to his own phrase.
It was a solitary place. The river here was dark and sleeping; it was a fitting scene for the enactment of the baby tragedy. The air was sultry, as if a storm were brewing, clouds were lowering, and the heat was intense. There was "no cold" to keep out, and Joel's feet were perfectly dry, but so was his throat; and Edwards, his kindly brother-in-law, had placed a flask of brandy in the basket, saying he might like "a little in water by-and-by." Joel was very thirsty and he drank a vast deal of water out of a horn cup, pouring in just enough spirit to take the "chill off," which in his heated condition, was not safe or pleasant.
"I'll not forget my promise to my dear little Patty," said Joel to himself, as he sipped. "Not one drop of brandy alone will I touch. Ah, bless me! how her precious heart would ache if she were to hear this tale of the wicked lord and those dear innocents? She'd most think she could see their pretty upturned faces in the water. I wonder, now, if there's any truth in such a queer story." And Joel fell into a reverie as he wondered; and, sitting down on the bank, he fell asleep, and dreamt that instead of hooking a fine heavy fish he had pulled out a baby girl! Great was his horror, and he awoke with a start, to find that darkness was rapidly gathering round him, while a few pattering drops now and then betokened the approach of a storm, as the grumbling thunder faintly died away in the distance. One draught to fortify himself, and Joel commenced his homeward route – a rather difficult undertaking, seeing that he was a stranger, and obliged to diverge frequently from the immediate proximity of the river, which, however, was a sure guide, as it flowed past "The Swan's" very door. But rivers are stray, winding things; and after an hour's hard toiling over uneven paths, moving slowly and carefully, for caution was extremely necessary on the river's bank, poor little Joel Jerdan became thoroughly nervous and exhausted, as the rain pelted down and the thunder burst over head. Wet through in a trice, he had recourse to his brandy-flask. "Even Patty would recommend it now," said he; and his thoughts reverted to his snug little room behind the shop, where, beside a comfortable fire, he was wont to enjoy a frugal supper with his beloved helpmate. Now, here he was, wandering and houseless, uncertain of the way, wet through, and no sight or sound of human kind to greet his longing eyes or ears. No. He only heard the rushing of waters, the wailing of winds, and those strange, mysterious noises which issue from desolate woods by night. It was enough to appall a stouter heart than Joel Jerdan's; no wonder he had recourse to the brandy-flask!
"Catch me a-going a-fishing in a strange place again!" murmured he to himself; "only catch me at it, that's all!"
An impression that he was trespassing on haunted ground, and that, at the same time, his basket became heavier and heavier, oppressed Joel Jerdan with a sensation almost approaching to suffocation; and he ejaculated aloud, as if to increase his courage – talking at himself to himself – "Who says that Joel is tipsy? Who dares to say so is – is – a reprobate. Who dares to say that Joel Jerdan carries a basket full of dead babies instead of fish?" But just as the reeling piscator came to this portion of his argument, a light appeared but a short distance off, and, as he made toward it, a low, dull sound, as of monotonous knocking, fell on his ear, notwithstanding his perceptions were not particularly acute.
Joel staggered onward until he reached a building from whence the sounds appeared to proceed; and, creeping slowly toward an aperture, peeped in with a remarkably sagacious expression of countenance, no doubt, had the darkness permitted it to be visible. What he beheld there caused him to start backward so suddenly that, coming in contact with a felled tree, whose bared trunk was stretched along the ground, he fell violently on his face, the blood spurting from his nose, and a cry escaping at the same moment from the hapless intruder. Joel Jerdan had seen three spectral-looking men working at a coffin, engaged in finishing the dismal receptacle with all their might, as if it was wanted in a hurry. When he recovered from temporary stupor occasioned by his fall, the scared little man in vain essayed to speak or move; for his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and his legs were powerless to sustain his own slight weight. Once, indeed, he thickly muttered, "Brandy, more brandy!" but immediately sank back helpless and hopeless, for he heard a voice say, "We'll put him in when it is finished; it is just done. We're in good time, and it'll be the safest place for the drunken rascal." Poor Joel Jerdan! to be put in a coffin alive at the suggestion of one whom he considered an evil spirit!
