________________________________________________
_ Chapter VI - Containing as surprizing an accident as is
perhaps recorded in history.
Booth had acquainted the serjeant with the great goodness of Colonel
James, and with the chearful prospects which he entertained from it.
This Atkinson, behind the curtain, communicated to his wife. The
conclusion which she drew from it need scarce be hinted to the reader.
She made, indeed, no scruple of plainly and bluntly telling her
husband that the colonel had a most manifest intention to attack the
chastity of Amelia.
This thought gave the poor serjeant great uneasiness, and, after
having kept him long awake, tormented him in his sleep with a most
horrid dream, in which he imagined that he saw the colonel standing by
the bedside of Amelia, with a naked sword in his hand, and threatening
to stab her instantly unless she complied with his desires. Upon this
the serjeant started up in his bed, and, catching his wife by the
throat, cried out, "D--n you, put up your sword this instant, and
leave the room, or by Heaven I'll drive mine to your heart's blood!"
This rough treatment immediately roused Mrs. Atkinson from her sleep,
who no sooner perceived the position of her husband, and felt his hand
grasping her throat, than she gave a violent shriek and presently fell
into a fit.
Atkinson now waked likewise, and soon became sensible of the violent
agitations of his wife. He immediately leapt out of bed, and running
for a bottle of water, began to sprinkle her very plentifully; but all
to no purpose: she neither spoke nor gave any symptoms of recovery
Atkinson then began to roar aloud; upon which Booth, who lay under
him, jumped from his bed, and ran up with the lighted candle in his
hand. The serjeant had no sooner taken the candle than he ran with it
to the bed-side. Here he beheld a sight which almost deprived him of
his senses. The bed appeared to be all over blood, and his wife
weltering in the midst of it. Upon this the serjeant, almost in a
frenzy, cried out, "O Heavens! I have killed my wife. I have stabbed
her! I have stabbed her!" "What can be the meaning of all this?" said
Booth. "O, sir!" cries the serjeant, "I dreamt I was rescuing your
lady from the hands of Colonel James, and I have killed my poor
wife."--Here he threw himself upon the bed by her, caught her in his
arms, and behaved like one frantic with despair.
By this time Amelia had thrown on a wrapping-gown, and was come up
into the room, where the serjeant and his wife were lying on the bed
and Booth standing like a motionless statue by the bed-side. Amelia
had some difficulty to conquer the effects of her own surprize on this
occasion; for a more ghastly and horrible sight than the bed presented
could not be conceived.
Amelia sent Booth to call up the maid of the house, in order to lend
her assistance; but before his return Mrs. Atkinson began to come to
herself; and soon after, to the inexpressible joy of the serjeant, it
was discovered she had no wound. Indeed, the delicate nose of Amelia
soon made that discovery, which the grosser smell of the serjeant, and
perhaps his fright, had prevented him from making; for now it appeared
that the red liquor with which the bed was stained, though it may,
perhaps, sometimes run through the veins of a fine lady, was not what
is properly called blood, but was, indeed, no other than cherry-
brandy, a bottle of which Mrs. Atkinson always kept in her room to be
ready for immediate use, and to which she used to apply for comfort in
all her afflictions. This the poor serjeant, in his extreme hurry, had
mistaken for a bottle of water. Matters were now soon accommodated,
and no other mischief appeared to be done, unless to the bed-cloaths.
Amelia and Booth returned back to their room, and Mrs. Atkinson rose
from her bed in order to equip it with a pair of clean sheets.
And thus this adventure would have ended without producing any kind of
consequence, had not the words which the serjeant uttered in his
frenzy made some slight impression on Booth; so much, at least, as to
awaken his curiosity; so that in the morning when he arose he sent for
the serjeant, and desired to hear the particulars of this dream, since
Amelia was concerned in it.
The serjeant at first seemed unwilling to comply, and endeavoured to
make excuses. This, perhaps, encreased Booth's curiosity, and he said,
"Nay, I am resolved to hear it. Why, you simpleton, do you imagine me
weak enough to be affected by a dream, however terrible it may be?"
"Nay, sir," cries the serjeant, "as for that matter, dreams have
sometimes fallen out to be true. One of my own, I know, did so,
concerning your honour; for, when you courted my young lady, I dreamt
you was married to her; and yet it was at a time when neither I
myself, nor any of the country, thought you would ever obtain her. But
Heaven forbid this dream should ever come to pass!" "Why, what was
this dream?" cries Booth. "I insist on knowing."
"To be sure, sir," cries the serjeant, "I must not refuse you; but I
hope you will never think any more of it. Why then, sir, I dreamt that
your honour was gone to the West Indies, and had left my lady in the
care of Colonel James; and last night I dreamt the colonel came to my
lady's bed-side, offering to ravish her, and with a drawn sword in his
hand, threatening to stab her that moment unless she would comply with
his desires. How I came to be by I know not; but I dreamt I rushed
upon him, caught him by the throat, and swore I would put him to death
unless he instantly left the room. Here I waked, and this was my
dream. I never paid any regard to a dream in my life--but, indeed, I
never dreamt anything so very plain as this. It appeared downright
reality. I am sure I have left the marks of my fingers in my wife's
throat. I would riot have taken a hundred pound to have used her so."
"Faith," cries Booth, "it was an odd dream, and not so easily to be
accounted for as that you had formerly of my marriage; for, as
Shakespear says, dreams denote a foregone conclusion. Now it is
impossible you should ever have thought of any such matter as this."
"However, sir," cries the serjeant, "it is in your honour's power to
prevent any possibility of this dream's coming to pass, by not leaving
my lady to the care of the colonel; if you must go from her, certainly
there are other places where she may be with great safety; and, since
my wife tells me that my lady is so very unwilling, whatever reasons
she may have, I hope your honour will oblige her."
