The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3

A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS

DURING the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville,Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. Thisyoung gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me aprofound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehendhim either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I couldobtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained.Even about his age--although I call him a young gentleman--there wassomething which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemedyoung--and he made a point of speaking about his youth--yet there weremoments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundredyears of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personalappearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbswere exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. Hiscomplexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible,and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had everbefore seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile,however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed; but it hadno variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy--of a phaselessand unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round likethose of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution oflight, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed inthe feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to adegree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of areflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yettheir ordinary condition was so totally vapid, filmy, and dull as toconvey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.

These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him much annoyance, andhe was continually alluding to them in a sort of half explanatory,half apologetic strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me verypainfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it, and my uneasinesswore off. It seemed to be his design rather to insinuate than directlyto assert that, physically, he had not always been what he was--thata long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him from a condition ofmore than usual personal beauty, to that which I saw. For many yearspast he had been attended by a physician, named Templeton--an oldgentleman, perhaps seventy years of age--whom he had first encounteredat 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, bywhich the latter, in consideration of a liberal annual allowance, hadconsented to devote his time and medical experience exclusively to thecare of the invalid.

Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his younger days, and at Parishad become a convert, in great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. Itwas altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had succeeded inalleviating the acute pains of his patient; and this success had verynaturally inspired the latter with a certain degree of confidence in theopinions from which the remedies had been educed. The Doctor, however,like all enthusiasts, had struggled hard to make a thorough convert ofhis pupil, and finally so far gained his point as to induce the suffererto submit to numerous experiments. By a frequent repetition of these, aresult had arisen, which of late days has become so common as to attractlittle or no attention, but which, at the period of which I write, hadvery rarely been known in America. I mean to say, that between DoctorTempleton and Bedloe there had grown up, little by little, a verydistinct and strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am notprepared to assert, however, that this rapport extended beyond thelimits of the simple sleep-producing power, but this power itself hadattained great intensity. At the first attempt to induce the magneticsomnolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or sixth hesucceeded very partially, and after long continued effort. Only at thetwelfth was the triumph complete. After this the will of the patientsuccumbed rapidly to that of the physician, so that, when I first becameacquainted with the two, sleep was brought about almost instantaneouslyby the mere volition of the operator, even when the invalid was unawareof his presence. It is only now, in the year 1845, when similar miraclesare witnessed daily by thousands, that I dare venture to record thisapparent impossibility as a matter of serious fact.

The temperature of Bedloe was, in the highest degree sensitive,excitable, enthusiastic. His imagination was singularly vigorous andcreative; and no doubt it derived additional force from the habitual useof morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity, and without which hewould have found it impossible to exist. It was his practice to takea very large dose of it immediately after breakfast each morning--or,rather, immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he ate nothing inthe forenoon--and then set forth alone, or attended only by a dog, upona long ramble among the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westwardand southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified by the titleof the Ragged Mountains.

Upon a dim, warm, misty day, toward the close of November, and duringthe strange interregnum of the seasons which in America is termed theIndian Summer, Mr. Bedloe departed as usual for the hills. The daypassed, and still he did not return.

About eight o’clock at night, having become seriously alarmed at hisprotracted absence, we were about setting out in search of him, when heunexpectedly made his appearance, in health no worse than usual, andin rather more than ordinary spirits. The account which he gave of hisexpedition, and of the events which had detained him, was a singular oneindeed.

“You will remember,” said he, “that it was about nine in the morningwhen I left Charlottesville. I bent my steps immediately to themountains, and, about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new tome. I followed the windings of this pass with much interest. The scenerywhich presented itself on all sides, although scarcely entitled to becalled grand, had about it an indescribable and to me a delicious aspectof dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely virgin. I could nothelp believing that the green sods and the gray rocks upon which I trodhad been trodden never before by the foot of a human being. Soentirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except through a seriesof accidents, is the entrance of the ravine, that it is by no meansimpossible that I was indeed the first adventurer--the very first andsole adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.

“The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which distinguishes the IndianSummer, and which now hung heavily over all objects, served, no doubt,to deepen the vague impressions which these objects created. So densewas this pleasant fog that I could at no time see more than a dozenyards of the path before me. This path was excessively sinuous, andas the sun could not be seen, I soon lost all idea of the directionin which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine had its customaryeffect--that of enduing all the external world with an intensity ofinterest. In the quivering of a leaf--in the hue of a blade of grass--inthe shape of a trefoil--in the humming of a bee--in the gleaming of adew-drop--in the breathing of the wind--in the faint odors that camefrom the forest--there came a whole universe of suggestion--a gay andmotley train of rhapsodical and immethodical thought.

“Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, during which the mistdeepened around me to so great an extent that at length I was reducedto an absolute groping of the way. And now an indescribable uneasinesspossessed me--a species of nervous hesitation and tremor. I feared totread, lest I should be precipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too,strange stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the uncouth andfierce races of men who tenanted their groves and caverns. A thousandvague fancies oppressed and disconcerted me--fancies the moredistressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention was arrested bythe loud beating of a drum.

