The MS. in a Red Box

by John A. Hamilton

Pretty nearly all were of the same mind, and I returned to the vicarage dispirited and apprehensive, and so weary and spent and heavy with sleep, that I crept off and tumbled into bed, too tired even to talk with Mistress Goel.

Most unexpectedly, the vicar requested me to remain a few days at his house. Hitherto, we had had little to say to each other; he never had much to say to any one. I had disliked him from my early childhood, when I got the impression that he was bound in parchment like one of his folios, and that the back of his head had been chopped off. His days were passed among those folios, and Mr. Butharwick spoke with respect of his learning, but what good came of it I never knew. He preached sermons of an inordinate length, and totally incomprehensible to me, and, as I judged, to his parishioners generally, who composed themselves for slumber when they heard the text. My aunt attended to all the affairs of the parish, and always inspected the parson before he left the house, to see that he was decently clad, and had his handkerchief in his pocket.

The calamitous flood aroused him to the everyday life around him, not all at once, but slowly. He entered into the sorrows of his bereaved parishioners especially, of whom there were many. One Coggan, a small farmer, had been found dead in the water at the foot of a ladder descending from his bedroom. Another man, a somewhat drunken fellow, had been overtaken by the flood, while sleeping off his drink on the kitchen floor. An old man, whose people had left him alone for the night, had been caught and overwhelmed in the act of opening his door, apparently. The child of Ducker, the blacksmith, had been ailing for a day or two, but on the night of the inundation had fallen asleep on a couch, and slept so peacefully that the mother would not disturb its slumber, but covered it up as it lay, and went to bed. She found it drowned in the morning. Besides these cases in the town itself, numerous bodies were recovered in the neighbourhood of the cottages on the banks of the Don and elsewhere. In these circumstances, many appeals were made to the vicar for guidance, help, and consolation. The sexton lost his wits, poor man, and there were difficulties in making preparation for the decent interment of so many bodies, as well as difficulties as to who would guarantee payment for this and that. We were hard put to it to find a messenger to go for the coroner, every man's hands were so full of his own, or his master's business. Consequently, the vicar impressed me into service, and gave everything into my charge. I must do him the justice to acknowledge that he was diligent in attending to his spiritual duties, and generous with his purse. The painful and somewhat horrible details are no necessary part of my narrative, and so I leave them; but, as may be supposed, I was fully occupied for several days.

There was an hour every evening which made up, and more than made up, for all the weariness and trouble of the day, when Mistress Goel talked awhile with me, or sang to me. Our talk was mainly of the one engrossing subject, and there could be no quiet, private chat at such a time; but to see her and to hear her voice was enough to make me happy for the present.

Luke made me somewhat uneasy by telling me that he had overheard conversation at the White Hart, and elsewhere, to the effect that Doctor and Mistress Goel had come over to Crowle "to charm the water." Dame Hind had had much to say of the certainty of their being in commerce with the devil, and some of her guests swore to put an end to the witches at the first opportunity. Although I did not think these threats very serious, and had perfect confidence in my own ability to protect my friends, being in high favour with the Crowle folk, I contrived to restrain them from going beyond the vicarage grounds, except when I could accompany them. Luke was exceedingly afraid, but as he had always a keen nose for scent of danger, his fears did not excite mine.

On the third evening of my stay, Sheffield was announced. He met me without a trace of confusion.

"Ha, Vavasour!" he said. "Give you joy of coming to life again."

"Thanks—much thanks," I replied.

"Coming to life again!" cried my aunt. "What do you mean, my lord?"

"Has he told you nothing? When last I saw him, on the night of the thunderstorm, he was struck by lightning."