Idolatry: Chapter 11

Chapter 11

A DEAD WEIGHT.

Was it not well done? Tempted to covet imaginary wickedness, Helwyse
was ripe for real crime,--and who so worthy to suffer as the tempter?

He leaned panting against taffrail. His predominant feeling was that
he had been ensnared. His judgment had been drugged, and he had been
lured on to evil. An infamous conspiracy!

His breath regained, he stood upright and in a mechanical manner
arranged his disordered dress. His haversack was gone,--had been torn
from his shoulders and carried overboard. An awkward loss! for it
contained, among other things, valuable letters and papers given him
by his father; not to mention a note-book of his own, and Uncle
Glyphic's miniature. His dead enemy had carried off the proofs of his
murderer's identity!

Not till now did Helwyse become aware of an unusual tumult on the
steamer. Had they seen the deed?--He stood with set teeth, one hand on
the taffrail. Rather than be taken alive, he would leap over!

But it soon became evident that the nucleus of excitement was
elsewhere. The "Empire State" was at a stand-still. Captain and mates
were shouting to one another and at the sailors. By the flying light
of the lanterns Helwyse caught glimpses of the sails and tall masts of
a schooner. He began to comprehend what had happened.

"Thank God! that saves me," he said with a sense of relaxation. Then
he turned and peered fearfully into the black abyss beyond the stern.
Nothing there! nothing save the heavy breathing of remorseless waves.

The statistics of things God has been thanked for,--what piquant
instances would such a collection afford! Any unusual stir of emotion
seems to impel a reference to something higher than the world. Only a
bloodless calm appears to be secure from God's interference. It is
worthy of remark that this was the first time in Helwyse's career--at
least since his arrival at years of discretion--that he had thanked
God for anything. This was not owing to his being of a specially
ungrateful disposition, but to peculiar ideas upon the subject of a
Supreme Being. God, he believed, was no more than the highest phase of
man; and in any man of sufficient natural endowment, he saw a possible
God; just as every American citizen is a possible President! What is
of moment at present, however, is the fact that the young man's first
inconsistency of word with creed dates at the time his self-control
forsook him on board the midnight steamer.

In that thanksgiving prayer his passion passed away. After unnaturally
distending every sense and faculty, it suddenly ebbed, leaving the
consciousness of an irritating vacuum. Something must be done to fill
it. One drawback to crime seems to be its insufficiency to itself. It
creates a craving which needs must be fed. The demon returns,
demanding a fresh task; and he returns again forever!

Helwyse, therefore, plunged into the midst of the uproar consequent on
the collision, and tried to absorb the common excitement,--to identify
himself with other men; no longer to be apart from them and above
them. But he did not succeed. It seemed as though he would never feel
excitement or warmth in the blood again! His deed was a dead weight
that steadied him spite of his best efforts. His aim has hitherto
been, not to forget himself;--let him forget himself now if he can!

The uproar was over all too soon, and the steamer once more under way.

"No serious harm done, sir!--no harm done!" observed a spruce steward.

"No; no harm."

"By the way, sir,--thought I heard some one sing out aft just afore we
struck. You heard it, sir? Thought some fellow'd gone overboard, may
be!"

"I saw no one," answered Helwyse; nor had he. But he turned away,
fearing that the brisk steward might read prevarication in his face.
No, he had seen no one; but he had heard a plunge! He revolted from
the memory of it, but it would not be banished. Had there been a soul
in the body before it made that dive? even for a few minutes
afterwards? He would have given much to know! In theorizing about
crime, he had always maintained the motive to be all in all. But now,
though unable to controvert the logic of his assertion, he felt it
told less than the whole truth. He recognised a divine conservative
virtue in straws, and grasped at the smallest! Through the long
torture of self-questioning and indecision, let us not follow him.
Uncertainty is a ghastly element in such a matter.

He groped his way back to the taffrail. Why, he knew not; but there he
was at last. He might safely soliloquize now; there was no listener.
He might light a cigar and smoke; no one would see him. Yet, no; for,
on second thoughts, his cigars had gone with the haversack!

He bent over the slender iron railing. Where was--it now? Miles away
by this time, swinging, swaying down--down--down to the bottom of the
Sound! Slowly turning over as it sinks, its arms now thrown out, now
doubled underneath; the legs sprawling helplessly; the head wagging
loosely on the dead neck. Down--down, pitching slowly head forwards;
righting, and going down standing, the hair floating straight on end.
Down! O, would it never be done sinking--sinking--sinking? Was the sea
deep as Hell?

But when it reached the bottom, would it rest there? No, not even
there. It would drift uneasily about for a while on the dark sand, the
green gloom of the water above it. Every hour it would grow less and
less heavy; by and by it would begin slowly to rise--rise! Horrible it
looked now; not like itself, that had been horrible enough before.
Rising,--rising. O fearful thing! why come to tell dead men's tales
here? You are done with the world. What wants mankind with you?
Begone! sink, and rise no more! It will not sink; still it rises, and
the green gloom lightens as it slowly buoys upwards. The light rests
shrinkingly on it, revealing the dreadful features. The limbs are no
longer pliant, but stiff,--terribly stiff and unyielding. Still it
rises, nearer and nearer to the surface. See where the throat was
gripped! Up it comes at last in the morning sun, among the sparkling,
laughing, pure blue waves,--the swollen, dead thing!--dead in the
midst of the world's life, hideous amidst the world's beauty. It bobs
and floats, and will sink no more; would rise to heaven if it could!
No need for that. The tide takes it and creeps stealthily with it
towards the shore, and casts it, with shudder and recoil, upon the
beach. There it lies.

Such visions haunted Helwyse as he leaned over the taffrail. He had
not suspected, at starting, upon how long a voyage he was bound. How
many hours might it be since he and the cook had so merrily dined
together? Was such a contrast possible? Surely no more monstrous
delusion than this of Time ever imposed upon mankind! For months and
years he jogs on with us, a dull and sober-paced pedestrian. Then
comes a sudden eternity! But Time thrusts a clock in our faces, and
shows us that the hands have marked a minute only. Shall we put faith
in him?

Helwyse suffered from a vivid imagination. He went not to his room
that night. He kept the deck, and tried to talk with the men,
following them about and asking aimless questions, until they began to
give him short answers. Where were his pride and his serene
superiority to the friendship or enmity of his race? where his
philosophic self-criticism and fanciful badinage? his resolute,
conquering eyes? his bearing of graceful, careless authority? Had all
these attributes been packed in his haversack, and cast with that upon
the waters? and would they, no more than he to whose care they had
been intrusted, ever return?

With each new hour, morning seemed farther off. In his objectless
wanderings, Helwyse came to the well of the engine-room and hung over
it, gazing at the bright, swift-sliding machinery, studying the parts,
tracing the subtle transmission of force from piece to piece. Here at
last was companionship for him! The engine was a beautiful
combination,--so polished, effective, and logical; like the minds of
some philosophers, moving with superhuman regularity and power, but
lifeless!

Helwyse watched it long, till finally its monotony wearied him. It was
doing admirable work, but it never swerved from its course at the call
of sentiment or emotion. Its travesty of life was repulsive. Machinery
is the most admirable invention of man, but is modelled after no
heavenly prototype, and will have no part in the millennium. It seems
to annul space and time, yet gives us no taste of eternity. Man lives
quicker by it, but not more. With another kind of weapon must the true
victory over matter be achieved!

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