During
the fall of the year 1827, while
residing near Charlottesville,
Virginia, I casually made the
acquaintance of Mr Augustus Bedloe.
This young gentleman was remarkable
in every respect, and excited
in me a profound interest and
curiosity. I found it impossible
to comprehend him either in his
moral or his physical relations.
Of his family I could obtain
no satisfactory account. Whence
he came, I never ascertained.
Even about his age--although
I call him a young gentleman--there
was something which perplexed
me in no little degree. He certainly
seemed young--and he made a point
of speaking about his youth--yet
there were moments when I should
have had little trouble in imagining
him a hundred years of age. But
in no regard was he more peculiar
than in his personal appearance.
He was singularly tall and thin.
He stooped much. His limbs were
exceedingly long and emaciated.
His forehead was broad and low.
His complexion was absolutely
bloodless. His mouth was large
and flexible, and his teeth were
more wildly uneven, although
sound, than I had ever before
seen teeth in a human head. The
expression of his smile, however,
was by no means unpleasing, as
might be supposed: but it had
no variation whatever. It was
one of profound melancholy--of
a phaseless and unceasing gloom.
His eyes were abnormally large,
and round like those of a cat.
The pupils, too, upon any accession
or diminution of light, underwent
contraction or dilation, just
such as is observed in the feline
tribe. In moments of excitement
the orbs grew bright to a degree
almost inconceivable; seeming
to emit luminous rays, not of
a reflected but of an intrinsic
lustre, as does a candle or the
sun; yet their ordinary condition
was to totally vapid, filmy,
and dull, as to convey the idea
of the eyes of a long-interred
corpse.
These peculiarities of person
appeared to cause him much annoyance,
and he was continually alluding
to them in a sort of half explanatory,
half apologetic strain, which,
when I first heard it, impressed
me very painfully. I soon, however,
grew accustomed to it, and my
uneasiness wore off. It seemed
to be his design rather to insinuate
than directly to assert that,
physically, he had not always
been what he was--that a long
series of neuralgic attacks had
reduced him from a condition
of more than usual personal beauty,
to that which I saw. For many
years past he had been attended
by a physician, named Templeton--
an old gentleman, perhaps seventy
years of age--whom he had first
encountered at Saratoga, and
from whose attention, while there,
he either received, or fancied
that he received, great benefit.
The result was that Bedloe, who
was wealthy, had made an arrangement
with Dr Templeton, by which the
latter, in consideration of a
liberal annual allowance, had
consented to devote his time
and medical experience exclusively
to the care of the invalid.
Doctor Templeton had been a
traveller in his younger days,
and at Paris had become a convert,
in great measure, to the doctrine
of Mesmer. It was altogether
by means of magnetic remedies
that he had succeeded in alleviating
the acute pains of his patient;
and this success had very naturally
inspired the latter with a certain
degree of confidence in the opinions
from which the remedies had been
educed. The doctor, however,
like all enthusiasts, had struggled
hard to make a thorough convert
of his pupil, and finally so
far gained his point as to induce
the sufferer to submit to numerous
experiments. By a frequent repetition
of these, a result had arisen,
which of late days has become
so common as to attract little
or no attention, but which, at
the period of which I write,
had very rarely been known in
America. I mean to say, that
between Dr Templeton and Bedloe
there had grown up, little by
little, a very distinct and strongly-marked
rapport, or magnetic relation.
I am not prepared to assert,
however, that this rapport extended
beyond the limits of the simple
sleep-producing power; but this
power itself had attained great
intensity. At the first attempt
to induce the magnetic somnolency,
the mesmerist entirely failed.
In the fifth or sixth he succeeded
very partially, and after long-continued
effort. Only at the twelfth was
the triumph complete. After this
the will of the patient succumbed
rapidly to that of the physician,
so that, when I first became
acquainted with the two, sleep
was brought about almost instantaneously
by the mere volition of the operator,
even when the invalid was unaware
of his presence. It is only now,
in the year 1845, when similar
miracles are witnessed daily
by thousands, that I dare venture
to record this apparent impossibility
as a matter of serious fact.
