Chapter 2

Early in the morning of a sultry day in August, he left Mettingen, to go
to the city. He had seldom passed a day from home since his return from
the shores of the Ohio. Some urgent engagements at this time existed,
which would not admit of further delay. He returned in the evening, but
appeared to be greatly oppressed with fatigue. His silence and dejection
were likewise in a more than ordinary degree conspicuous. My mother's
brother, whose profession was that of a surgeon, chanced to spend this
night at our house. It was from him that I have frequently received an
exact account of the mournful catastrophe that followed.

As the evening advanced, my father's inquietudes increased. He sat with
his family as usual, but took no part in their conversation. He appeared
fully engrossed by his own reflections. Occasionally his countenance
exhibited tokens of alarm; he gazed stedfastly and wildly at the
ceiling; and the exertions of his companions were scarcely sufficient
to interrupt his reverie. On recovering from these fits, he expressed no
surprize; but pressing his hand to his head, complained, in a tremulous
and terrified tone, that his brain was scorched to cinders. He would
then betray marks of insupportable anxiety.

My uncle perceived, by his pulse, that he was indisposed, but in no
alarming degree, and ascribed appearances chiefly to the workings of his
mind. He exhorted him to recollection and composure, but in vain. At the
hour of repose he readily retired to his chamber. At the persuasion of
my mother he even undressed and went to bed. Nothing could abate his
restlessness. He checked her tender expostulations with some sternness.
"Be silent," said he, "for that which I feel there is but one cure,
and that will shortly come. You can help me nothing. Look to your own
condition, and pray to God to strengthen you under the calamities that
await you." "What am I to fear?" she answered. "What terrible disaster
is it that you think of?" "Peace--as yet I know it not myself, but come
it will, and shortly." She repeated her inquiries and doubts; but he
suddenly put an end to the discourse, by a stern command to be silent.

She had never before known him in this mood. Hitherto all was benign in
his deportment. Her heart was pierced with sorrow at the contemplation
of this change. She was utterly unable to account for it, or to figure
to herself the species of disaster that was menaced.

Contrary to custom, the lamp, instead of being placed on the hearth, was
left upon the table. Over it against the wall there hung a small clock,
so contrived as to strike a very hard stroke at the end of every sixth
hour. That which was now approaching was the signal for retiring to the
fane at which he addressed his devotions. Long habit had occasioned him
to be always awake at this hour, and the toll was instantly obeyed.

Now frequent and anxious glances were cast at the clock. Not a single
movement of the index appeared to escape his notice. As the hour verged
towards twelve his anxiety visibly augmented. The trepidations of my
mother kept pace with those of her husband; but she was intimidated
into silence. All that was left to her was to watch every change of his
features, and give vent to her sympathy in tears.

At length the hour was spent, and the clock tolled. The sound appeared
to communicate a shock to every part of my father's frame. He rose
immediately, and threw over himself a loose gown. Even this office
was performed with difficulty, for his joints trembled, and his teeth
chattered with dismay. At this hour his duty called him to the rock, and
my mother naturally concluded that it was thither he intended to repair.
Yet these incidents were so uncommon, as to fill her with astonishment
and foreboding. She saw him leave the room, and heard his steps as they
hastily descended the stairs. She half resolved to rise and pursue him,
but the wildness of the scheme quickly suggested itself. He was going
to a place whither no power on earth could induce him to suffer an
attendant.

The window of her chamber looked toward the rock. The atmosphere was
clear and calm, but the edifice could not be discovered at that distance
through the dusk. My mother's anxiety would not allow her to remain
where she was. She rose, and seated herself at the window. She strained
her sight to get a view of the dome, and of the path that led to it. The
first painted itself with sufficient distinctness on her fancy, but
was undistinguishable by the eye from the rocky mass on which it was
erected. The second could be imperfectly seen; but her husband had
already passed, or had taken a different direction.

What was it that she feared? Some disaster impended over her husband or
herself. He had predicted evils, but professed himself ignorant of what
nature they were. When were they to come? Was this night, or this hour
to witness the accomplishment? She was tortured with impatience, and
uncertainty. All her fears were at present linked to his person, and she
gazed at the clock, with nearly as much eagerness as my father had done,
in expectation of the next hour.

An half hour passed away in this state of suspence. Her eyes were fixed
upon the rock; suddenly it was illuminated. A light proceeding from the
edifice, made every part of the scene visible. A gleam diffused itself
over the intermediate space, and instantly a loud report, like the
explosion of a mine, followed. She uttered an involuntary shriek, but
the new sounds that greeted her ear, quickly conquered her surprise.
They were piercing shrieks, and uttered without intermission. The gleams
which had diffused themselves far and wide were in a moment withdrawn,
but the interior of the edifice was filled with rays.

The first suggestion was that a pistol was discharged, and that the
structure was on fire. She did not allow herself time to meditate a
second thought, but rushed into the entry and knocked loudly at the door
of her brother's chamber. My uncle had been previously roused by the
noise, and instantly flew to the window. He also imagined what he saw
to be fire. The loud and vehement shrieks which succeeded the first
explosion, seemed to be an invocation of succour. The incident was
inexplicable; but he could not fail to perceive the propriety of
hastening to the spot. He was unbolting the door, when his sister's
voice was heard on the outside conjuring him to come forth.

