The Continental Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 3, March, 1864

On they pressed, till at length the man exclaimed: 'Here we are! Don't you perceive?'

He had stopped before an old and very common-looking house. In the second story one could see a light burning. The madman motioned Hiram to enter. The millionnaire was glad to discover that he was so near the end of his journey, and in a perfectly respectable neighborhood. Not doubting that he would find the apartment occupied, and quite sure there were inhabitants in the other part of the house, he proceeded to mount the stairs with alacrity, his companion following close at his heels.

It was with a sense of quiet relief that Hiram opened the door into a well-lighted room. This feeling was suddenly changed to one of horror on ascertaining that there was no one in the apartment, but that on a bed at the farther end of it was extended the corpse of a woman, already laid out and ready for the coffin! He stepped quickly backward, but it was too late. The madman was close behind him, and egress was out of the question.

'Come,' he said, 'you need not be afraid; she won't hurt you.'

The poor creature walked to the bedside, and it seemed as if sanity was vainly struggling to regain its place.

'Come closer,' he exclaimed to Hiram, who was standing near him.

Hiram advanced at the word of command, and the other again took his arm; and both stood very still, looking at the dead woman.

'Had we better wake her, think you?'

Hiram shook his head.

'You are right. I must first earn the money—earn the money. Then—then I will wake her. Yes, then I will wake her.'

'Is it your wife?' demanded Hiram, timidly, impelled by an irresistible impulse to ask the question.

'Wife!' shouted the other, glaring on Hiram—'wife! who talks to me about wife? Do you? Say quick!—do you?'—and he raised the cleaver in a menacing manner.

'It was not I,' said Hiram, with as much calmness as he could command, while he looked at the other fixedly—'it was not I.'

'Glad to hear you say so. If it had been, I would have made kindling wood of you—yes, kindling wood of you!—That's all got along with,' he added, lowering the cleaver. 'Now take a seat.'

The madman sat down on one side of a small table, and motioned Hiram to occupy the chair opposite.

He did so.

'Now we are comfortable. Don't you think so? Shan't have to move, shall we? Old Meeker, d–n his soul!—don't own this house. Come, let's have a gay old time!'—and he commenced, half shouting, half singing:

'Ain't I glad to get out of the wilderness—
To get out of the wilderness,
To get out of the wilderness?—
Ain't I glad to get out of the wilderness?
Hip, hip, hurrah!'

Hiram sat pale, but not trembling. He knew his very life depended on his composure, and he believed that the noise which the madman was making would soon bring persons to the spot.

'You don't seem to like my little song,' he exclaimed, 'I will give you another.' And he shouted on:

'I wish I was a horse, as big as any elephant—
As big as any elephant,
As big as any elephant—
I wish I was a horse, as big as any elephant—
Hip, hip, hurrah!'

'That's better, ain't it?' Suddenly he turned and looked at the corpse.

'Wife—wife! who said 'wife' to me?—who said 'wife' to me?' And he burst forth more furiously than ever:

'My wife's dead, and I want another one—
And I want another one,
And I want another one—
My wife's dead, and I want another one—
Hip, hip, hurrah!'

The man had now become so much excited, that he commenced walking rapidly around the room, brandishing his weapon in a most reckless manner.

Hiram's situation was becoming critical. He did not lose his self-possession, but began to balance the chances of attempting to escape by moving swiftly to the door, against keeping his seat and closely watching the maniac.

As if divining what was passing in his mind, the madman suddenly placed his back to the door, as if to bar any egress, and commenced singing again.

Relief came at last.

Hiram, whose every sense was on the alert, thought he saw the knob of the door turn. He was not mistaken; for now it commenced partially to open.

The maniac, feeling the pressure, turned about, leaving the entrance free—and Dr. Ephraim Peters entered.

He seemed to take in matters at a glance. Addressing the madman in a calm but commanding tone, he said: 'How is it that you have disobeyed me? I shall not trust you again. Sit down.'

The effect was electrical. An entire change came over the countenance and bearing of the maniac; he dropped the cleaver, and, passing to the other side of the room, took a seat in close proximity to the corpse.

Then turning, the young doctor addressed Hiram: 'Is your presence here forced or voluntary?'

'Purely accidental.'

'I supposed so. A word with you outside.'

To Hiram this was a joyful summons, and he responded with alacrity.

As they went out, the doctor closed the door, and the two stood together in the gloomy hall at the top of the staircase.

'Mr. Meeker, you recognize me, doubtless?'

There was no reply.

'I am Dr. Peters, who called to see you about two weeks ago, on behalf of a poor woman whose dead body is now in that room. I told you, if she had to be moved, it would kill her. Your agent drove her out, and she lies here dead! It has made her husband crazy—a temporary lunacy, I trust—but, whatever it is, there you see the whole.

'I am expecting some persons every moment,' he continued, 'who will remain here all night, and I will detain you no longer.'

The doctor spoke in such a tone of quiet dignity, that it was impossible for Hiram to reply. He fumbled for a moment in his coat, and then drew out his pocket book. Producing several bills, he offered them to the doctor, muttering half inaudibly something about his desire to pay funeral expenses.

The young physician drew back, as if in danger of contamination.

'Your money perish with you!' he said, solemnly. 'Think you charity consists in bank notes?'