The temperature of Bedloe was
in the highest degree sensitive,
excitable, enthusiastic. His
imagination was singularly vigorous
and creative; and no doubt it
derived additional force from
the habitual use of morphine,
which he swallowed in great quantity,
and without which he would have
found it impossible to exist.
It was his practice to take a
very large dose of it immediately
after breakfast each morning,--or,
rather, immediately after a cup
of strong coffee, for he ate
nothing in the forenoon,--and
then set forth alone, or attended
only by a dog, upon a long ramble
among the chain of wild and dreary
hills that lie westward and southward
of Charlottesville, and are there
dignified by the title of the
Ragged Mountains.
Upon a dim, warm, misty day,
toward the close of November,
and during the strange interregnum
of the seasons which in America
is termed the Indian summer,
Mr Bedloe departed as usual for
the hills. The day passed, and
still he did not return.
About eight o'clock at night,
having become seriously alarmed
at his protracted absence, we
were about setting out in search
of him, when he unexpectedly
made his appearance, in health
no worse than usual, and in rather
more than ordinary spirits. The
account which he gave of his
expedition, and of the events
which had detained him, was a
singular one indeed.
'You will remember,' said he,
'that it was about nine in the
morning when I left Charlottesville.
I bent my steps immediately to
the mountains, and, about ten,
entered a gorge which was entirely
new to me. I followed the windings
of this pass with much interest.
The scenery which presented itself
on all sides, although scarcely
entitled to be called grand,
had about it an indescribable
and to me a delicious aspect
of dreary desolation. The solitude
seemed absolutely virgin. I could
not help believing that the green
sods and the grey rocks upon
which I trod had been trodden
never before by the foot of a
human being. So entirely secluded,
and in fact inaccessible, except
through a series of accidents,
is the entrance of the ravine,
that it is by no means impossible
that I was the first adventurer--the
very first and sole adventurer
who had ever penetrated its recesses.
'The thick and peculiar mist,
or smoke, which distinguishes
the Indian summer, and which
now hung heavily over all objects,
served, no doubt, to deepen the
vague impressions which these
objects created. So dense was
this pleasant fog that I could
at no time see more than a dozen
yards of the path before me.
This path was excessively sinuous,
and as the sun could not be seen,
I soon lost all idea of the direction
in which I journeyed. In the
meantime the morphine had its
customary effect--that of enduing
all the external world with an
intensity of interest. In the
quivering of a leaf--in the hue
of a blade of grass--in the shape
of a trefoil--in the humming
of a bee--in the gleaming of
a dew- drop--in the breathing
of the wind--in the faint odours
that came from the forest--there
came a whole universe of suggestion--a
gay and motley train of rhapsodical
and immethodical thought.
'Busied in this, I walked on
for several hours, during which
the mist deepened around me to
so great an extent that at length
I was reduced to an absolute
groping of the way. And now an
indescribable uneasiness possessed
me--a species of nervous hesitation
and tremor. I feared to tread,
lest I should be precipitated
into some abyss. I remembered,
too, strange stories told about
these Ragged Hills, and of the
uncouth and fierce races of men
who tenanted their groves and
caverns. A thousand vague fancies
oppressed and disconcerted me--fancies
the more distressing because
vague. Very suddenly my attention
was arrested by the loud beating
of a drum.
'My amazement was, of course,
extreme. A drum in these hills
was a thing unknown. I could
not have been more surprised
at the sound of the trump of
the Archangel. But a new and
still more astounding source
of interest and perplexity arose.
There came a wild rattling or
jingling sound, as if of a bunch
of large keys, and upon the instant
a dusky-visaged and half-naked
man rushed past me with a shriek.
He came so close to my person
that I felt his hot breath upon
my face. He bore in one hand
an instrument composed of an
assemblage of steel rings, and
shook them vigorously as he ran.
Scarcely had he disappeared in
the mist, before, panting after
him, with open mouth and glaring
eyes, there darted a huge beast.
I could not be mistaken in its
character. It was a hyena.
'The sight of this monster
rather relieved than heightened
my terrors--for I now made sure
that I dreamed, and endeavoured
to arouse myself to waking consciousness.
