THE FOURFOLD DREAM.

by James Payn
(1830-1898)

IF there be no city called Hippesford among the north-western towns of England, let it be there, whither I went five years ago to see the Italian hung. The name under which he suffered was supposed to be a feigned one; the crime which he expiated was that of murder; the slaying of his master and his benefactor as he slept, for the taking of a sum of money which, in all probability, he might have had for the asking. One of those atrocities, to give a reason for which baffles the student of human nature. The defence set up for Mavoranci was that of insanity: there being no doubt whatever as to his having committed the deed; but this plea was, in my opinion, very properly set aside. His advocate happened to be an intimate friend of mine; and it was through the interest — morbid and reprehensible I am well aware — with which he had inspired me in the unhappy criminal, that I found myself among that crowd in front of Hippesford Gaol. I heard something going on near me, a little too jocose for the occasion.

      "You cruel-hearted ruffian, if you dare to mock the poor wretch like that again," cried a deep, low voice, "I'll save Mr. Calcraft some trouble in your case."

      The speaker was a fine, powerfully-built sailor, towering by half a head above the throng; and, under his flashing eyes and threatening brows, the fellow who had provoked his wrath subsided at once into mutterings, and presently into sullen silence. Having achieved this end, he made no further observation, but kept his looks intently fixed upon the ghastly preparations above us. He alone, amidst the hum and noise of the crowd, maintained an inviolable silence, and strained his eyes upon the scaffold above, themselves within miles of them, the next post being a long distance beyond the headland, whither often on the darkest nights, my father has to go feeling for the white chalk heaps that are laid down to mark the road betwixt the stations, the direction of which in old times, they say, the smugglers used to as though he would have numbered every nail in it: the extreme anxiety of his face was remarkable even amongst those thousand eager and expectant countenances. Not caring to look upon the dreadful sight directly, I watched that face when the death-bell began to toll, as though it were a mirror, feeling sure that I should see reflected in it whatever was happening. It was burning and quivering with excitement, when the wretched criminal was carried up by three or four persons into view. Immediately after he came in sight, this fixed expression vanished as completely as though a curtain had been drawn over some picture; and, as the sailor cast his looks upon the ground, I heard him mutter, in a solemn whisper, his thanks to Heaven.

      As the sailor and I were borne along together by the resistless human tide, I said to him, secure of sympathy, "This is a sad sight, my friend, is it not?"

      "Yes, sir," said he, "a terrible sight, indeed; but it might have been worse."

      "How so?" said I.

      "Well, it's a long story," he replied, "but if you like to listen to it, and to take a cup of tea with me (of which I feel the need) at my lodgings, I shall be pleased enough. It will be a relief to me, I feel, to tell it even to a stranger."

      So we two went up into a little room over-looking the scene, and which had been let (as had been agreed upon when he took the apartment) throughout that morning to a party of five gentlemen (!) and a lady (!!), who had only just evacuated it. And there he told me this story:

      "You must excuse me if I am a little slow, at first, for yon throng has fairly dazzled and dumfounded me. I am quite new to sights of this sort, thank God; nor have I ever seen so great a crowd before. I live upon the south-east coast, where the folks are not so many as in these parts, and my own employment is a particularly solitary one: I am a lighthouse man. I sometimes pass whole weeks without seeing any other face than that of my mate, without hearing any other voice save his, and that of the sea-gull, and of the baffled wave which beats for ever against our rock. Even my holiday time is spent among people who pass almost as lonely lives as I do. My friends dwell at a coast-guard station, far away from any town, and indeed from me, only they can see every night our lantern burning steadily out to sea, which my mother and sister says is a great comfort to them when father is from home. It is lonesome, you see, for them to know that there is no human being save themselves within miles of them, the next post being a long distance beyond the headland, whither often on the darkest nights, my father has to go feeling for the white chalk heaps that are laid down to mark the road betwixt the stations, the direction of which in old times, they say, the smugglers used to alter, so that the poor revenue men were guided over the precipice, into the arms of death below. Twelve years ago, a vessel was cast ashore, and went to pieces one wintry night at the cliff-foot, beneath our guard-house, and all the crew, save one, were thrown by the scornful sea upon the shore, dead men; save one ——." The sailor gave an involuntary look towards the thing that hung upon the high gaol-wall there, motionless, with its ghastly cowl drawn over it — "and that man was an Italian foreigner. My people took him in, and acted towards him as Christian people should do, and he was grateful, and stayed with us, making himself as useful as he could, for weeks, for months. When he had been our guest for near upon a year, the man who was then my mate in the light-house, died; and, mainly through my father's recommendation, the Italian was appointed to be my companion in his place. I was pleased that the poor fellow was thus provided for; but yet I had rather that he had been given any other post than that; not from any assignable cause, or of course this could have been prevented; but from a vague, uncomfortable feeling that I had always had in connection with him, such as I should not have dreamt of mentioning to his prejudice. I did not mention it, I am perfectly certain, even to my mother.

      "When I found myself in the narrow lighthouse, alone with this man upon the waste of waters, this antipathy increased. I could not meet him on the winding stairs, without a shudder; I loathed his company in that little sitting-room upon the lower story, which when my old mate was with me had seemed as comfortable a parlour as need to be; and when I was at work in the lantern, I was for ever thinking, what is he doing below there, and whereabouts shall I find him when I descend? I do not think that I was afraid of him, then. Time was, when I had not quailed from a death-struggle with a far more powerful man than he, and had come off victor; but still I did not fancy taking my rest in the snug little bed-chamber as of old, knowing that this man was awake, and watching, watching, all the night long.