He obeyed the summons with all the speed in his power. He stopped not
to question her, but hurried down stairs and across the meadow which lay
between the house and the rock. The shrieks were no longer to be heard;
but a blazing light was clearly discernible between the columns of the
temple. Irregular steps, hewn in the stone, led him to the summit. On
three sides, this edifice touched the very verge of the cliff. On the
fourth side, which might be regarded as the front, there was an area
of small extent, to which the rude staircase conducted you. My uncle
speedily gained this spot. His strength was for a moment exhausted
by his haste. He paused to rest himself. Meanwhile he bent the most
vigilant attention towards the object before him.

Within the columns he beheld what he could no better describe, than
by saying that it resembled a cloud impregnated with light. It had
the brightness of flame, but was without its upward motion. It did not
occupy the whole area, and rose but a few feet above the floor. No
part of the building was on fire. This appearance was astonishing. He
approached the temple. As he went forward the light retired, and, when
he put his feet within the apartment, utterly vanished. The suddenness
of this transition increased the darkness that succeeded in a tenfold
degree. Fear and wonder rendered him powerless. An occurrence like this,
in a place assigned to devotion, was adapted to intimidate the stoutest
heart.

His wandering thoughts were recalled by the groans of one near him.
His sight gradually recovered its power, and he was able to discern my
father stretched on the floor. At that moment, my mother and servants
arrived with a lanthorn, and enabled my uncle to examine more closely
this scene. My father, when he left the house, besides a loose upper
vest and slippers, wore a shirt and drawers. Now he was naked, his skin
throughout the greater part of his body was scorched and bruised. His
right arm exhibited marks as of having been struck by some heavy body.
His clothes had been removed, and it was not immediately perceived that
they were reduced to ashes. His slippers and his hair were untouched.

He was removed to his chamber, and the requisite attention paid to his
wounds, which gradually became more painful. A mortification speedily
shewed itself in the arm, which had been most hurt. Soon after, the
other wounded parts exhibited the like appearance.

Immediately subsequent to this disaster, my father seemed nearly in
a state of insensibility. He was passive under every operation. He
scarcely opened his eyes, and was with difficulty prevailed upon to
answer the questions that were put to him. By his imperfect account, it
appeared, that while engaged in silent orisons, with thoughts full
of confusion and anxiety, a faint gleam suddenly shot athwart the
apartment. His fancy immediately pictured to itself, a person bearing
a lamp. It seemed to come from behind. He was in the act of turning to
examine the visitant, when his right arm received a blow from a heavy
club. At the same instant, a very bright spark was seen to light upon
his clothes. In a moment, the whole was reduced to ashes. This was the
sum of the information which he chose to give. There was somewhat in
his manner that indicated an imperfect tale. My uncle was inclined to
believe that half the truth had been suppressed.

Meanwhile, the disease thus wonderfully generated, betrayed more
terrible symptoms. Fever and delirium terminated in lethargic slumber,
which, in the course of two hours, gave place to death. Yet not till
insupportable exhalations and crawling putrefaction had driven from his
chamber and the house every one whom their duty did not detain.

Such was the end of my father. None surely was ever more mysterious.
When we recollect his gloomy anticipations and unconquerable anxiety;
the security from human malice which his character, the place, and the
condition of the times, might be supposed to confer; the purity and
cloudlessness of the atmosphere, which rendered it impossible that
lightning was the cause; what are the conclusions that we must form?

The prelusive gleam, the blow upon his arm, the fatal spark, the
explosion heard so far, the fiery cloud that environed him, without
detriment to the structure, though composed of combustible materials,
the sudden vanishing of this cloud at my uncle's approach--what is the
inference to be drawn from these facts? Their truth cannot be doubted.
My uncle's testimony is peculiarly worthy of credit, because no man's
temper is more sceptical, and his belief is unalterably attached to
natural causes.

I was at this time a child of six years of age. The impressions that
were then made upon me, can never be effaced. I was ill qualified to
judge respecting what was then passing; but as I advanced in age, and
became more fully acquainted with these facts, they oftener became the
subject of my thoughts. Their resemblance to recent events revived them
with new force in my memory, and made me more anxious to explain them.
Was this the penalty of disobedience? this the stroke of a vindictive
and invisible hand? Is it a fresh proof that the Divine Ruler interferes
in human affairs, meditates an end, selects, and commissions his agents,
and enforces, by unequivocal sanctions, submission to his will? Or, was
it merely the irregular expansion of the fluid that imparts warmth to
our heart and our blood, caused by the fatigue of the preceding day, or
flowing, by established laws, from the condition of his thoughts? [*]

* A case, in its symptoms exactly parallel to this, is
published in one of the Journals of Florence. See, likewise,
similar cases reported by Messrs. Merille and Muraire, in
the "Journal de Medicine," for February and May, 1783. The
researches of Maffei and Fontana have thrown some light upon
this subject.