During the fall of the year 1827, while residing near
Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr
Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every
respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I
found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his
physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory
account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his
age--although I call him a young gentleman--there was something
which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed
young--and he made a point of speaking about his youth--yet there
were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining
him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more
peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall
and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and
emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was
absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his
teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever
before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile,
however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed: but it
had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy--of
a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large,
and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any
accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or
dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In
moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost
inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected
but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet
their ordinary condition was to totally vapid, filmy, and dull,
as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.
These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much
annoyance, and he was continually alluding to them in a sort of
half explanatory, half apologetic strain, which, when I first
heard it, impressed me very painfully. I soon, however, grew
accustomed to it, and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be
his design rather to insinuate than directly to assert that,
physically, he had not always been what he was--that a long
series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition of
more than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many
years past he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton--
an old gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age--whom he had first
encountered at Saratoga, and from whose attention, while there,
he either received, or fancied that he received, great benefit.
The result was that Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an
arrangement with Dr Templeton, by which the latter, in
consideration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to
devote his time and medical experience exclusively to the care of
the invalid.
Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days,
and at Paris had become a convert, in great measure, to the
doctrine of Mesmer. It was altogether by means of magnetic
remedies that he had succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of
his patient; and this success had very naturally inspired the
latter with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions from
which the remedies had been educed. The doctor, however, like
all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert of
his pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the
sufferer to submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent
repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late days has
become so common as to attract little or no attention, but which,
at the period of which I write, had very rarely been known in
America. I mean to say, that between Dr Templeton and Bedloe
there had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and
strongly-marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am not prepared
to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond the limits
of the simple sleep-producing power; but this power itself had
attained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the
magnetic somnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth
or sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long-continued
effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph complete. After
this the will of the patient succumbed rapidly to that of the
physician, so that, when I first became acquainted with the two,
sleep was brought about almost instantaneously by the mere
volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unaware of
his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar
miracles are witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to
record this apparent impossibility as a matter of serious fact.
The temperature of Bedloe was in the highest degree
sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was
singularly vigorous and creative; and no doubt it derived
additional force from the habitual use of morphine, which he
swallowed in great quantity, and without which he would have
found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to take a very
large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning,--or,
rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate
nothing in the forenoon,--and then set forth alone, or attended
only by a dog, upon a long ramble among the chain of wild and
dreary hills that lie westward and southward of Charlottesville,
and are there dignified by the title of the Ragged Mountains.
Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November,
and during the strange interregnum of the seasons which in
America is termed the Indian summer, Mr Bedloe departed as usual
for the hills. The day passed, and still he did not return.
About eight o'clock at night, having become seriously
alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about setting out in
search of him, when he unexpectedly made his appearance, in
health no worse than usual, and in rather more than ordinary
spirits. The account which he gave of his expedition, and of the
events which had detained him, was a singular one indeed.
'You will remember,' said he, 'that it was about nine in the
morning when I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately
to the mountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was
entirely new to me. I followed the windings of this pass with
much interest. The scenery which presented itself on all sides,
although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had about it an
indescribable and to me a delicious aspect of dreary desolation.
The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could not help
believing that the green sods and the grey rocks upon which I
trod had been trodden never before by the foot of a human being.
So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a
series of accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by
no means impossible that I was the first adventurer--the very
first and sole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.
'The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes
the Indian summer, and which now hung heavily over all objects,
served, no doubt, to deepen the vague impressions which these
objects created. So dense was this pleasant fog that I could at
no time see more than a dozen yards of the path before me. This
path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun could not be seen, I
soon lost all idea of the direction in which I journeyed. In the
meantime the morphine had its customary effect--that of enduing
all the external world with an intensity of interest. In the
quivering of a leaf--in the hue of a blade of grass--in the shape
of a trefoil--in the humming of a bee--in the gleaming of a dew-
drop--in the breathing of the wind--in the faint odours that came
from the forest--there came a whole universe of suggestion--a gay
and motley train of rhapsodical and immethodical thought.
'Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which
the mist deepened around me to so great an extent that at length
I was reduced to an absolute groping of the way. And now an
indescribable uneasiness possessed me--a species of nervous
hesitation and tremor. I feared to tread, lest I should be
precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange stories
told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth and fierce
races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousand
vague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me--fancies the more
distressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was
arrested by the loud beating of a drum.
