  Mr. Heath again sent for Dr. Wattletop. This time the interview was of a more practical character. He desired to lay before the physician certain plans in regard to the erection of a free hospital for the county. The need of such an institution had long made itself felt, and Mr. Heath had determined to build one and endow it liberally. Dr. Wattletop approved of the project, and proffered his advice and assistance. Besides the hospital, Mr. Heath announced his purpose to erect, also at his sole expense, a home for orphan and friendless children. The doctor listened patiently, and acquiesced as Mr. Heath communicated his ideas, until turning abruptly from the discussion of the plan, he said, "Does it not strike you as a sad commentary on the condition of society, that such institutions should be made necessary?" "How so?" inquired Mr. Heath. "Of course I am aware of what will be said about charity, benevolence, generosity, and the like, but for my part I detest them. Man seems to have a horror of being just, and will adopt any makeshift instead. Now—" "You surprise me, doctor," interrupted Mr. Heath, testily; "from your qualities of head and heart I expected different counsel, and encouragement from you." "My qualities of head and heart," said the doctor, "have only taught me this: that there is but one virtue—justice; and that the other so-called virtues are but pinchbeck ones. From man's neglect and aversion to its practice spring all wretchedness and misery. I don't propose, though, to be Quixotic in my propaganda, and while the infant mind to-day is being trained in prejudice, self-glorification, conceit, and falsehoods of all kinds, my puny efforts in advocacy of a different education would avail naught. Therefore, my dear sir, now that I have entered my protest, my best efforts to aid you in carrying out your plans are at your service, and you may command me. Only let me say this, to hide nothing from you, that while what you propose doing is munificent, and as the world goes, worthy of all praise—springing as it must from kind impulses—in my judgment it is all valueless as an exemplar, or educator, in comparison with the performance of a simple act of justice." Mr. Heath seemed to be very much displeased at the doctor's frank exposition of his opinions, and said, as he gathered up his papers, "I am afraid, Dr. Wattletop, that you and I diverge too widely in our ideas on the subject we have been discussing, and as concord is indispensable in carrying out successfully the objects I have in view, I think, upon the whole, I shall not be able to avail myself of your valuable services." "As you please, Mr. Heath, as you please, sir," replied the doctor, rising and taking his leave; not, however, without a certain disappointment, as the recollection of the choice Monongahela he had tasted on the previous visit floated to his palate. "That man," soliloquized the doctor, on his way home, as he reflected on his interview with Mr. Heath, "that man has something on his mind. Soul-sickness of some kind. What crime must he have committed, to force him to atone by such prodigal dispensations? What is the medicine for his cure, I wonder? Shall it be Sublapsarianism or Supralapsarianism, or an electuary compounded of PÆdobaptism and Sabellianism? Methinks yon stalwart son of Holy Mother Church, Father Maguire, would be most successful in this case. The heroic surgery of the disciples of Loyola is often efficacious in such maladies. Strange that that honest, consistent, unselfish, truest soldier of the Cross should be the automaton of an order whose cardinal doctrine is 'passive obedience,' whose aim is to destroy free thought and enlightenment, and remand the world to the middle ages." These latter reflections of the doctor were drawn forth by the appearance of the parish priest, who was passing by at the time. His reverence was a good-humored, blue-eyed Celt, with whom the doctor had occasional polemical encounters, and sorely tried with his latitudinarianism. Mr. Heath next convoked the clergymen of the various denominations in Belton, and invited their co-operation in carrying out his philanthropic projects. They readily acceded to his wishes, and expressed their entire concurrence in his plans. Of course these praiseworthy acts of Mr. Heath met with general commendation, and as they involved the expenditure of very large sums of money, elicited many encomiums on his munificence and beneficence. In fact, he was giving evidence in every way of what the Rev. Mr. Sniffen called a "change of heart." There was an unmistakable earnestness now in his attendance at worship, and a lowering of his crest that denoted an attempt to walk in the paths of humility. There was also a perceptible amelioration in his health, arising probably from the diversion of thought called forth by his benevolent schemes. Edna noticed these gratifying changes in her father's physical condition with joy, and he seemed to appreciate her filial attention and solicitude by increased affection for her. His sole pleasure now was in her society, and as warmer days came he enjoyed long drives in company with her. Edna had a pair of fleet