It almost seemed as if he were haunted by a thousand demons, for both night and day he screeched and yelled in the most frightful manner, so that his dismal cries could be heard afar off.
“Take them away! take them away!” he would scream aloud with a foaming mouth, wild, widely distended eyes, his hair standing on end, and gnashing his teeth.
“Take them away, take them away! the legs are bleeding—they are walking—they are following me, wherever I go. Away with them—destroy them! Take them away!” he would shout, both day and night, while he kicked and tore the bed-clothes like an incarnate fiend.
The keepers shook their heads, and looked very serious and silent.
Some of the men went so far as to say that they had seen the gory legs.
Others, not so bold, swore that they had heard them walking up and down the maniac’s cell, at the hour of midnight.
Certain it is, that after suffering the most terrible tortures of mind and body, Phillip Redgill seemed to become suddenly calmer, and his reason returned.
But on a certain night, just as the tower clocks chimed the hour of twelve, he shouted out—
“Here is the Red Man of the Gibbet, he stands beside me! on my left hand is the ghost of my father; and walking over the bed-clothes are the phantom legs! Mercy—mercy! pardon—pardon! A thousand devils haunt my heart and soul. Away, away! avaunt! I die—I die!”
He fell prostrate on the stone floor, foaming at the mouth.