'My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these
hills was a thing unknown. I could not have been more surprised
at the sound of the trump of the Archangel. But a new and still
more astounding source of interest and perplexity arose. There
came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of a bunch of large
keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged and half-naked man
rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to my person that
I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand an
instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook
them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the
mist, before, panting after him, with open mouth and glaring
eyes, there darted a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its
character. It was a hyena.
'The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened
my terrors--for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavoured
to arouse myself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and
briskly forward. I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched
my limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my view,
and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my head and neck. This
seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensations which had hitherto
annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, and proceeded
steadily and complacently on my unknown way.
'At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain
oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a
tree. Presently there came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the
shadow of the leaves of the tree fell faintly but definitely upon
the grass. At this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes.
Its character stupefied me with astonishment. I looked upward.
The tree was a palm.
'I now rose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation--
for the fancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw--I
felt that I had perfect command of my senses--and these senses
now brought to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation.
The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange odour loaded
the breeze. A low, continuous murmur, like that arising from a
full, but gently flowing river, came to my ears, intermingled
with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices.
'While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I
need not attempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind
bore off the incumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter.
'I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking
down into a vast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On
the margin of this river stood an Eastern-looking city, such as
we read of in the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more
singular than any there described. From my position, which was
far above the level of the town, I could perceive its every nook
and corner, as if delineated on a map. The streets seemed
innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly in all
directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, and
absolutely swarmed with inhabitants. The houses were wildly
picturesque. On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of
verandas, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically carved
oriels. Bazaars abounded; and there were displayed rich wares in
infinite variety and profusion--silks, muslins, the most dazzling
cutlery, the most magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these
things, were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters
with stately dames close-veiled, elephants gorgeously
caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners, and gongs,
spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid the crowd, and the
clamour, and the general intricacy and confusion--amid the
million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of
flowing beard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy
filleted bulls, while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape
clambered, chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the
mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From the swarming
streets to the banks of the river, there descended innumerable
flights of steps leading to bathing places, while the river
itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through the vast
fleets of deeply burdened ships that far and wide encountered its
surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent
majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and
weird trees of vast age; and here and there might be seen a field
of rice, the thatched hut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a
gipsy camp, or a solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a
pitcher upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river.
'You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so.
What I saw--what I heard--what I felt--what I thought--had about
it nothing of the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All
was rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was
really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which soon
convinced me that I really was. Now when one dreams, and, in the
dream, suspects that he dreams, the suspicion never fails to
confirm itself, and the sleeper is almost immediately aroused.
Thus Novalis errs not in saying that "we are near waking when we
dream that we dream". Had the vision occurred to me as I
describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it
might absolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and
suspected and tested as it was, I am forced to class it among
other phenomena.'
'In this I am not sure that you are wrong,' observed Dr
Templeton, 'but proceed. You arose and descended into the city.'
'I arose,' continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an
air of profound astonishment, 'I arose as you say, and descended
into the city. On my way I fell in with an immense populace,
crowding through every avenue, all in the same direction, and
exhibiting in every action the wildest excitement. Very
suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely
imbued with personal interest in what was going on. I seemed to
feel that I had an important part to play, without exactly
understanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me,
however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank
from amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached and
entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult and
contention. A small party of men, clad in garments half Indian,
half European, and officered by gentlemen in a uniform partly
British, were engaged, at great odds, with the swarming rabble of
the allies. I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the
weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom with
the nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by
numbers, and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here
we barricaded ourselves, and, for the present, were secure. From
a loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived a vast
crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and assaulting a gay
palace that overhung the river. Presently, from an upper window
of this palace, there descended an effeminate-looking person, by
means of a string made of the turbans of his attendants. A boat
was at hand in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the
river.
'And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a
few hurried but energetic words to my companions, and, having
succeeded in gaining over a few of them to my purpose, made a
frantic sally from the kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that
surrounded it. They retreated, at first, before us. They
rallied, fought madly, and retreated again. In the meantime we
were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and
entangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses,
into the recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine.
The rabble pressed impetuously upon us, harassing us with their
spears, and overwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter
were very remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing
creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the body of a
creeping serpent, and were long and black, with a poisoned barb.
