Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 28

That evening Sylvester supped with Tom, and on being urged to stop there all night, he, having no anxiety about returning to his chambers, consented; and after sitting up till one, conversing gaily about the occurrences of the day, went to bed pretty nearly exhausted.

Tom went to bed too; but as the night-bell rang soon afterwards, and he was summoned to assist in augmenting the surplus population, he intimated the interesting fact to "Jib"—whom he had seduced from the doctor's—and left the house.

Jib was a most especial favourite of Tom, and had, in consequence, become a great man: quite a confidential card. Whatever Jib said in that house was law. He was the superior swell of the establishment. Nothing could be done without Jib. He was a species of domestic oracle, and as he felt—and very naturally—that he knew what was what, about as well as any man in the realm, he wouldn't allow the "bedials" to advance a syllable in opposition to his views. Whatever he wished to have done, was done, and he'd have it done, too, in a tidy style; and while he had an extremely deep sense of his own importance, he felt it correct to look fierce!

When, therefore, he received Tom's important communication, he knew as well as any man in England what it meant, and having grunted and yawned, and eventually turned out, he went down to fasten the door.

While returning, however, he was struck—struck with amazement: paralysed—perfectly paralysed, on beholding a tall figure slowly de​scending the stairs, with a pistol in one hand which Jib didn't see, and a very dim light in the other.

Jib was silent, breathless, and looked—oh, how he looked at the figure. His eyes were nearly out of his head, and, while his hands were uplifted, and his fingers were extremely wide apart, his lips described a perfect circle, and his knees smote each other, as if each patella wished to knock the other out.

As the figure—which looked very ghastly—approached, Jib retreated—correctly, retreated; and when he had got as far as he could get, without going through the street-door, he saw the figure—which treated him with the utmost contempt, taking no more notice of him than if he had been nothing—stalk into the dining-room as coolly as if he absolutely paid the rent and taxes.

The position Jib occupied then was awkward. The figure—which of course he believed to be a ghost, for Jib's faith in supernatural appearances was firm—had left the dining-room door wide open, and situated as he was then, nature swindled him into the belief that he must of necessity pass this door, which appeared to him, then, to have an unexampled appetite. It never, for a moment, struck him that he might open the front door, and let himself out. No; he felt that he must pass that door, and how to manage it he couldn't exactly tell. He never before felt so much confused. His intellects were usually clear enough—he had, at all events, been accustomed to flatter himself that they were commonly as clear as those of any man in Europe—but at that particular period they really did appear to be completely upset. He couldn't tell what to make of it. He felt very ill. A faintness came over him, and yet he was conscious—perfectly conscious—at least of this, that the figure was then in the room.

"Courage!" he exclaimed, confidentially to himself, and the word seemed to have a great effect upon his nerves; for he stood upright boldly and breathed again, and absolutely made up his mind to pass the door; but no sooner had he taken the first courageous step, than he heard the report of a pistol and fell.

That he had been wounded, he firmly believed: where, he couldn't tell; nor did he much care then to know, but that he had a wound somewhere about his person, was in his view abundantly clear.

"Murder!" cried the cook, at this moment, above. "James!—master! murder!"

The sound of a voice reinspired Jib, and he felt quite valiant again and rose, and actually darted past the dining-room door, and rushed up stairs in a fit of desperation to the cook, who, conceiving him to be some other gentleman, backed in and fastened the door.

"Cook, cook!" he cried, "cook!"

"Who's there?" she demanded, for she did not immediately recognise his voice.

"Me! me!—James!—me!" he replied; "let me in."

At any other time cook would not have done this; but her characteristic delicacy was overcome by fear. She wanted protection: she knew ​she did; and, therefore, having thrown a flannel petticoat round her, she adjusted her night-cap, and opened the door.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed; "what on earth is the matter?"

"Horror!" cried Jib, with an appalling expression; "I've seen—I've seen—a ghost!"

Cook shuddered and echoed, "A ghost!"

"A ghost!"

"My gracious!" exclaimed cook; "where?"

"Some water—some water," said Jib, "I feel faint."

And so he did; and looked faint; and cook gave him some water, and wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead with a towel. And Jib drank the water, and felt a little better; and when cook had urged him to tell all he knew, he proceeded in trembling accents thus:—

"Cook! heaven and earth, what a sight it was!—"

"Good gracious!"