      "Still, beyond being reserved and taciturn, and having this something repellant about him which I cannot explain, there was nothing evil to be said against the poor Italian foreigner, and I was ashamed of myself whenever I reasoned about the matter, for feeling as I did.

      "On the night of this day, twelve years ago, the sixteenth of August eighteen hundred and forty-one, my father was off-duty at home, and while he lay in his bed, combating with a certain idea, which shadowed his mind like a nightmare, my mother shook him in piteous terror.

      "'Husband,' cried she. 'Husband, I have had a fearsome dream, and it seems so like to truth that I am miserable. Wake, wake! I do believe our George is being murdered by the Italian man!'

      "'Great Heavens!' cried my father. 'Why I was awoke, just now, by that very dream, and cannot shake it off my mind, do what I will. But it must be only fancy; consider how full the poor fellow has always shown himself to be of gratitude to us all, and what could he get by the murder of our George?'

      "'George keeps all his savings in his room at the lighthouse,' returned my mother, sobbing. 'I cannot help —— Hark! did you hear that scream?'

      "Two or three shrieks rang through the house, as she spoke; and my sister Mary, with her hair dishevelled, and in her night-dress, rushed into the room.

      "'Oh, mother! father!' cried she. 'I cannot stay any longer by myself; I have dreamed a dream that haunts me whenever I shut my eyes. When I left my room, just now, to come to you, I thought the Italian was at my very heels, who seemed before, in my sleep, to be murdering Georgey. He has murdered brother George, I do believe.'

      "'You dreamt that?' exclaimed her parents.

      "'Yes,' said she. 'I dreamt that he cut my brother's throat in the lighthouse.'

      My father rose in haste, dressed himself, and started at once, in the moonlight for the fishing village over against the rock, which was my lonely dwelling-place. It was a good ten mile walk, and when he had been about two hours upon his way, and it was five o'clock, he met me coming homeward, with a distressed and unwonted look. Little did I understand why he wrung my hand, and welcomed me so heartily, without even asking how it was that I came to be upon the chalk-downlands, there, at such an hour, instead of at my post. I had a tale to tell to him, which I was, by that time, ashamed to relate; although I had started on the way expressly to do so.

      "'Father,' said I. 'I have done a foolish, cruel, cowardly thing.'

      "'George,' replied he. 'I forgive you, before you tell it to me. I am too glad to find you alive and well, for reproach; say on.'

      "'I have quarrelled, father, with the poor Italian foreigner, although he has not deserved it. I have given him fair warning that I will not be his mate in the lighthouse any longer.'

      "'Thank Heaven!' cried the old man.

      "'Nay,' said I, surprised enough, 'but it was a hard thing to do, since I had nothing whatever to justify it, except a dream.'

      "'A dream!' exclaimed my father, with a look of terror. 'What! Another dream? Did you dream he was going to murder you, lad?'

      "'Yes, father. I dreamt that dream two hours ago; and even now, in the broad day-light, I feel that I could not venture to sleep another night upon the rock, with that man only as my companion.'

      "'Heaven forbid you should,' responded my father, solemnly.

      "'I saw him,' continued I, 'as though with my open eyes, as I lay in my bed, with his hand kept back behind him, as though it were holding some weapon out of sight, and with Murder set upon his face, as plainly as though the word had been written there in blood. I was on my feet in a second, but yet not soon enough to prove that my dream was true. I thought I heard his agile step upon the iron stair. I thought I saw a shadow flit for an instant across the door of the lantern; but when I got up there, he was trimming the lamps so naturally, and met all my angry suspicions with such astonishment and coolness, that I am upon reflection fairly staggered, and don't know what to think. So certain was I at the time, however, of the warning which my dream seemed to convey, that I bade him seek some other employment elsewhere, for I would have him for my mate no longer. Then I signalled for a boat, and came on shore, intending to tell you all, and to consult upon what is best to be done in this strange business. But I am afraid you think me a fool.'

      "Then my father, upon his part, told me of those dreams at home, and of the reason of his being upon the way whereon I had met him. It seemed to us both that the neglect of four such wonderful coincidences — to say no more — would be far from right, but that at the same time we should not be justified in punishing upon such evidence one who might be, after all, as innocent of any evil as either of us. So I turned back to the village with my father, with the intention of putting off to the rock, and coming to some arrangement with the Italian, that should not deprive him of his bread.

      "A little after my departure, however, it appeared that he had himself signalled for a boat, and that, taking with him what little property he possessed, he had landed, and been seen to walk away northward, out of the town. None of us have ever set eyes upon this man from that eventful night. Whether he is innocent, or whether he is guilty, it is not in human power to tell. So certain, however, in my arrogance, did I feel of his evil mind, that when I read in the paper of their being about to hang an Italian foreigner at this place, for the murder of a man in his sleep, I came here at once to satisfy myself — in hope rather than in fear, I am ashamed to say, that this fourfold dream would be found to have had foundation. Pity for the soul of yon poor wretch, however, soon touched my heart, even before I saw him; and when I looked upon those awful lineaments, as he was lifted up on the scaffold, I thanked Heaven, from the bottom of my heart, that the man was a stranger, and that our dreams, wonderful as they were and are, still need unravelling."

      Here the story of the sailor ended; and presently he strode away to the railway station of the line which was to take him home. I have never seen him since, or heard any other reference to this tale; but the circumstances under which I heard it, with all their terrible realities of Vice and Death, are not more firmly fixed upon my memory than are the occurrences which he related as above: neither do they bear more distinctly, in my own mind, the impression of truth.