One of them struck me upon the right temple. I reeled and fell.
An instantaneous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled--I
gasped--I died.'
'You will hardly persist now,' said I, smiling, 'that the
whole of your adventure was not a dream. You are not prepared to
maintain that you are dead?"
When I said these words, I of course expected some lively
sally from Bedloe in reply; but, to my astonishment, he
hesitated, trembled, became fearfully pallid, and remained
silent. I looked towards Templeton. He was erect and rigid in
his chair--his teeth chattered, and his eyes were staring from
their sockets. 'Proceed!' he at length said hoarsely to Bedloe.
'For many minutes,' continued the latter, 'my sole
sentiment--my sole feeling--was that of darkness and nonentity,
with the consciousness of death. At length there seemed to pass
a violent and sudden shock through my soul, as if of electricity.
With it came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter I
felt--not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from the ground.
But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpable presence.
The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city was in
comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in
my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But
all these things I felt--not saw. I took interest in nothing.
Even the corpse seemed a matter in which I had no concern.
Volition I had none, but appeared to be impelled into motion, and
flitted buoyantly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path
by which I had entered it. When I had attained that point of the
ravine in the mountains at which I had encountered the hyena, I
again experienced a shock as of a galvanic battery; the sense of
weight, of volition, of substance, returned. I became my
original self, and bent my step eagerly homeward--but the past
had not lost the vividness of the real--and not now, even for an
instant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream.'
'Nor was it,' said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity,
'yet it would be difficult to say how otherwise it should be
termed. Let us suppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day
is upon the verge of some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us
content ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have
some explanation to make. Here is a water-colour drawing, which
I should have shown you before, but which an accountable
sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me from showing.'
We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing
in it of an extraordinary character; but its effect upon Bedloe
was prodigious. He nearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was
but a miniature portrait--a miraculously accurate one, to be
sure--of his own very remarkable features. At least this was my
thought as I regarded it.
'You will perceive', said Templeton, 'the date of this
picture--it is here, scarcely visible, in this corner--1780. In
this year was the portrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead
friend--a Mr Oldeb--to whom I became much attached at Calcutta,
during the administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only
twenty years old. When I first saw you, Mr Bedloe, at Saratoga,
it was the miraculous similarity which existed between yourself
and the painting which induced me to accost you, to seek your
friendship, and to bring about those arrangements which resulted
in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing this
point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a
regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an
uneasy, and not altogether horrorless curiosity respecting
yourself.
'In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you
amid the hills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy,
the Indian city of Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the
combat, the massacre, were the actual events of the insurrection
of Cheyte Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was put
in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping by the string of
turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The party in the kiosk were
sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Of this party I
was one, and did all I could do to prevent the rash and fatal
sally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the
poisoned arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest
friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these manuscripts'
(here the speaker produced a note-book in which several pages
appeared to have been freshly written), 'that at the very period
in which you fancied these things amid the hills I was engaged in
detailing them upon paper here at home.'
In about a week after this conversation, the following
paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper:
We have the painful duty of announcing the death of Mr
AUGUSTUS BEDLO, a gentleman whose amiable manners and many
virtues have long endeared him to the citizens of
Charlottesville.
Mr B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia,
which has often threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be
regarded only as the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate
cause was one of especial singularity. In an excursion to the
Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and fever were
contracted, attended with great determination of blood to the
head. To relieve this, Dr Templeton resorted to topical
bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. In a fearfully
brief period the patient died, when it appeared that, in the jar
containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one of
the venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in
the neighbouring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a
small artery in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the
medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked until too
late.
N.B.-- The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always
be distinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and
especially by its writhing or vermicular motions, which very
nearly resemble those of a snake.
I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question,
upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to
me to ak how it happened that the name of the deceased had been
given as Bedlo.
'I presume,' said I, 'you have authority for this spelling,
but I have always supposed the name to be written with an e at
the end.'
'Authority?--no,' he replied. 'It is a mere typographical
error. The name is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I
never knew it to be spelt otherwise in my life.'
'Then,' said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, 'then
indeed has it come to pass that one truth is stranger than any
fiction--for Bedlo, without the e, what is it but Oldeb
conversed? And this man tells me it is a typographical error.'