"I went down to fasten the door after master—"

"I thought I heard the night-bell."

"Well, I'd no sooner effected this accomplishment, than what should I see—Oh! horror!—"

"Good heavens preserve us!"

"I saw—I beheld—a long, lanky, pale, horrid, ghastly-looking ghost, with eyes starting right out of its head, coming towards me."

"Oh! my goodness!"

"Well—I never was a coward, and so I wasn't then—I stood and watched it, and where should it go, but deliberate into the dining-room, where it is now!"

"Heaven forgive us all our sins!"

"Well, there I stood—I didn't move—when presently something went bang! just like the tremendious roar of a cannon."

"Yes, that's what I heard."

"Well, just after then you called out, and as I knew you was frightened, I came up to ease your mind."

"That was very good of you. What I should have done if you hadn't, James, heaven only knows. I'm sure I should have gone right out of my senses. Have a little more water; you look very pale."

"The smell of the brimstone made me faint."

"Well, I thought I smelt brimstone—I smell it now!—dreadful!—don't you?"

"I do—I do!" sighed Jib, and fainted.

Of all the horrid feelings by which the human breast is animated, those which cook now inspired were perhaps the most horrid.

"James—James!" she exclaimed, "oh! for goodness sake!—James!—there's a good man!—James!—Oh! heaven have mercy upon me!"

Susan, who slept in the next room, and who, although she had been awakened by the cry of murder, dared not venture out before, no sooner heard these fitful exclamations than, prompted by an extremely natural species of curiosity, she came to the door and peeped.

Was it possible—could it be possible! There was James on the bed-side, supported by cook. His head was resting on her bosom, and she ​was chafing his temples. He had nothing on but his trousers and shirt, and she had nothing on but her night-dress—the petticoat having slipped off. The scene was awful. Susan was shocked. She couldn't have thought it. She couldn't have believed it. She wouldn't have believed it, if she hadn't herself seen it with her own eyes.

"Hem!" she cried, and bounced into the room.

"Oh! Susan," sighed cook; "I'm so glad you're come.

Susan, with a sarcastic smile, and, at the same time, tossing her head contemptuously, replied, "Very pretty: very pretty, upon my word!"

"Oh! Susan—"

"Don't talk to me. Master shall know of all this, if I live."

"But, Susan—"

"I'll have no communication with such a creature!"

"Well, but hear me?"

"I'll not hear a word, ma'am. No, ma'am; I'll not bemean myself, ma'am, to talk to you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you ought! Fine doings, indeed. But master shall know, and either you or I leave to-morrow morning."

"Susan, will you hear me?"

"No, I'll not," replied Susan, with a look of disdain, and, having sufficiently extended her nostrils, bounced out of the room in a high state of virtuous indignation.

Cook now felt the extreme delicacy of her position, but her very first object was to bring Jib round. This she tried to effect by all the means at her command, but for some time her efforts were quite unavailing. Had he been absolutely dead, he couldn't have appeared more inanimate: indeed, at one time she thought he had departed this life, and began to turn the probable consequences over in her mind. As a dernier ressort, however, she seized the ewer, which happened to be very nearly full, and, having violently dashed the whole body of water in his face, Jib struck out, and from that moment consciousness gradually returned.

"Where am I?" he faintly inquired at length, looking round with the aspect of a most unhappy wretch, for the water had obliterated every trace of the characteristic respectability of his appearance, "Is that you, cook?"

"Oh, James, James," replied cook, with a sigh; "you have, I fear, ruined me—ruined me for ever!"

"Ruined you!" exclaimed Jib, making an effort which rendered his restoration almost complete; "how, how have I ruined you?"

"Oh, James," replied cook; "Susan has been here—"

"She has!" cried Jib; "and saw me?"

"Yes; and called me all the names she could lay her tongue to."

"Oh, I feel very ill. But I'll soon settle that. She is jealous, I suppose—she's jealous. But the ghost, cook—how about the ghost? Have you seen it?"

"No, it hasn't been here."

"Then it's there."

"Where?" demanded cook, looking round with a feeling of horror.

​"In the dining-room—the dining-room: not here—not here: but there where I left it."