“My amazement was, of course, extreme. A drum in these hills was a thingunknown. I could not have been more surprised at the sound of the trumpof the Archangel. But a new and still more astounding source of interestand perplexity arose. There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, asif of a bunch of large keys, and upon the instant a dusky-visaged andhalf-naked man rushed past me with a shriek. He came so close to myperson that I felt his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one handan instrument composed of an assemblage of steel rings, and shook themvigorously as he ran. Scarcely had he disappeared in the mist before,panting after him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted a hugebeast. I could not be mistaken in its character. It was a hyena.

“The sight of this monster rather relieved than heightened myterrors--for I now made sure that I dreamed, and endeavored to arousemyself to waking consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward.I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my limbs. A small spring ofwater presented itself to my view, and here, stooping, I bathed my handsand my head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal sensationswhich had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as I thought, a new man, andproceeded steadily and complacently on my unknown way.

“At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a certain oppressivecloseness of the atmosphere, I seated myself beneath a tree. Presentlythere came a feeble gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves ofthe tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At this shadowI gazed wonderingly for many minutes. Its character stupefied me withastonishment. I looked upward. The tree was a palm.

“I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful agitation--for thefancy that I dreamed would serve me no longer. I saw--I felt that I hadperfect command of my senses--and these senses now brought to my soula world of novel and singular sensation. The heat became all at onceintolerable. A strange odor loaded the breeze. A low, continuous murmur,like that arising from a full, but gently flowing river, came to myears, intermingled with the peculiar hum of multitudinous human voices.

“While I listened in an extremity of astonishment which I need notattempt to describe, a strong and brief gust of wind bore off theincumbent fog as if by the wand of an enchanter.

“I found myself at the foot of a high mountain, and looking down into avast plain, through which wound a majestic river. On the margin of thisriver stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in the ArabianTales, but of a character even more singular than any there described.From my position, which was far above the level of the town, I couldperceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on a map. Thestreets seemed innumerable, and crossed each other irregularly inall directions, but were rather long winding alleys than streets, andabsolutely 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; andin these were displayed rich wares in infinite variety andprofusion--silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the mostmagnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things, were seen, on allsides, 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 thecrowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy and confusion--amidthe million of black and yellow men, turbaned and robed, and of flowingbeard, there roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls, whilevast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered, chattering andshrieking, about the cornices of the mosques, or clung to the minaretsand oriels. From the swarming streets to the banks of the river, theredescended innumerable flights of steps leading to bathing places, whilethe river itself seemed to force a passage with difficulty through thevast fleets of deeply-burthened ships that far and wide encounteredits surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent majesticgroups, the palm and the cocoa, with other gigantic and weird trees ofvast age, and here and there might be seen a field of rice, the thatchedhut of a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a solitarygraceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher upon her head, to thebanks of the magnificent river.

“You will say now, of course, that I dreamed; but not so. What Isaw--what I heard--what I felt--what I thought--had about it nothingof the unmistakable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was rigorouslyself-consistent. At first, doubting that I was really awake, I enteredinto a series of tests, which soon convinced me that I really was.Now, when one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams, thesuspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper is almostimmediately aroused. Thus Novalis errs not in saying that ‘we are nearwaking when we dream that we dream.’ Had the vision occurred to me as Idescribe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then a dream it mightabsolutely have been, but, occurring as it did, and suspected and testedas it was, I am forced to class it among other phenomena.”

“In this I am not sure that you are wrong,” observed Dr. Templeton, “butproceed. You arose and descended into the city.”

“I arose,” continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor with an air ofprofound astonishment “I arose, as you say, and descended into the city.On my way I fell in with an immense populace, crowding through everyavenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in every action thewildest excitement. Very suddenly, and by some inconceivable impulse, Ibecame intensely imbued with personal interest in what was going on.I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play, without exactlyunderstanding what it was. Against the crowd which environed me,however, I experienced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from amidthem, 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 gentlemenin a uniform partly British, were engaged, at great odds, with theswarming rabble of the alleys. I joined the weaker party, arming myselfwith the weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not whom withthe nervous ferocity of despair. We were soon overpowered by numbers,and driven to seek refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricadedourselves, and, for the present were secure. From a loop-hole near thesummit 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 place, there descended aneffeminate-looking person, by means of a string made of the turbans ofhis attendants. A boat was at hand, in which he escaped to the oppositebank of the river.

“And now a new object took possession of my soul. I spoke a few hurriedbut energetic words to my companions, and, having succeeded in gainingover 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 themean time we were borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered andentangled among the narrow streets of tall, overhanging houses, intothe recesses of which the sun had never been able to shine. The rabblepressed impetuously upon us, harrassing us with their spears, andoverwhelming us with flights of arrows. These latter were veryremarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing creese of theMalay. They were made to imitate the body of a creeping serpent, andwere long and black, with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me uponthe right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantaneous and dreadfulsickness seized me. I struggled--I gasped--I died. “You will hardlypersist now,” said I smiling, “that the whole of your adventure was nota dream. You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?”

