“I soon saw,” continued the letter, “that he was no keeper; but the man had the look of one who had been degraded from a keeper to a poacher and ruffian. His clothes were dirty and weather-beaten; his coat was sun-burnt, of a ruddy brown, his hat was battered and shapeless. As I again looked towards the hay-field, I saw Mr. Drury leaving the people and riding towards the ferry. As he did that the poacher-looking fellow slunk into the bushes and disappeared. Hopcraft went upon the boat and stood ready to pull it over. As Mr. Drury rode on to the boat he touched his hat, and Mr. Drury appeared to say something to him, and then rode towards the prow of the boat, and sat looking forward ready to issue to the shore. But at the very moment that the horse set his feet on the boat, the ugly fellow issued from the bushes armed with the hay-fork, a very heavy one—a pitchfork for loading the hay on the waggons. He carried his shoes in his left hand, and set them down softly but quickly on the boat, and then, with the spring of a tiger, he darted forward, and struck Mr. Drury on the back of the head a furious blow. I shouted, as it seemed, as I saw the murderous intention; but the deed was done. Mr. Drury fell backward from his horse, dragging the saddle round after him, and would have gone overboard but that he was caught by the ruffianly looking fellow, and stretched on the deck of the boat. In the fright the horse reared, and, springing forward, fell into the river. For some time he seemed embarrassed by the saddle under his chest, and floundered about as if he would drown, but then he recovered himself, and got footing in the shallower part of the river.
“During this time, for I seemed to see both things at once, I saw the ruffian take Mr. Drury’s watch from his pocket and put it back again. He then took out a pocket-book from the breast-pocket of his coat, opened it, looked at some papers, and put the book back. Then he felt in his small-clothes pockets and drew out what seemed to be a considerable roll of bank-notes. These he thrust into his coat-pocket, and seizing the dead man by the shoulders, and Hopcraft seizing him by the feet, they flung him into the river. The ruffian then hurriedly slipped on his shoes, whilst Hopcraft pulled the boat to land. As soon as they set foot on land the ruffian gave some part of his roll to Hopcraft, who went down the river bank towards his house, driving the horse further down before him.
“But whilst seeing all this, in some singular manner, I saw during the whole transaction, two old people, man and woman, occasionally peep forth from amongst the bushes near the entrance to the hollow road leading to the village. The man had the look of a tramp with a sackcloth wallet on his back. The woman was in an old faded red cloak and battered black bonnet. Both walked with sticks.”
During this description the amazement of the listeners had momently increased, and their exclamations of surprise were continual. Now they said, “Oh! those are the Shalcrosses—exactly—to a hair! How wonderful!”
“But,” said Mr. Woodburn, “Dr. Leroy had heard, or read, in some newspaper of the affair.”
George looked forward in the letter, and said, “No; he says, he had not at the writing of this heard a syllable of news, or received a single letter, though he hoped for letters at Calcutta, but they could not possibly convey any such news. For you forget this dream occurred on the night immediately succeeding the catastrophe at the ferry.”
All sat in silent wonder. “Certainly,” said Mr. Woodburn, at length, “it is the most amazing dream that ever occurred;—but go on, George.”
“As the ruffian approached the end of the hollow road, these two old people came out and confronted him. They pointed towards the ferry, as if telling him that they had seen all, and the man made violent gestures in return, clenching his fist and seeming to menace them. Then he took out his roll, gave them some part of it, and they then hasted along the river-side cart-track, and disappeared together in the wooded glen above on Mr. Woodburn’s estate. Whilst they were yet in sight, Mr. Drury’s horse galloped up the river-side and turned up the hollow road towards the village. In a few minutes more men appeared looking full of affright, went down to the ferry, and were evidently seeking Mr. Drury.
“That was my dream. I trust that it is but a dream. I cannot persuade myself that any such horrible transaction has taken place: yet, shall I confess it? the distinctness as of life itself with which the whole of it was seen, and with which it remains, combined with my two former experiences of similar, though not so tragical a kind, makes me uneasy. Write to me, dear George, at the ship agents’, Calcutta, Messrs. Mac Campbell and Dimsdale; I shall get it, perhaps, as I come back, for Captain Andrews, of the Aurungzebe, is going to China with a cargo of opium, to reload there with tea for England, and has persuaded me to accompany him. He offers me great terms to accompany him home again, when he expects distinguished passengers, and as I have taken a great liking to him, perhaps I may,—who knows? Ah, if I had but one happy word from England, I would accept the invitation as the message of an angel. But England lies cold on my heart: and I have flattering prospects held out to me of a practice amongst the invalids in the Nilgherry Hills. Well, time must decide.”