I was present at this lecture, with my mother and sister and Rose Poe, who as we took seats reserved for us, left her party and joined us. I noticed that Poe had no ma.n.u.script, and that, though he stood like a statue, he held his audience as motionless as himself--fascinated by his voice and expression. Rose pointed out to me Mrs. Shelton, seated conspicuously in front of the platform, facing the lecturer. This position gave me a good view of her, with her large, deep-set, light-blue eyes and sunken cheeks, her straight features, high forehead and cold expression of countenance. Doubtless she had been handsome in her youth, but the impression which she produced upon me was that of a sensible, practical woman, the reverse of a poet"s ideal. And yet she says "Poe often told her that she was the original of his lost _Lenore_."
When Poe had concluded his lecture, he lightly and quickly descended the platform and, pa.s.sing Mrs. Shelton without notice, came to where we were seated, greeting us in his usual graceful manner. He looked pleased, smiling and handsome. The audience arose, but made no motion to retire; watching him as he talked and evidently waiting to speak to him; but he never glanced in their direction. Rose, radiantly happy, stood drawn up to her full height, and observed, "Edgar, only see how the people are staring at the poet and his sister." I believe it to have been the proudest moment of her life, and one which she ever delighted to recall. This occurred during the period of estrangement between Poe and Mrs. Shelton.
Quite suddenly, in the latter part of September, Poe decided to go to New York. His object was, as he himself declared, to make some arrangements in regard to the _Stylus_, though gossip said to bring Mrs.
Clemm on to his marriage.
It is difficult to get a clear idea of the relation between Poe and Mrs.
Shelton, owing to the contradictory statements of the two. Undoubtedly they must have met during Poe"s first visit to Richmond, and he tells Mrs. Whitman that he was about to address the lady when her own letters caused him to change his mind. And yet Mrs. Shelton speaks of their meeting on his last visit as though it had been the first since their youthful acquaintance. As she entered the parlor, she says, on his first call, "I knew him at once," and, as the pious and practical woman that she was, she adds, "I told him that I was on my way to church, and that I allowed nothing to interfere with this duty." She says also in her _Reminiscences_, "I was never engaged to him, but there was an understanding;" and yet, on his death, she appeared in public attired in deepest widow"s weeds. That she was devoted to him appears from her own letter to Dr. Moran when informed by him of Poe"s death, "He was dearer to me than any other living creature." Poe himself, writing to Mrs.
Clemm, says: "Elmira has just returned from the country. I believe that she loves me more devotedly than any one I _ever_ knew." He adds, apparently in allusion to his marriage, "Nothing has yet been arranged, and it will not do to hurry matters," concluding with, "If possible, I will get married before leaving Richmond."
On his deathbed in Washington he said to Dr. Moran, "Sir, I was to have been married in ten days," and requested him to write to Mrs. Shelton.
CHAPTER x.x.x.
THE MYSTERY OF FATE.
One evening--it was Sunday, the 2d of October--Dr. John Carter was seated alone in his office when Poe entered, having just paid a farewell visit to Mrs. Shelton before leaving in the morning for New York. He remarked to Dr. Carter that he would probably stop for one day in Baltimore, and perhaps also in Philadelphia, on business; would like to remain longer, but had written to Mrs. Clemm to expect him at Fordham some time this week. He would be back in Richmond in about a fortnight.
While talking, he took up a handsome malacca sword-cane belonging to Dr.
Carter and absently played with it. He looked grave and preoccupied; several times inquired the hour, and at length rising suddenly, remarked that he would step over to Saddler"s restaurant and get supper. He took the cane with him, Dr. Carter understanding from this circ.u.mstance and his not taking leave, that he would presently return on his way to the _Swan_, where he had left his baggage. He did not, however, reappear; and on the next morning Dr. Carter inquired about him at Saddler"s. The proprietor said that Poe and two friends had remained to a late hour, talking and drinking moderately, and had then left together to go aboard the boat, which would start at four o"clock for Baltimore. He said that Poe, when he left, was in good spirits and quite sober; though this last may be doubted, since he not only forgot to return Dr. Carter"s cane but to send for his own baggage at the Swan Some persons have insisted that Poe must have been drugged by these men, who were strangers to Mr.
