England -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Male friendship -- Fiction; Men -- Societies and clubs -- Fiction
‘It was necessary that his wife’s body should be removed from the
prison, without delay. He received the communication with perfect
calmness, and acquiesced in its propriety. Nearly all the inmates of the
prison had assembled to witness its removal; they fell back on either
side when the widower appeared; he walked hurriedly forward, and
stationed himself, alone, in a little railed area close to the lodge
gate, from whence the crowd, with an instinctive feeling of delicacy,
had retired. The rude coffin was borne slowly forward on men’s
shoulders. A dead silence pervaded the throng, broken only by the
audible lamentations of the women, and the shuffling steps of the
bearers on the stone pavement. They reached the spot where the bereaved
husband stood: and stopped. He laid his hand upon the coffin, and
mechanically adjusting the pall with which it was covered, motioned them
onward. The turnkeys in the prison lobby took off their hats as it
passed through, and in another moment the heavy gate closed behind it.
He looked vacantly upon the crowd, and fell heavily to the ground.
‘Although for many weeks after this, he was watched, night and day, in
the wildest ravings of fever, neither the consciousness of his loss, nor
the recollection of the vow he had made, ever left him for a moment.
Scenes changed before his eyes, place succeeded place, and event
followed event, in all the hurry of delirium; but they were all
connected in some way with the great object of his mind. He was sailing
over a boundless expanse of sea, with a blood-red sky above, and the
angry waters, lashed into fury beneath, boiling and eddying up, on every
side. There was another vessel before them, toiling and labouring in the
howling storm; her canvas fluttering in ribbons from the mast, and her
deck thronged with figures who were lashed to the sides, over which huge
waves every instant burst, sweeping away some devoted creatures into the
foaming sea. Onward they bore, amidst the roaring mass of water, with a
speed and force which nothing could resist; and striking the stem of the
foremost vessel, crushed her beneath their keel. From the huge whirlpool
which the sinking wreck occasioned, arose a shriek so loud and shrill--
the death-cry of a hundred drowning creatures, blended into one fierce
yell--that it rung far above the war-cry of the elements, and echoed,
and re-echoed till it seemed to pierce air, sky, and ocean. But what was
that--that old gray head that rose above the water’s surface, and with
looks of agony, and screams for aid, buffeted with the waves! One look,
and he had sprung from the vessel’s side, and with vigorous strokes was
swimming towards it. He reached it; he was close upon it. They were _his
_features. The old man saw him coming, and vainly strove to elude his
grasp. But he clasped him tight, and dragged him beneath the water.
Down, down with him, fifty fathoms down; his struggles grew fainter and
fainter, until they wholly ceased.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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