"Heaven be praised. If it were to come here, I should sink."

"Hark!" exclaimed Jib.

"How you frighten me. What is it—what do you hear?"

"Listen! Don't you hear that?"

"That. No. What?"

They both listened with anxiety the most intense, and, while listening, they heard the bell ring.

"That's master," said Jib; "he's come back."

"Then run down, and let him in at once," said cook.

Run down. Yes! Nothing could be much more easily said, but Jib, at the time, felt that he couldn't do it.

"I'm afraid," said he, "of that nasty brimstone. I know it will overcome me: I'm quite sure it will."

"But I don't smell it half so much now. In fact, I don't smell it at all!"

"Not smell it. Oh, it's enough to knock you down."

"Well, but what's to be done? Master must be let in. There you are!" she added, as the bell rang again. "He'll be in a passion presently."

"Cook," exclaimed Jib; "I can't help it!"

"Well, but somebody must go, you know. I can't go."

"Nor can I," replied Jib; "it's quite out of the question."

The bell rang again, and with increased violence.

"I knew how it would be," observed cook; "I knew he'd soon get in a passion. He'll pull the bell right down presently. You'll see if he don't."

"I wish he would," said Jib; "and then I couldn't hear it."

"Well, but what's to be done? You know something must be done."

"Something must be done; but what, I don't know. Did you name the ghost to Susan?"

"Not a word."

"That's lucky. Perhaps she'll go, for I don't feel well—indeed, I'm anything but well. I wish you'd go and ask her?"

Cook didn't at all like to leave the room; but as the bell rang again with greater violence still, and the case became, therefore, most urgent, she offered to compromise the matter by going with Jib, to which compromise Jib most reluctantly consented.

They accordingly went, with trembling steps, to Susan's door, and having looked round anxiously, knocked.

"Who's there?" demanded Susan.

"Me, Susan—only me," replied cook.

"What do you want?"

"Open the door: there's a good girl, open the door."

"I sha'n't! I'll do nothing of the sort. I'll have nothing at all to say to any such creature. But master shall know all about it, mind that!"

"Will you go and let him in?"

​"Me go—me? Where's your fellow? Let him go: I'll not go—the ideor, indeed! Let him go—that is, if you can spare him."

"You wrong me, Susan—indeed, you do."

"I don't care a pin about what you say, ma'am—I'll not go."

The bell rang again, and continued to ring, for the wire sawed to and fro with unexampled violence; and as it was then clear that Susan was inexorable, cook actually offered to go down with Jib!

"Why it's madness you utter!" exclaimed Jib—"madness! If you were to see it, you'd be frightened to death."

"It wo'n't harm me, James: it wo'n't harm me. Come, come—be a man!"

This appeal to Jib's manhood awakened his courage, and seizing the ewer—the only available weapon in the room—he inspired a little of the spirit of desperation, and descended, closely followed by cook. As they passed the dining-room, Jib was amazed, but at the same time relieved, on finding the door closed; but they had no sooner passed, than Tom, whose patience was exhausted, thundered at the street door with such startling violence, that, as the sound reverberated, cook flew up-stairs, leaving Jib in the hall alone.

Having recovered those faculties which had thus been astonished, Jib nerved himself once more, and opened the door; and as Tom very angrily entered, he was about to tell him exactly what he meant, but he no sooner saw Jib's deplorable aspect, than his anger was wholly supplanted by mirth.

"Why you biserable udhappy lookidg wretch," cried Tom, "what have you beed at? Puttidg your head udder the pubp, or dividg idto the water-butt?"

"Oh!" said Jib, "I've seen a ghost!"

"You've seed a what?"

"A horrid ghost!"

"What had you for supper last dight?"

"Bread and cheese sir."

"Dothing else?"

"Oh, yes: I did have a little bit of pork."

"Of course you did! Your stobach's out of order: you've beed dreabidg."

"No, it isn't that, sir: oh, no, it isn't that. I saw it as plain, sir—as plain as could be."

"Did you really! Well, add what did it say? It threw a bucket of water over you, I suppose, to begid with."

"No, sir: nor did it say a word; but I saw it stalk horridly into that room: and it's my belief that it's in there now."