I stepped boldly and briskly
forward. I rubbed my eyes. I
called aloud. I pinched my limbs.
A small spring of water presented
itself to my view, and here,
stooping, I bathed my hands and
my head and neck. This seemed
to dissipate the equivocal sensations
which had hitherto annoyed me.
I arose, as I thought, a new
man, and proceeded steadily and
complacently on my unknown way.
'At length, quite overcome
by exertion, and by a certain
oppressive closeness of the atmosphere,
I seated myself beneath a tree.
Presently there came a feeble
gleam of sunshine, and the shadow
of the leaves of the tree fell
faintly but definitely upon the
grass. At this shadow I gazed
wonderingly for many minutes.
Its character stupefied me with
astonishment. I looked upward.
The tree was a palm.
'I now rose hurriedly, and
in a state of fearful agitation--
for the fancy that I dreamed
would serve me no longer. I saw--I
felt that I had perfect command
of my senses--and these senses
now brought to my soul a world
of novel and singular sensation.
The heat became all at once intolerable.
A strange odour loaded the breeze.
A low, continuous murmur, like
that arising from a full, but
gently flowing river, came to
my ears, intermingled with the
peculiar hum of multitudinous
human voices.
'While I listened in an extremity
of astonishment which I need
not attempt to describe, a strong
and brief gust of wind bore off
the incumbent fog as if by the
wand of an enchanter.
'I found myself at the foot
of a high mountain, and looking
down into a vast plain, through
which wound a majestic river.
On the margin of this river stood
an Eastern-looking city, such
as we read of in the Arabian
Tales, but of a character even
more singular than any there
described. From my position,
which was far above the level
of the town, I could perceive
its every nook and corner, as
if delineated on a map. The streets
seemed innumerable, and crossed
each other irregularly in all
directions, but were rather long
winding alleys than streets,
and absolutely swarmed with inhabitants.
The houses were wildly picturesque.
On every hand was a wilderness
of balconies, of verandas, of
minarets, of shrines, and fantastically
carved oriels. Bazaars abounded;
and there were displayed rich
wares in infinite variety and
profusion--silks, muslins, the
most dazzling cutlery, the most
magnificent jewels and gems.
Besides these things, were seen,
on all sides, banners and palanquins,
litters with stately dames close-veiled,
elephants gorgeously caparisoned,
idols grotesquely hewn, drums,
banners, and gongs, spears, silver
and gilded maces. And amid the
crowd, and the clamour, and the
general intricacy and confusion--amid
the million of black and yellow
men, turbaned and robed, and
of flowing beard, there roamed
a countless multitude of holy
filleted bulls, while vast legions
of the filthy but sacred ape
clambered, chattering and shrieking,
about the cornices of the mosques,
or clung to the minarets and
oriels. From the swarming streets
to the banks of the river, there
descended innumerable flights
of steps leading to bathing places,
while the river itself seemed
to force a passage with difficulty
through the vast fleets of deeply
burdened ships that far and wide
encountered its surface. Beyond
the limits of the city arose,
in frequent majestic groups,
the palm and the cocoa, with
other gigantic and weird trees
of vast age; and here and there
might be seen a field of rice,
the thatched hut of a peasant,
a tank, a stray temple, a gipsy
camp, or a solitary graceful
maiden taking her way, with a
pitcher upon her head, to the
banks of the magnificent river.
'You will say
now, of course, that I dreamed;
but not so. What
I saw--what I heard--what I felt--what
I thought--had about it nothing
of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy
of the dream. All was rigorously
self-consistent. At first, doubting
that I was really awake, I entered
into a series of tests, which
soon convinced me that I really
was. Now when one dreams, and,
in the dream, suspects that he
dreams, the suspicion never fails
to confirm itself, and the sleeper
is almost immediately aroused.
Thus Novalis errs not in saying
that "we are near waking when
we dream that we dream". Had
the vision occurred to me as
I describe it, without my suspecting
it as a dream, then a dream it
might absolutely have been, but,
occurring as it did, and suspected
and tested as it was, I am forced
to class it among other phenomena.'
'In this I am not sure that
you are wrong,' observed Dr Templeton,
'but proceed. You arose and descended
into the city.'