When I said these words, I of course expected some lively sally fromBedloe in reply, but, to my astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, becamefearfully pallid, and remained silent. I looked toward Templeton. Hesat erect and rigid in his chair--his teeth chattered, and his eyes werestarting from their sockets. “Proceed!” he at length said hoarsely toBedloe.

“For many minutes,” continued the latter, “my sole sentiment--my solefeeling--was that of darkness and nonentity, with the consciousness ofdeath. At length there seemed to pass a violent and sudden shock throughmy soul, as if of electricity. With it came the sense of elasticity andof light. This latter I felt--not saw. In an instant I seemed to risefrom the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible, or palpablepresence. The crowd had departed. The tumult had ceased. The city wasin comparative repose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in mytemple, the whole head greatly swollen and disfigured. But all thesethings I felt--not saw. I took interest in nothing. Even the corpseseemed a matter in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, butappeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoyantly out of thecity, retracing the circuitous path by which I had entered it. When Ihad attained that point of the ravine in the mountains at which I hadencountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as of a galvanicbattery, the sense of weight, of volition, of substance, returned. Ibecame my original self, and bent my steps eagerly homeward--but thepast had not lost the vividness of the real--and not now, even for aninstant, can I compel my understanding to regard it as a dream.”

“Nor was it,” said Templeton, with an air of deep solemnity, “yet itwould be difficult to say how otherwise it should be termed. Let ussuppose only, that the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge ofsome stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content ourselves with thissupposition. For the rest I have some explanation to make. Here is awatercolor drawing, which I should have shown you before, but whichan unaccountable sentiment of horror has hitherto prevented me fromshowing.”

We looked at the picture which he presented. I saw nothing in it of anextraordinary character, but its effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. Henearly fainted as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait--amiraculously accurate one, to be sure--of his own very remarkablefeatures. At least this was my thought as I regarded it.

“You will perceive,” said Templeton, “the date of this picture--itis here, scarcely visible, in this corner--1780. In this year was theportrait taken. It is the likeness of a dead friend--a Mr. Oldeb--towhom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the administration ofWarren Hastings. I was then only twenty years old. When I first saw you,Mr. Bedloe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which existedbetween yourself and the painting which induced me to accost you,to seek your friendship, and to bring about those arrangements whichresulted in my becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing thispoint, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally, by a regretfulmemory of the deceased, but also, in part, by an uneasy, and notaltogether horrorless curiosity respecting yourself.

“In your detail of the vision which presented itself to you amid thehills, you have described, with the minutest accuracy, the Indian cityof Benares, upon the Holy River. The riots, the combat, the massacre,were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte Sing, which tookplace in 1780, when Hastings was put in imminent peril of his life. Theman escaping by the string of turbans was Cheyte Sing himself. The partyin the kiosk were sepoys and British officers, headed by Hastings. Ofthis party I was one, and did all I could to prevent the rash and fatalsally of the officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisonedarrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest friend. It was Oldeb.You will perceive by these manuscripts,” (here the speaker produced anote-book in which several pages appeared to have been freshly written,)“that at the very period in which you fancied these things amid thehills, I was engaged in detailing them upon paper here at home.”

In about a week after this conversation, the following paragraphsappeared 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 endearedhim to the citizens of Charlottesville.

“Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject to neuralgia, which hasoften threatened to terminate fatally; but this can be regarded onlyas the mediate cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one ofespecial singularity. In an excursion to the Ragged Mountains, a fewdays since, a slight cold and fever were contracted, attended withgreat determination of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr. Templetonresorted to topical bleeding. Leeches were applied to the temples. Ina fearfully brief period the patient died, when it appeared that in thejar containing the leeches, had been introduced, by accident, one ofthe venomous vermicular sangsues which are now and then found in theneighboring ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery inthe right temple. Its close resemblance to the medicinal leech causedthe mistake to be overlooked until too late.

“N. B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville may always bedistinguished from the medicinal leech by its blackness, and especiallyby its writhing or vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble thoseof a snake.”

I was speaking with the editor of the paper in question, upon thetopic of this remarkable accident, when it occurred to me to ask how ithappened that the name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo.

“I presume,” I said, “you have authority for this spelling, but I havealways supposed the name to be written with an e at the end.”

“Authority?--no,” he replied. “It is a mere typographical error. Thename is Bedlo with an e, all the world over, and I never knew it to bespelt otherwise in my life.”

“Then,” said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my heel, “then indeed hasit come to pass that one truth is stranger than any fiction--for Bedloe,without the e, what is it but Oldeb conversed! And this man tells methat it is a typographical error.”