ponies which she drove like an experienced whip, and her basket-phaeton was often seen on golden afternoons scouring along the banks of the beautiful Passaic, or through the wooded hills of Pompton, with her father languidly reclining beside her, and a dapper groom in the rumble. One evening, as they were returning home from a drive, and were within a few rods of the gateway, a man who had been lying on the sward by the road-side staggered to his feet, and motioned as if he wished to speak to them. He was a rough fellow, a tramp, and evidently intoxicated. Edna, somewhat alarmed, would have whipped up the ponies, but the man stood in front of them gesticulating, and for fear of hurting him, she drew in the reins and stopped. The groom, leaping from his seat, was about to deal harshly with the interloper, when at a sign from his master he desisted. The fellow, with an unsteady gait, approached Mr. Heath, and held out his hand, saying: "I told 'em, old man, I told 'em wanted to see you. That chap at the gate over there wouldn't let me in. Told 'im you was my friend—best friend ever had in the world—ain't that so, old man? How you been, old top—all right, eh?" The under-gardener, who acted as lodge-keeper, here advanced, and explained that the man had made several attempts to force himself in the grounds, saying that he was acquainted with Mr. Heath, and wished to see him on business. "Sho I did—sho I did—'portant business, I said, 'portant business, old man," repeated the fellow. At the apparition of this stranger, Mr. Heath's features became livid—his lingers grasped the side of the phaeton nervously, and for a moment he seemed unable to utter a word. Edna fortunately was too much occupied in watching the intruder and cause of all the trouble, to heed her father's agitation, while he with a strong effort collected himself. "Wouldn't b'lieve me—told 'em you was my friend—best friend, eh, old man? That's so, that's so," repeated the man with drunken persistency, while Mr. Heath alighting, bade Edna rather peremptorily to drive on, and with a hasty gesture waved the gardener away. The stranger was a red-bearded man of powerful build, within about ten years of Mr. Heath's age. His aspect was coarse and vulgar, and his garments worn and filthy. Judging from the tattooing on the backs of his hands, and his red, rugose neck, he was probably a seafarer. Mr. Heath led him, not without some trouble, up to the house and into the library, where they remained closeted together all the evening. Meals were brought up to them, and the household saw no more of the man, for he apparently disappeared before the next morning. Although Edna was not a little surprised at this occurrence, and at her father's bearing towards the stranger, she made no allusion to him, and Mr. Heath anticipated any remarks from his sister by saying that the man was an unfortunate being with a family dependent upon him for support, whom he had several times assisted, and who presumed to return. "I doubt whether it is really a charity to help such people," added Mr. Heath, with affected carelessness. "Still one cannot resist these appeals, especially when an innocent family of small children is likely to suffer, for a slave to drink seldom reforms." "Has he a large family?" asked Mrs. Applegate. "Yes, yes, I believe so," replied Mr. Heath, manifesting annoyance at being questioned. "I know nothing at all about him but what he says." This closed the conversation on that subject, but Mr. Heath's weak nerves were so shaken by the incident, that for several days after he remained at home, and refused any longer to accompany his daughter in her walks or rides. A fortnight or so later, Mrs. Applegate, who was reading the newspaper, incidentally remarked: "I see that they have caught that Peterson, the pirate." Mr. Heath, who was reclining in an easy-chair, started as if a bolt had struck him. "What! Who?" he exclaimed. "Dear me, Rufus, how you startled me! I merely said that that dreadful murderer that they called Peterson, the pirate, and who escaped from jail, has been caught. You must remember the time there was about it. It was a little after John's death. I remember there was a story going around that his name was not Peterson, but Klove, and that he formerly lived in Belton. Old Mrs. Cosgrove told me then that she remembered him very well, and that his mother was a washerwoman. She said, too, that he was a thief when a boy, and ran away to sea after robbing his master." "Mrs. Cosgrove is a silly gossip, Susan," said Mr. Heath, impatiently. "The boy was not a thief." "Indeed—why, Rufus, I heard from—" "Never mind; it's of no consequence, and we will not argue the matter," interrupted Mr. Heath. "Let me look at the paper a moment." In order to render this colloquy more intelligible, it will be necessary to state that about eight or nine months previously the public mind was intensely agitated and shocked by the details of a murder of a very atrocious character. The crime had been committed by a sailor who had shipped for a short voyage on a small coaster. When at sea he had slain the captain, mate, and cook, and then running the craft near