“Thunder and oons, master! why not?”
“’Tis enough to say, Thomas,” pursued the hapless barrister, taking up one of the pistols, “that I am determined to die!”
Thomas, never having seen such a catastrophe, was quite alarmed; but all his eloquence was in vain: having wept and argued to no purpose, he ran towards the window to shout murder, but it was fast. Norcot (who was an unbeliever) shuddering meanwhile less at the idea of the crime he contemplated than at that of eternal annihilation, (which his tenets induced him to anticipate,) said, “Thomas, take one of these pistols, and put it to my head; apply the other here, to my heart;—fire both together, and put me out of my pain—for die I will!”
Thomas mused and bethought himself, and then answered, “I am willing to do the best I can for so good a master, but truly I can’t shoot, and may be I’d miss your honour! Hadn’t I better go to some gentleman of your acquaintance that I heard you say never missed any body—and who would do it cleverly?”
“None but you,” returned the unyielding desperado, “shall shoot me, Thomas!”
“I never shot any body!” cried the servant: “but (taking up the pistols) your honour says, one at your head: may I crave what part of it?”
“There,” said Norcot, pointing to his temple; “the other through my heart!”
“And which side is your honour’s heart to-night?” inquired the dilatory valet.
“Here!” replied Norcot: “now cock and fire!”
Thomas, who had been planning all this time how to get rid of the business, now seemed on the sudden to recollect himself. “But, master, dear!” said he, “when you were going to fight a duel with that Captain O’Brien, at the Cove of Cork, your honour took out Surgeon Egan with you, saying, that no gentleman should risk his life without a doctor: so, if you plase, I’ll just step over first and foremost, and fetch Surgeon Macklin here for fear of accidents!” Without waiting any reply, he instantly stepped out of the room as fast as he could, taking the pistols with him, and leaving Norcot in astonishment: he actually went to the doctor, told him the story, and brought him over to reason with his master, who remained in a state of perfect distraction. However, the fit somewhat subsided; and the incident’s being thus placed in a novel and ridiculous point of view had the most extraordinary effect on Norcot’s mind. He recovered the use of his reason, and calm reflection succeeded the burning frenzy. He could scarcely avoid smiling at Thomas; and, relating the adventure himself, pretended it was only a trick of his own to terrify his servant. But when he was left to himself, he considered what was best to be done, and adopted it. He made up all the means he could, and got into a place of secrecy, where he awaited the result of the “chapter of accidents,” and the efforts of his great friends to procure him some employment for subsistence:—nor was he long unprovided for. He was appointed to an office, I think at Malta, but where he soon disgraced himself in a manner which for ever excluded him from society. Being now lost past all redemption, he fled to the Morea, and from thence to Constantinople, where he renounced the cross and became a Musselman. But even there he was not fortunate: he has for some time been lost sight of, and exhibits a most edifying lesson to the dissipated and unbelieving. After commencing the world with as plausible prospects of success and respectability as most men of his day, Norcot, if dead, has died a disgraced and blasphemous renegado; thus confirming an observation of mine, throughout life, that a free-thinker is ever disposed to be also a free-actor, and is restrained from the gratification of all his vices only by those laws which provide a punishment for their commission.