of public sentiment, and the fear of legal process—yet, on the whole, the only satisfaction, for a wrong of this revolting and peculiar character. The insecurity of tombs is sufficiently apparent. An empty tomb may be attached by creditors; but, by statute of Mass., 1822, chap. 93, sec. 8, it cannot be, while in use, as a cemetery. But no law, of man or nature, can prevent the disgusting effects, and mortifying casualties, and misconstructions of power, which have arisen, and will forever continue to arise, from the miserable practice of burying the dead, in tombs.
No. XV.
There is, doubtless, something not altogether agreeable, in the thought of being buried alive. Testamentary injunctions are not uncommon, for the prevention of such a calamity. As far, as my long experience goes, the percentage is exceedingly small. About twenty-five years ago, some old woman was certain, that a person, lately buried, was not exactly dead. She gave utterance to this certainty—there was no evidence, and ample room therefore for faith. The defunct had a little property—it was a clear case, of course—his relatives had buried him alive, to get possession! A mob gathered, in King’s Chapel yard; and, to appease their righteous indignation, the grave was opened, the body exposed, doctors examined, and the mob was respectfully assured, that the man was dead—dead as a door nail. A proposition to bury the old woman, in revenge, was rejected immediately. But she did not give up the point—they never do. She admitted, that the party was dead, but persisted, that his death was caused, by being buried alive.
Some are, doubtless, still living, who remember the affair in the Granary yard. Groans had been heard there, at night. Some person had been buried alive, beyond all doubt. A committee was appointed to visit the spot. Upon drawing near, subdued laughter and the sounds of vulgar merriment arose, from one of the tombs—a light was seen glimmering from below—the strong odor, not of corruption, but of mutton chops, filled the air. Some vagabonds had cleared the tomb, and taken possession, and, with broken coffins for fuel, had found an appetite, among the dead. The occupation of tombs, by the outcasts of society, was common, long before the Christian era.
That the living have been buried, unintentionally, now and then, is undoubtedly true. Such has probably been the case, sometimes, under catalepsy or trance, the common duration of which is from a few hours, to two or three days; but of which Bonet, Medic., Septentrion, lib. 1, sec. 16, chap. 6, gives an example, which lasted twenty days. Bodies have been found, says Millingen, in his Curiosities of Medical Experience, page 63, where the miserable victims have devoured the flesh of their arms; and he cites John Scott and the Emperor Zeno, as examples. Plato recites the case of a warrior, who was left ten days, as dead, upon the field of battle, and came to life, on his way to the sepulchre. In Chalmers’ Memoir of the Abbe Prevôt, it is related, that he was found, by a peasant, having fallen in an apoplectic fit. The body was cold, and carried to a surgeon, who proceeded to open it. During the process, the Abbe revived, only, however, to die of the wound, inflicted by the operator.
The danger of burying alive has been noticed by Pineau, Sur le danger des Inhumations precipitées, Paris, 1776. Dr. John Mason Good, vol. 4, page 613, remarks, that catalepsy has been mistaken for real death; and, in countries where burial takes place speedily, it is much to be feared, that, in a few instances, the patient has been buried alive. A case of asphyxy, of a singular kind, is stated, by Mr. Pew, and recited by Dr. Good, of a female, whose interment was postponed, for a post mortem examination—most fortunately—for the first touch of the scalpel brought her to life. Diemerbroeck, Tractat de Peste, Lib. 4, Hist. 8, relates the case of a rustic, who was laid out for interment. Three days passed before the funeral. He was supposed to have died of the plague. When in the act of being buried, he showed signs of life, recovered, and lived many years. Dr. Good observes, that a critical examination of the region of the heart, and a clear mirror, applied to the mouth and nostrils, will commonly settle the question of life or death; but that even these signs will sometimes fail. What then shall be done? Matthæus Hildanus and others, who give many stories of this kind, say—wait for the infallible signs of putrefaction. It may be absurd to wait too long; it is indecorous to inhume too soon.
The case, recited by Mr. Pew, reminds me of Pliny’s account of persons who came to life, on the funeral pile. “Aviola in rogo revixit: et, quoniam subveniri non potuerat, prævalente flamma, vivus crematus est. Similis causa in L. Lamia, prætorio viro, traditur.”—Lib. 7, sec. 53.
Old Grossman’s stories, in this connection, were curious enough. He gave a remarkable account of a good old deacon, who had a scolding wife. She fell sick and died, as was supposed, and was put in her coffin, and screwed down, and lifted. Everything, as Grossman said, went on very pleasantly, till they began to descend into the tomb, when the sexton, at the foot, slipped, and the coffin went by the run, and struck violently against the wall of the tomb. One instant of awful silence was followed, by a shrill shriek from the corpse—“Let me out—let me out!” The poor old deacon wrung his hands, and looked, as Grossman expressed it, “real melancholy.” The lid was unscrewed, as soon as possible, and the lady, less in sorrow, than in anger, insisted on immediate emancipation. All attempts to persuade her to be still, and go home as she came, for the decency of the thing, were unavailing. The top of the coffin was removed. The deacon offered to help her out. She refused his proffered hand; and, doubling her fist in his face, told him he was a monster, and should pay for it, and insisted on walking back, in her death clothes. About six months after, she died, in good earnest. “The poor deacon,” said Grossman, “called us into a private room, and reminding us of the sad turn things took, last time, begged us to be careful; and told us, if all things went right, he would treat us at his store, the next day. He retailed spirit, as all the deacons did, being the very persons, pointed at, by the finger of the law, as men of sober lives and conversations.”
Grossman told another story. We could scarcely credit it. He offered to swear to it; but we begged he wouldn’t. It was of a woman, who was a cider sot. Her husband had tried all sorts of preventive experiments, in vain. His patience was exhausted. He tapped a barrel, and let her drink her fill. She and the barrel gave out together. She was buried. The coldness of the tomb brought her to life. She felt around the narrow domicil, in which she lay. Her consciousness, that she was in her coffin, and that she had been buried, was clear enough; but her other impressions were rather cloudy. It never occurred to her, that she had been buried alive. She imagined herself, in another world, and, knocking, as hard as possible, against the lid and sides of her coffin, she exclaimed, “Good people of the upper world, if ye have got any good cider, do let us have a mug of it.” Luckily, the mouth of the tomb had not been closed, and, when the sexton came to close it, he was scandalized, of course, to hear a thirsty corpse, crying for cider; but the woman was soon relieved from her predicament. The Mandans, whose custom of never burying their dead, I have alluded to, may possibly be influenced, by a consideration of this very contingency. In some places, bodies have been placed in a lighted room, near the charnel house, there to remain, till the signs of corruption could no longer be mistaken. The tops of the coffins being loose; and a bell so connected with the body, as to ring on the slightest movement.
No. XVI.
My profession is very dear to me; and nothing would gratify me more, than to see my brother artists restored to their original dignity. It is quite common to look upon a sexton, as a mere grave-digger, and upon his calling, as a cold, underground employment, divested of everything like sentiment or solemnity.
In the olden time, the sexton bore the title of sacristan. He had charge of the sacristy, or vestry, and all the sacred vessels and vestments of the church. At funerals, his office corresponded with