shore, had scuttled her, leaving in the yawl with a small sum of money belonging to the captain, to obtain which had been the sole motive of the triple murder. Landing on the sea-coast a few miles below Sandy Hook, the murderer had been captured by some fishermen, who had watched his suspicious movements. The smack, instead of sinking, was found adrift, with the proofs of the horrid deed still fresh and visible. The guilt seemed, therefore, plainly fixed on the accused, and there was but little doubt that the trial would result in his conviction. Still the evidence against him was but circumstantial, and his counsel, a man of ability, made strenuous and persistent efforts to clear him. In the progress of the case, it came out that the prisoner was an old and hardened desperado, who had been incarcerated many times in various countries for misdemeanors of every degree. It was furthermore discovered that he had given to the court an assumed name, and that his true one was Klove, and native place Belton. This revelation, naturally enough, created some excitement among the older inhabitants of that town, who still remembered Klove as a boy of fourteen, who had been forced to leave the place in consequence of an accusation of theft. This charge, although not proven at the time, was now resurrected, and brought up to his prejudice as an illustration of how youthful depravity would lead eventually to the gravest and blackest crimes. Mr. Heath, who was a clerk at the time Klove was living in Belton, and had a distinct recollection of him, was naturally much interested in the progress of his trial, and read and re-read the reports of it as they appeared in the newspapers, with an absorbing interest. In singular contrast was his dislike to having the subject mentioned or talked about in his family. Mrs. Applegate, who had a predilection for the horrible, was full of the murder, and discussed it at every meal, much to her brother's annoyance. As the trial drew near its close, Mr. Heath took a short trip, being absent about a week. While he was away, the trial, which was held at Freehold, came to an end; and, in spite of the skilful efforts to exculpate him, the prisoner was convicted. The case was too clear to admit of the slightest doubt, and the jury found him guilty of murder. His lawyer tried strenuously to obtain a new trial, but without avail, and he was remanded for sentence. The very next night Klove broke jail—a bar of the window of his cell had been wrenched out, and watch-spring saws and files were found lying about, conveying the impression that he had received assistance. A turnkey was suspected of complicity and dismissed, although the proof was hardly sufficient to implicate him. It was this escaped pirate—this murderer whose recapture, after having eluded the officers of justice for several months, when announced by Mrs. Applegate to her brother, produced such a shock to the latter's feelings. The fellow, it appeared, instead of fleeing to some distant land, had repaired to his former low haunts in New York, and spent his time in idleness and carousing, for he was apparently well supplied with money. While in liquor and in an unguarded moment, he had betrayed himself by some compromising remark, which, coming to the knowledge of the police, caused him to be speedily secured, and on a requisition from the Governor of New Jersey, conveyed back to his quarters in the county jail at Freehold. He was now placed in double irons, and kept so strictly guarded day and night as to preclude the possibility of a second evasion. Soon after Klove's recapture, Mr. Heath again started on a mysterious journey. During his absence the news came that strong efforts were being made by some influential person to obtain a pardon for Klove from the Governor. To account for these singular manifestations in behalf of so great a criminal, it was rumored and popularly believed that Klove was not Klove, but the losel son of a venerable bishop of the Episcopal Church, distinguished alike for piety and learning, who was naturally anxious to save his offspring from the disgraceful, though well-merited, death of a felon. Nothing transpired, however, to sustain this report, which was simply a figment of the imagination, due, doubtless, to the popular love for the marvellous. Meanwhile Klove had been sentenced to death, and lay in prison awaiting his doom. A fortnight or so elapsed before Mr. Heath returned. Edna saw at a glance that there was a change for the worse in her father's condition. He was evidently laboring under a recurrence of one of his melancholic spells, with aggravated symptoms. His form had wasted, and his countenance become haggard. In short, he plainly exhibited the signs of one borne down by a great weight of grief. To his daughter's affectionate inquiries, he replied only in monosyllables, and repaired immediately to his apartments. Edna consulted with her aunt, and Dr. Wattletop was again summoned; but Mr. Heath peremptorily refused to see him or any other physician, and the two ladies were left a prey to their apprehensions. Mr. Heath's condition excited the doctor's professional curiosity. It