalus. Like the mirage, it vanished and faded away, leaving the weary gazer disappointed and dispirited. But still the heart of Twm was comforted with high, though baseless hopes, that fortune had some precious gift in store for him, which time would yet bring forth.

The pleasurable sensations excited in the breast of our worthy, by what he ever after called his “glorious vision,” in healing the mind, had the auspicious effect in cicatrizing his body. But as he recovered his sight, and found the fever abandoning him, his appetite increased, and he became at length tremendously hungry, with apparently nothing within his reach to appease his inward cravings; and he was yet too weak to quit his loft in search of any food.

At times, indeed, somewhat nerved, or rather maddened by his rage for food, his weak hands would rustle in the pea-straw that was heaped between his bed and the wall; and occasionally, after a long search, to his great joy, he would discover an unbroken pea-shell that had escaped the searching of the flail, while in the act of thrashing in the barn. He had heard tales of shipwreck and disaster, when lots had been cast between the mariners as to which should be killed to furnish food for the rest. He could believe them all now, whatever doubt he might have had before. If he could now discover a neglected pea-shell, in spite of the soreness of his hands and mouth, he would open it and devour it with the utmost avidity. Just as this wretched resource was failing him, one day, after a vain and heart-aching search for another pea-pod, a sudden rustle in the straw startled him, and in great alarm he drew back his hand, in the dread of coming in contact with a rat.

From this feeling he was agreeably relieved by the clucking of a hen, that in the same moment descended through a hole in the floor of the loft into the stable below. This homely “household fowl” now became his “bird of good omen,” which in after years he adopted as his crest; for after a short search he discovered no less than three of her eggs. This was indeed “manna in the wilderness” to his declining hopes. A spring in the desert to the parched pilgrim; a port and safety to the shipwrecked mariner; wealth unexpected to the victim of poverty. Not one of those electrifying “God-sends” was ever welcome with greater heartfelt thankfulness, than the humble prize presented to our hero. But this assistance, however welcome at the time,—and wildly welcome it most truly was,—proved after all but temporary.

Thus, although recovering fast from the horrors of the small-pox, he was in the perilous jeopardy of becoming a victim to starvation. Yet hope was strong within him, and wild, young, and thoughtless as he was, he was no stranger to the comfort to be derived from a dependence on Providence.

While the cravings of hunger assailed the poor parish apprentice with unrelenting wolfishness, very different was the treatment of the suffering children of the house. The neglect visited upon the poor parish apprentice, was avenged by the attention paid to the children of Morris. Twm’s neglect proved his salvation, while the unremitting kindness (mistaken though it was), shown to the farmer’s offspring, proved their destruction, for Morris literally killed them with kindness. Without judgment, or advice, except from those self-interested conceited nurses, who were more ignorant than herself; Sheeny Greeg sought every delicacy to coax the waned and pampered appetites of her afflicted ones.

Every breath of pure air studiously excluded from their room, they were almost suffocated by the quantity of clothes in which they were wrapped. She gave them the most delicate cakes that the homely hands of her assistants could contrive, with spiced and sugared ale, and even wine; so thoroughly was the accumulating spirit of avarice swallowed up by the nobler and more powerful passion of affection for their perishing young ones; a feeling after all, more eulogized than it really merits, as it is but another mortification of human selfishness.

Three victims had already succumbed to the ravages of the disease, and their fourth child now lay at the door of death. Lamentations and groans were continual, but no proper means for the recovery of the patients were adopted. A poor hedge carpenter came from the distant village of Mawn Dee, and brought with him the last covering of the victims of disease, placing them, with assistance, in the slight alder coffins; the parents took their heart-rent final look, and sank insensible with excessive grief;—and yet the nurses feasted. They continued to roast and boil, piously hoping their valuable services would be long wanted; and although none of the family could partake of their cookery, yet, the nurses feasted! These good ladies, however, were rather disturbed at this time in their comfortable doings, as some of the Mawn Dee women, like the vulture which smells the warfield and the human gore afar off, followed in the wake of the carpenter, hoping by a little canting condolement with the family, to be engaged; but finding the field occupied, they were guilty, as their opponents said, of the heinous offence of offering their services gratis, to sit up in their turn and watch the sick.

This, it must be said, was ever a welcome office to persons of this description, especially at a substantial house; as on such occasions as watching the sick, and laying out the dead, feasting is as prevalent as at weddings. As the paid nurses who assumed the consequence of regulars, failed to eject the volunteers, who were more numerous, they revenged themselves by giving them all the work to do except what appertained to swilling and mastication; their own veteran talents bearing the full brunt of that important piece of service, which was not to be trusted to mere mercenary recruits.

Superstition was rampant amongst these old hen-wives. All sorts of intimations concerning future events were made out of very simple occurrences. No one must go under a ladder, if they would enter the matrimonial noose. Salt was a very unfortunate article of diet, whilst candlewicks were made a medium for the discovery of a coming death. Some of these old grannies dilated upon corpse candles seen by them previous to the deaths of the young women of the house; others dilated on the awfulness of a spectral burial, where shadows of the living supported the bier of the departed towards the church-yard.

One night, between twelve and one, while the three coffins and their contents presented a woeful sight, lying side by side on the oak table, Morris, afflicted as he was, assisted his wife in supporting by the fireside his fourth daughter, whose death they also deeply dreaded, as an old cottage woman, while she basted a loin of mutton roasting before the fire, dwelt much on the certainty of supernatural appearances, illustrating her convictions by instances of her own experience. All at once, the current of her discourse was arrested by a shudder that overcame and struck her dumb, on hearing a rumbling and irregular noise, as of falling furniture, which also terrified the group about the fire. The noise increased, and at last seemed as if somebody was stumbling in his way in the dark.

Some shrieked, some rose and ran to remote corners, covering their head with their aprons, while others sat breathless, as if nailed to the bench, and dissolved in streams of perspiration, their eyes starting from their sockets—when a figure with the air and rush of a maniac darted in, tore the roasting meat from the string, and disappeared with it, uttering in a dismal hollow tone,“O God, I am famished by these wretches!” The consciences of the farmer and his wife were dreadfully wrung, as they recollected the poor apprentice Twm, whom they had left in the depth of the malady which had deprived them of three of their children, to live or to die, as he might; nor would Morris allow anybody to rescue the meat, but snatching a loaf from the shelf, he entreated Twm to come in and eat his fill at the fire. But the youngster having secured the bread, re-entered his hay-loft, and with the ravenousness of a starved hound devoured his precious prey in darkness. That was the sweetest meal ever eaten by our hero.

In narrating this event in after life, he used to say that the theft of this joint saved his life. He was then as ravenous as a wolf, and was only endowed with supernatural strength for the moment, to effect his purpose. While yet the farmer, with tears of real penitence, was calling out to him, a loud scream from his wife convinced him that his fourth child was also dead.

With wild and insupportable agony, Morris fell upon his knees, and with interrupting sobs exclaimed, “I see the hand of Heaven in this, and a heavy judgment has befallen us for our cruelty to the poor boy; but he will live! he! the lad whom we treated fouler than the beast! he will outlive this pest, while I and mine perish.”

The suffering of the unhappy man was pitiable and heart-rending to witness; and on the very day of his children’s burial, with loud cries of remorse and sorrow, he expired.

Twm recovered, according to the farmer’s prediction, which was further verified, inasmuch as the remainder of his children did not live to see the end of the year; and his wife, losing her senses, was ever after a wretched moping idiot.