"Well, let's go add have a look at it, Jib. Let us see what it's bade of."

Jib duly delivered the lamp to Tom, and allowed him to enter the room alone; but the moment he entered, Tom, perceiving the pier-glass shattered to atoms, exclaimed—

"Hollo! why, what's all this!" with so much vehemence, that Jib, who imagined the ghost was there still, started off, and rushed up stairs with feelings of horror.

​"Where are you off too?" cried Tom. "Jib, what do you bead. Do you hear? Jib!"

"Ye-e-e-yes, sir!" replied Jib, almost unable to utter the word.

"Cobe dowd, thed. What do you bead by ruddidg away id that state of bide? Cobe dowd, sir, ibbediately! Do you hear be? Cobe dowd."

"Oh, sir," replied Jib, trembling, "I dare not."

"Dare dot! Dod't tell be that you dare dot: cobe dowd this bobedt, I desire you!"

Jib, who felt very ill indeed, and who also felt that he must go down, descended anxiously, and with great deliberation, while Tom more minutely examined the room.

"Dow, Jib, what's all this about?" demanded Tom, rather angrily; "who broke this glass?"

"Glass, sir! What glass?"

"What glass! why, this glass!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Jib, as he fixed his eyes upon it, "it is broke, indeed."

"Well, how did you do it?"

"Do it, sir? I didn't do it."

"By whob was it dode?"

"Oh, sir, it must have been the ghost!"

Tom, for a moment, looked at him fiercely, and then exclaimed—

"Why, you idsoledt, lyidg, darrow-bided, idcobprehedsible dodkey, what do you bead? What do you take be for? Ad idiot? Have you beed fool edough to swiddle yourself idto the belief that I should take id that, you codsubbate ass?"

"If it wasn't done by the ghost, sir; I don't know who did it. But it was the ghost: depend upon it, sir, it was the ghost."

"That you bead to say you wish be to believe?"

"It must have been the ghost, sir; I didn't do it!"

"You bead to stick to that?"

"It's the truth."

"That's edough! Pack up your traps add be off. I'll have doe bad id by house id whob I'b udable to codfide. I have hitherto reposed the utbost codfidedce id you, but dow that I fide you cad tell the bost ibpudedt falsehoods, that codfidedce is gode: therefore, start."

"Indeed, sir, this isn't a falsity: it isn't, sir; as true as I'm standing here alive!"

"What!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly.

"Cook knows it isn't, sir! Cook heard the noise!"

"What doise?"

"The noise of the ghost, sir; which was, for all the world, as if heaven and earth was a coming together."

"Is cook id bed?"

"I think not, sir. She came down with me to let you in; but when you knocked loud, she ran away frightened."

"Tell her to cobe dowd agaid thed. I'll have this affair cleared up at wudce; add rebebber, udless it be cleared up satisfactorily, off you go. Dow, tell cook I wadt her, add dod't be lodg about it."

​Jib—whom the idea of leaving appalled—was not long about it: he went up to cook, who slipped on her dress, and changed her cap, and came down in a singularly short space of time; but mark! followed by Susan, whose deep indignation had had the effect of keeping her on the qui vive.

"Cook," said Tom; "I do dot care buch about the glass: by chief object is truth, to which I expect you will adhere. Dow, what do you kdow about this?"

"All I know, sir, about it, is this: that I heard a tremendious noise like an earthquake, and got up, and called out, and found it was a ghost."

"Did you see this—ghost?"

"No, sir; I did'nt see it exactly; but James did."

"How do you kdow that?"

"He told me so."

"Is that all you kdow?"

"I don't know nothing more, sir."

"But I do," said Susan; "and a good deal more, too."

"Well! what do you kdow?"

"Why, sir, I know this; I'll not live in any house where there's such goings on."

"What do you bead?"

"I mean, sir, that I heard a noise, but a very different sort of a noise from that of an earthquake; and when I came out to ascertain what it was, who should I see but Mister James comfortably sitting on Missis Cook's bed, and she a cuddling of him with very great affection."

"Cook," said Tom; "I fadcied that you were a strictly virtuous persod."

"And so I am, sir. I'll defy the world to prove that I am not. This envious creature's jealous, sir; that's it."

"Jealous!" cried Susan.