was an abstruse physiological problem, and spurred his zeal. By dint of patient investigation, and consultation with the family, he discovered the great interest Mr. Heath took in the pirate Klove. He questioned the groom and gardener in relation to the stranger who had been harbored by Mr. Heath, and by comparing their descriptions with others, came to the conclusion that the mysterious visitor and Klove were one and the same man. To satisfy himself clearly on that point and obtain a further clue to this singular affair, he proceeded to Freehold. Here he was not only confirmed in his conclusions, but learned, furthermore, that a gentleman, a stranger, answering closely to a description of Mr. Heath, had been noticed in attendance at the trial, and in frequent consultation with the prisoner's lawyer. There was no longer any doubt in the doctor's mind of the existence of some connection or intimacy between the pirate and the patrician, which the mere fact of the former's having once lived in Belton would scarcely account for. He was inclined to suspect a secret tie of kinship, had it not been clearly established at the trial that Klove was born in Germany, and brought to the United States in childhood by his parents. Still cudgelling his brains for a plausible theory to account for Mr. Heath's singular proceedings, he was at length forced to refer them to some phase of hypochondria. Mrs. Applegate was decidedly of the opinion, now, that her brother was going out of his mind. She had often heard of such cases, she informed Dr. Wattletop. Mr. Applegate had a friend who was taken so, though, to be sure, his trouble arose from the Millerite excitement, and fear of the world's coming to an end. "Of course Rufus has no dread of that kind or anything of the sort, but I do think and believe that it all grows out of his son's death, and nothing else." "Do you really think that he is so much affected by his son's death?" asked the doctor, with an incredulous expression. "I don't think he has been the same man since. To be sure he didn't take on so much at first, and didn't seem to realize it fully; but I believe he feels it more and more, and it is that that has made him so different from what he used to be. Poor Edna! dear me, she worries so about her father, and I'm very much afraid she'll fall sick if this continues. Her room is near his, and she says she hears him pacing the floor at all hours of the night." "Insomnia, eh?" "And he talks to himself so often; and then again, if you speak to him, or question him, he looks at you so vacantly without replying." Precursory sign of cerebral disease, thought the doctor. "It's dreadful—dreadful!" continued Mrs. Applegate. "I can't help but think sometimes that Rufus is losing his senses, and yet such a thing as insanity was never known in our family." Dr. Wattletop had arrived at a somewhat similar conclusion. He believed Mr. Heath's disease was taking the form of monomania, brought about by the combined effects of disappointment and grief on an overwrought brain. In such a condition the distracted mind was not only readily affected by any striking or impressive event, but apt to identify itself therewith in some bizarre manner. "It is very important in Mr. Heath's present state, Mrs. Applegate, that we should keep his mind as free as possible from any agitation. No exciting news should reach him. If it were possible to keep the newspapers from him, it would be well; but I presume that is out of the question. However, be careful and vigilant. I think he needs rest and tranquillity more than anything else now. If he would only consent to see me, and if I could only interrogate him a little, I might form a more intelligent opinion of his condition. At the last interview I had with him, we had an interchange of opinions on subjects connected with certain plans of his, and I don't think he was pleased with my comments on them; so I don't know how far my attendance on him would be acceptable now." "He won't hear of any physician's being spoken to about him. I have tried my utmost, and Edna has pleaded; but he's as obstinate as can be, and won't listen to us," said Mrs. Applegate. "Sorry. As it is, I am to a certain extent groping in the dark, and under the circumstances, as you can readily understand, it is very difficult to prescribe a course of treatment with any degree of confidence. I don't know what else I can say or recommend just now. As I said, prevent as far as possible any vexatious, exciting, or annoying news from reaching him. Note every symptom, and advise me." Such commonplace advice was doubtless all that the physician could offer, as Mr. Heath stubbornly refused to see him or any other medical man, and indeed, had given himself up to such complete isolation, as to deny audience even to his business agent, and to the architect in charge of the construction of the Hospital and the Home, so that the building of those institutions was now perforce suspended. He even began to evince an aversion to the society of his family, and to avoid meeting them, took his meals by himself in his own apartments. |
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