'I arose,' continued Bedloe,
regarding the Doctor with an
air of profound astonishment,
'I arose as you say, and descended
into the city. On my way I fell
in with an immense populace,
crowding through every avenue,
all in the same direction, and
exhibiting in every action the
wildest excitement. Very suddenly,
and by some inconceivable impulse,
I became intensely imbued with
personal interest in what was
going on. I seemed to feel that
I had an important part to play,
without exactly understanding
what it was. Against the crowd
which environed me, however,
I experienced a deep sentiment
of animosity. I shrank from amid
them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous
path, reached and entered the
city. Here all was the wildest
tumult and contention. A small
party of men, clad in garments
half Indian, half European, and
officered by gentlemen in a uniform
partly British, were engaged,
at great odds, with the swarming
rabble of the allies. I joined
the weaker party, arming myself
with the weapons of a fallen
officer, and fighting I knew
not whom with the nervous ferocity
of despair. We were soon overpowered
by numbers, and driven to seek
refuge in a species of kiosk.
Here we barricaded ourselves,
and, for the present, were secure.
From a loop-hole near the summit
of the kiosk, I perceived a vast
crowd, in furious agitation,
surrounding and assaulting a
gay palace that overhung the
river. Presently, from an upper
window of this palace, there
descended an effeminate-looking
person, by means of a string
made of the turbans of his attendants.
A boat was at hand in which he
escaped to the opposite bank
of the river.
'And now a new object took
possession of my soul. I spoke
a few hurried but energetic words
to my companions, and, having
succeeded in gaining over a few
of them to my purpose, made a
frantic sally from the kiosk.
We rushed amid the crowd that
surrounded it. They retreated,
at first, before us. They rallied,
fought madly, and retreated again.
In the meantime we were borne
far from the kiosk, and became
bewildered and entangled among
the narrow streets of tall, overhanging
houses, into the recesses of
which the sun had never been
able to shine. The rabble pressed
impetuously upon us, harassing
us with their spears, and overwhelming
us with flights of arrows. These
latter were very remarkable,
and resembled in some respects
the writhing creese of the Malay.
They were made to imitate the
body of a creeping serpent, and
were long and black, with a poisoned
barb. One of them struck me upon
the right temple. I reeled and
fell. An instantaneous and dreadful
sickness seized me. I struggled--I
gasped--I died.'
'You will hardly
persist now,' said I, smiling,
'that the whole
of your adventure was not a dream.
You are not prepared to maintain
that you are dead?"
When I said these words, I
of course expected some lively
sally from Bedloe in reply; but,
to my astonishment, he hesitated,
trembled, became fearfully pallid,
and remained silent. I looked
towards Templeton. He was erect
and rigid in his chair--his teeth
chattered, and his eyes were
staring from their sockets. 'Proceed!'
he at length said hoarsely to
Bedloe.
'For many minutes,' continued
the latter, 'my sole sentiment--my
sole feeling--was that of darkness
and nonentity, with the consciousness
of death. At length there seemed
to pass a violent and sudden
shock through my soul, as if
of electricity. With it came
the sense of elasticity and of
light. This latter I felt--not
saw. In an instant I seemed to
rise from the ground. But I had
no bodily, no visible, audible,
or palpable presence. The crowd
had departed. The tumult had
ceased. The city was in comparative
repose. Beneath me lay my corpse,
with the arrow in my temple,
the whole head greatly swollen
and disfigured. But all these
things I felt--not saw. I took
interest in nothing. Even the
corpse seemed a matter in which
I had no concern. Volition I
had none, but appeared to be
impelled into motion, and flitted
buoyantly out of the city, retracing
the circuitous path by which
I had entered it. When I had
attained that point of the ravine
in the mountains at which I had
encountered the hyena, I again
experienced a shock as of a galvanic
battery; the sense of weight,
of volition, of substance, returned.
I became my original self, and
bent my step eagerly homeward--but
the past had not lost the vividness
of the real--and not now, even
for an instant, can I compel
my understanding to regard it
as a dream.'