"Now I recollect it," cries Booth, "Mrs. Atkinson hath once or twice
dropt some disrespectful words of the colonel. He hath done something
to disoblige her."
"He hath indeed, sir," replied the serjeant: "he hath said that of her
which she doth not deserve, and for which, if he had not been my
superior officer, I would have cut both his ears off. Nay, for that
matter, he can speak ill of other people besides her."
"Do you know, Atkinson," cries Booth, very gravely, "that you are
talking of the dearest friend I have?"
"To be honest then," answered the serjeant, "I do not think so. If I
did, I should love him much better than I do."
"I must and will have this explained," cries Booth. "I have too good
an opinion of you, Atkinson, to think you would drop such things as
you have without some reason--and I will know it."
"I am sorry I have dropt a word," cries Atkinson. "I am sure I did not
intend it; and your honour hath drawn it from me unawares."
"Indeed, Atkinson," cries Booth, "you have made me very uneasy, and I
must be satisfied."
"Then, sir," said the serjeant, "you shall give me your word of
honour, or I will be cut into ten thousand pieces before I will
mention another syllable."
"What shall I promise?" said Booth.
"That you will not resent anything I shall lay to the colonel,"
answered Atkinson.
"Resent!--Well, I give you my honour," said Booth.
The serjeant made him bind himself over and over again, and then
related to him the scene which formerly past between the colonel and
himself, as far as concerned Booth himself; but concealed all that
more immediately related to Amelia.
"Atkinson," cries Booth, "I cannot be angry with you, for I know you
love me, and I have many obligations to you; but you have done wrong
in censuring the colonel for what he said of me. I deserve all that he
said, and his censures proceeded from his friendship."
"But it was not so kind, sir," said Atkinson, "to say such things to
me who am but a serjeant, and at such a time too."
"I will hear no more," cries Booth. "Be assured you are the only man I
would forgive on this occasion; and I forgive you only on condition
you never speak a word more of this nature. This silly dream hath
intoxicated you."
"I have done, sir," cries the serjeant. "I know my distance, and whom
I am to obey; but I have one favour to beg of your honour, never to
mention a word of what I have said to my lady; for I know she never
would forgive me; I know she never would, by what my wife hath told
me. Besides, you need not mention it, sir, to my lady, for she knows
it all already, and a great deal more."
Booth presently parted from the serjeant, having desired him to close
his lips on this occasion, and repaired to his wife, to whom he
related the serjeant's dream.
Amelia turned as white as snow, and fell into so violent a trembling
that Booth plainly perceived her emotion, and immediately partook of
it himself. "Sure, my dear," said he, staring wildly, "there is more
in this than I know. A silly dream could not so discompose you. I beg
you, I intreat you to tell me--hath ever Colonel James--"
At the very mention of the colonel's name Amelia fell on her knees,
and begged her husband not to frighten her.
"What do I say, my dear love," cried Booth, "that can frighten you?"
"Nothing, my dear," said she; "but my spirits are so discomposed with
the dreadful scene I saw last night, that a dream, which at another
time I should have laughed at, hath shocked me. Do but promise me that
you will not leave me behind you, and I am easy."
"You may be so," cries Booth, "for I will never deny you anything. But
make me easy too. I must know if you have seen anything in Colonel
James to displease you."
"Why should you suspect it?" cries Amelia.
"You torment me to death," cries Booth. "By Heavens! I will know the
truth. Hath he ever said or done anything which you dislike?"
"How, my dear," said Amelia, "can you imagine I should dislike a man
who is so much your friend? Think of all the obligations you have to
him, and then you may easily resolve yourself. Do you think, because I
refuse to stay behind you in his house, that I have any objection to
him? No, my dear, had he done a thousand times more than he hath--was
he an angel instead of a man, I would not quit my Billy. There's the
sore, my dear--there's the misery, to be left by you."
Booth embraced her with the most passionate raptures, and, looking on
her with inexpressible tenderness, cried, "Upon my soul, I am not
worthy of you: I am a fool, and yet you cannot blame me. If the stupid
miser hoards, with such care, his worthless treasure--if he watches it
with such anxiety--if every apprehension of another's sharing the
least part fills his soul with such agonies--O Amelia! what must be my
condition, what terrors must I feel, while I am watching over a jewel
of such real, such inestimable worth!"
"I can, with great truth, return the compliment," cries Amelia. "I
have my treasure too; and am so much a miser, that no force shall ever
tear me from it."
"I am ashamed of my folly," cries Booth;" and yet it is all from
extreme tenderness. Nay, you yourself are the occasion. Why will you
ever attempt to keep a secret from me? Do you think I should have
resented to my friend his just censure of my conduct?"
"What censure, my dear love?" cries Amelia.
"Nay, the serjeant hath told me all," cries Booth--"nay, and that he
hath told it to you. Poor soul! thou couldst not endure to hear me
accused, though never so justly, and by so good a friend. Indeed, my
dear, I have discovered the cause of that resentment to the colonel
which you could not hide from me. I love you, I adore you for it;
indeed, I could not forgive a slighting word on you. But, why do I
compare things so unlike?--what the colonel said of me was just and
true; every reflexion on my Amelia must be false and villanous."
The discernment of Amelia was extremely quick, and she now perceived
what had happened, and how much her husband knew of the truth. She
resolved therefore to humour him, and fell severely on Colonel James
for what he had said to the serjeant, which Booth endeavoured all he
could to soften; and thus ended this affair, which had brought Booth
to the very brink of a discovery which must have given him the highest
torment, if it had not produced any of those tragical effects which
Amelia apprehended. _
Read next: VOLUME III: BOOK IX: CHAPTER VII
Read previous: VOLUME III: BOOK IX: CHAPTER V
Table of content of Amelia
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