"Yes, jealous! But if you will but listen, sir—"

"I feel boudd to do so."

"Then, sir, I'll tell you exactly how it all occurred. I heard a noise, as I before said, and called out to know what it was, when James ran up and told me he'd just seen a ghost, I was frightened of course—very frightened—so frightened, I didn't know what to do; and as James felt ill and wanted some water, I gave him some, and he sat on my bed. We then talked about the ghost, and while we were talking, James fainted away, and it was as I was trying to bring him round that Susan entered the room and saw us."

"You have spoken the truth, cook?" suggested Tom.

"I have, sir, indeed. I'd repeat the words if they were the last I had to speak."

"He faidted, you say? absolutely faidted?"

"He did, sir; and I couldn't bring him to until I'd thrown the whole jug of water over him."

"It's all very fine," observed Susan, who was not all satisfied; "very fine, indeed."

​
Pier-glass practice.

​"This affair," said Tom, "shall be fully idvestigated ibbediately after breakfast; add if I fide that your statebedts are false, dot wud of you shall rebaid id the house. Go to bed."

They then retired to their respective rooms with manifest feelings of dissatisfaction: indeed, so dissatisfied were they, that neither Jib, cook, nor Susan, could go to sleep again. While at breakfast that morning, Tom related the whole affair to Sylvester, and the relation was productive of a most hearty laugh.

"I might as well have had a shot at the glass yesterday!" said Sylvester; "I couldn't have shattered it more."

"I dod't believe you could have hit it at all," returned Tom. "Try it dow. You cad't do ady bore dabage. Where are the pistols?"

"I took them up with me last night."

"Thed we'll have theb dowd at wudce," said Tom, ringing the bell; "you'll thed see the effect of pier-glass practice. Jib," he added, when Jib had appeared, "you'll see a case id the roob id which Mr. Soudd slept: bridg it dowd."

Jib, who was particularly active that morning, very soon produced the case; when Sylvester—who had the key in his pocket—unlocked it, and took out one of the pistols.

"Dow," said Tom, "aib at the bull's-eye: there's a capital wud established. Stadd here."

"The cap's off," said Sylvester, on cocking the pistol.

"Is it!" cried Tom; "I wudder how that got off. Here's adother."

Sylvester, having put on the cap, pointed steadily at the bull's-eye indicated, but, on pulling the trigger, the pistol flashed in the pan.

"Hollo!" cried Tom. "Well, these are pretty pistols to go out with, certaidly. Why, where did you get theb?"

"Scholefield got them. I don't know where."

"He who sedt theb out ought to be ashabed of hibself. However, try adother cap."

Another cap was tried, and the result was the same.

"Why," cried Tom, "what's the beadidg of this? There bust be sobethidg wrodg. Look here!" he added; "the thidg isd't loaded at all!"

"Not loaded!"

"Doe. I'b afraid there was foul play codtebplated here."

"Is the other loaded?"

"Let's see. Yes; that's all right edough. Were these the pistols you were to have fought with?"

"Yes."

"Thed that's the wud which you were to have had. Scholefield ought to have seed to it. Certaidly, he ought to have seed that all was right."

"I don't suppose he knows much about affairs of this kind."

"Probably dot; but doe bad should uddertake to do that of which he is igdoradt; especially id a batter id which life is idvolved."

"I believe that he scarcely knew what he was doing: he appeared to be very much excited throughout."

​"It is excitebedt, thed, to which this deglect bust be ascribed; but it certaidly was a bost udpardodable trick od the part of Sir Williab D'Albaide."

"Do you think it was done intentionally, then?"

"It looks very buch like it."

"But is he at all the sort of man to act so dishonourably?"

"Why, iddepeddedtly of beidg a duellist, he is a gabbler, ad id the hodour of a gabbler I've dot buch faith."

"I suppose that I can do nothing in it?"

"I'd bedtiod it to Scholefield. But I dod't thidk that, as the batter has terbidated, I should take ady farther dotice of it."

"Well, I must say that it was a most unfair proceeding."

"Udfair!" cried Tom—"the desigd was burderous!"

The pistols were then restored to the case, and shortly afterwards Sylvester proceeded to his chambers, where he found a messenger from Sir Charles's attorney, by whom he was served with a notice of action.