'Nor was it,' said Templeton,
with an air of deep solemnity,
'yet it would be difficult to
say how otherwise it should be
termed. Let us suppose only,
that the soul of the man of to-day
is upon the verge of some stupendous
psychal discoveries. Let us content
ourselves with this supposition.
For the rest I have some explanation
to make. Here is a water-colour
drawing, which I should have
shown you before, but which an
accountable sentiment of horror
has hitherto prevented me from
showing.'
We looked at the picture which
he presented. I saw nothing in
it of an extraordinary character;
but its effect upon Bedloe was
prodigious. He nearly fainted
as he gazed. And yet it was but
a miniature portrait--a miraculously
accurate one, to be sure--of
his own very remarkable features.
At least this was my thought
as I regarded it.
'You will perceive', said Templeton,
'the date of this picture--it
is here, scarcely visible, in
this corner--1780. In this year
was the portrait taken. It is
the likeness of a dead friend--a
Mr Oldeb--to whom I became much
attached at Calcutta, during
the administration of Warren
Hastings. I was then only twenty
years old. When I first saw you,
Mr Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was
the miraculous similarity which
existed between yourself and
the painting which induced me
to accost you, to seek your friendship,
and to bring about those arrangements
which resulted in my becoming
your constant companion. In accomplishing
this point, I was urged partly,
and perhaps principally, by a
regretful memory of the deceased,
but also, in part, by an uneasy,
and not altogether horrorless
curiosity respecting yourself.
'In your detail of the vision
which presented itself to you
amid the hills, you have described,
with the minutest accuracy, the
Indian city of Benares, upon
the Holy River. The riots, the
combat, the massacre, were the
actual events of the insurrection
of Cheyte Sing, which took place
in 1780, when Hastings was put
in imminent peril of his life.
The man escaping by the string
of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself.
The party in the kiosk were sepoys
and British officers, headed
by Hastings. Of this party I
was one, and did all I could
do to prevent the rash and fatal
sally of the officer who fell,
in the crowded alleys, by the
poisoned arrow of a Bengalee.
That officer was my dearest friend.
It was Oldeb. You will perceive
by these manuscripts' (here the
speaker produced a note-book
in which several pages appeared
to have been freshly written),
'that at the very period in which
you fancied these things amid
the hills I was engaged in detailing
them upon paper here at home.'
In about a week after this
conversation, the following paragraphs
appeared in a Charlottesville
paper:
We have the painful duty of
announcing the death of Mr AUGUSTUS
BEDLO, a gentleman whose amiable
manners and many virtues have
long endeared him to the citizens
of Charlottesville.
Mr B., for some years past,
has been subject to neuralgia,
which has often threatened to
terminate fatally; but this can
be regarded only as the mediate
cause of his decease. The proximate
cause was one of especial singularity.
In an excursion to the Ragged
Mountains, a few days since,
a slight cold and fever were
contracted, attended with great
determination of blood to the
head. To relieve this, Dr Templeton
resorted to topical bleeding.
Leeches were applied to the temples.
In a fearfully brief period the
patient died, when it appeared
that, in the jar containing the
leeches, had been introduced,
by accident, one of the venomous
vermicular sangsues which are
now and then found in the neighbouring
ponds. This creature fastened
itself upon a small artery in
the right temple. Its close resemblance
to the medicinal leech caused
the mistake to be overlooked
until too late.
N.B.-- The poisonous sangsue
of Charlottesville may always
be distinguished from the medicinal
leech by its blackness, and especially
by its writhing or vermicular
motions, which very nearly resemble
those of a snake.
I was speaking with the editor
of the paper in question, upon
the topic of this remarkable
accident, when it occurred to
me to ak how it happened that
the name of the deceased had
been given as Bedlo.
'I presume,' said I, 'you have
authority for this spelling,
but I have always supposed the
name to be written with an e
at the end.'
'Authority?--no,' he replied.
'It is a mere typographical error.
The name is Bedlo with an e,
all the world over, and I never
knew it to be spelt otherwise
in my life.'
'Then,' said I mutteringly,
as I turned upon my heel, 'then
indeed has it come to pass that
one truth is stranger than any
fiction--for Bedlo, without the
e, what is it but Oldeb conversed?
And this man tells me it is a
typographical error.' |