He heard another one say, "Halloo! let's have a look into his basket! Ho, ho, they are fine plump ones. Put them in with him, and let's be off at once."
Off at once! Where? thought the terrified and miserable man – where are they off to? To the "bottomless pit" of Ellendeen, said Conscience, and for stealing the dread secrets of the haunted pool, in the shape of the long sought-for Ellendeen babies! As to the brandy-drinking, that was nothing – ghostly beings never interfered with such terrestrial matters! The knocking discontinued, a tramping of feet was heard, a bustle as of preparation, and Joel felt himself lifted up and laid in what he felt by instinct to be – a coffin! Oh, it was most horrible! and, with a violent effort, he jerked aside the lid which was placed lightly over him, half raising himself as he did so.
"If he turns restive," said an authoritative, stern voice, "we must secure him better, or he'll be in the water before his time comes, and make food for the fishes instead of sport for Beelzebub."
So they were conveying him to his nameless majesty, dead babies and all, perhaps mistaking him for the wicked defunct Lord of Ellendeen himself! Oh, as to his fishing in the still, deep pools, what had it done for him? whither had it led him? Joel retained sense to be aware that his impotent struggles only rendered things worse; for he was in powerful hands, and they tossed him about like a feather. Could his dear wife behold her husband in a coffin, what would her feelings be? And as Joel thought of this, his tears began to flow copiously. He sobbed and wailed like an infant, whining, and in a sickly maudlin tone; but it had a lulling effect, and he fell off into a sleep just as he was conscious of being lifted into a boat, and, amid gleaming torches, rowed rapidly from land, but whether "up" or "down" stream he could not tell. But of course they are taking me to the "bottomless pit," and there they will cast me in with my unhallowed load, he thought.
Could it be the brandy that made Joel Jerdan confound the fish he had caught with the Ellendeen heiresses, who had slumbered beneath the wave for upward of a century? With a stifled cry for pardon on his lips, insensibility succeeded; and when Joel awoke next day at noon, in his own cosy bed at "The Swan," with the sun's bright beams streaming in through the chinks of closely-drawn curtains, he shuddered at the remembrance of his horrible adventure, much wondering how he came there, and also how he had come by a bandaged cheek, from which the blood was still streaming, and a head which throbbed to agony at every breath he drew.
"What a terrific vision!" he exclaimed feebly, but aloud. "Demons rowing me in a coffin to the bottomless pool of Ellendeen! Joel Jerdan! Joel Jerdan! it is a warning to prepare for thy latter end!"
"Nay, nay, brother Joel!" exclaimed the cheerful voice of his brother-in-law; "it isn't a death-warning, but only a gentle hint not to attack the brandy-flask too often; your head is none of the strongest, and won't bear it. However, be comforted, for you have brought back four as fine fish as have been caught hereabouts for long and many a day, though both they and you came to Wood End in rayther a queer sort, it must be owned – all packed up in a coffin together."
"Brother Edwards," murmured Joel, solemnly, "they were not fish; they were the babes of Ellendeen!"
"Poor fellow, so he is wandering again! There must be another blister on!" exclaimed Mr. Edwards, compassionately. And by the time another blister was put on, and more drugs had been administered, Joel's fever was so far reduced that he was able to collect his thoughts and attempt a description of the prodigious scenes he had gone through. "Why, that was old Matthew Filkins and his two big sons whom you took for demons," shouted Mr. Edwards, as he listened attentively to Joel's account of his midnight adventures. "Mat is a teetotaller, and thinks nothing of parceling a man to Beelzebub if he gets drunk; and between ourselves, brother Joel, I do not think that Matthew is far wrong, for
