I promised Spicer that I would not fail, and quitted the hospital. When I called again upon him, I found him very low and weak, he could not raise himself from his pillow. “I feel that I am going now, Jack,” said he—“going very fast—I have not many hours to live, but, I thank Heaven, I am not in any pain. A man who dies in agony cannot examine himself—cannot survey the past with calmness, or feel convinced of the greatness of his offences. I thank God for that; but, Jack, although I have committed many a foul and execrable murder, for which I am full of remorse—although I feel how detestable has been my life—I tell you candidly, that, although those crimes may appear to others more heavy than the simple one of theft, to me the one that lies most heavy on my soul is the robbing of my poor mother, and my whole treatment of her. Jack, will you do one favour to a dying man?—and it must be done soon, or it will be too late. Will you go to my poor mother, acquaint her with my being here, still alive, and that my hours are numbered, and beg for me forgiveness? Obtain that for me, Jack—bring that to me, and so may you receive forgiveness yourself!”
“I will, Spicer,” replied I, “I will go directly; and I have little fear but that I shall succeed.”
“Go then, Jack; don’t tarry, for my time is nearly come.”
I left the hospital immediately, and hastened to old Nanny’s. I found her very busy sorting a lot of old bottles which she had just purchased.
“Well, Jack,” said she, “you are just come in time to help me. I was just a-saying if Jack was to call now, he’d be of some use, for I can’t well reach so high as the shelf where I put the bottles on, and when I get on a stool my old head swims.”
“Mother,” said I, “suppose you put down the bottles for a little while, as I have that to say to you which must not be delayed.”
“Why, what’s the matter, boy? And how pale you look! what has happened? You don’t want money, do you?”
“No, mother, I want no money; I only want you to listen to matters important, which I must disclose to you.”
“Well, well, what is it? about the fellow who tried to rob me, I suppose. I told you before, Jack, I won’t hurt him, for my poor boy’s sake.”
“It is about your poor boy I would speak, mother,” replied I, hardly knowing how to begin. “Now, mother, did you not tell me that he was hanged at Port Royal?”