Saddler, and there was even a sensational story published in a Northern magazine to the effect that Poe had been followed to Baltimore by two of Mrs. Shelton"s brothers, and there, after having certain letters taken from him, beaten so severely that he was found dying in an obscure alley. This story was first started by Mrs. Elizabeth Oakes Smith in one of the New York journals, though it does not appear from what source she derived her information. No denial was made or notice taken of it by Mrs. Shelton"s friends, and the story gradually died out.
For over forty years the mystery of the tragic death of the poet remained a mystery, strangely and persistently defying all attempts at elucidation. But within the last few years there has appeared in a St.
Louis paper a communication which professes to give a truthful account of the circ.u.mstances connected with the poet"s death, and which wears such an appearance of probability that it is at least worth considering.
This letter, which is addressed to the editor of the paper, is from a certain Dr. Snodgra.s.s, who represents himself to have been for many years a resident of Dakota. He says that on the evening of October 2, 1849, being in Baltimore, he stepped into a plain but respectable eating-house or restaurant kept by an Irish widow, where, to his surprise, he met with Poe, whom he had once been accustomed to meet here, but had not seen for some years. After taking some refreshment, they left the place together, but had not proceeded far when they were seized upon by two men, who hurried them off to some place where they were, with several others, kept close prisoners through the night and following day, though otherwise well treated. It was the eve of a great munic.i.p.al election, and the city was wild with excitement. Next evening the kidnappers, having drugged their captives, hurried them to the polls, where they, in a half-conscious condition, were made to vote over and over again. The doctor, it appears, was only partially affected, but Poe succ.u.mbed utterly, and at length one of the men said, "What is the use of dragging around a dead man?" With that, they called a hack, put Poe within it, and ordered the driver to take him to the Washington Hospital.
Dr. Snodgra.s.s says positively: "I myself saw Poe thrust into the hack, heard the order given, and saw the vehicle drive off with its unconscious burden."
Thus--if this account may be relied upon--ended the strange, sad tragedy of the poet"s life; none stranger, none sadder, in all the annals of modern literature.
Dr. Snodgra.s.s intimates that his reason for so long a delay in making this story known was his unwillingness to have his own part in the affair exposed, and with the notoriety which its connection with the poet would render unavoidable. But now, he says, in his old age, and having outlived all who knew him at the time, this consideration is of little worth to him. If the story be not true, we cannot see why it should have been invented. At least, it cannot, at the present day, be disproved, and it certainly appears to be the most probable and natural explanation of the poet"s death that has been given. It agrees also with Dr. Moran"s account of Poe"s condition when he was received at the hospital, and with the latter"s earnest a.s.surance that he himself was not responsible for that condition, and also with his requesting that Dr. Snodgra.s.s be sent for. The kidnappers had probably exchanged his garments for others as a means of disguise, intending to restore them eventually. They at least did not take from him the handsome malacca cane which was in his grasp when he reached the hospital; and which which would tend to prove that he was not then altogether unconscious.
This cane was, at Dr. Carter"s request, returned to him by Mrs. Clemm, to whom Dr. Moran sent it. His baggage, left at the Swan, was sent by Mr. Mackenzie to Mrs. Clemm, disproving the story that it had been stolen from him in Baltimore.
In addition to the above, we find another and very similar account, apparently by the same Dr. Snodgra.s.s, in the "_San Francisco Chronicle_ of August 31," the date of the year not appearing on the clipping from which I make the following extracts:
"You say that Poe did not die from the effects of deliberate dissipation?" asked the _Chronicle_ reporter.
"That is just what I do mean; and I say further that he died from the effects of deliberate murder."
The author of this a.s.sertion was a well-known member of this city"s advanced and inveterate Bohemia; a gentleman who has long since retired from the active pursuits of his profession and spends his old age in dreamy meditation, frequenting one of the popular resorts of the craft, but mingling little in their society. When joining in their conversation, it is generally to correct some errors from his inexhaustible mine of reminiscences, and on these occasions his words are few and precise.
"Then you knew something of the poet, Doctor?"
"I was his intimate a.s.sociate for years. Much that biographers have said of him is false, especially regarding his death. Poe was not an habitual drunkard, but he was a steady drinker when his means admitted of it.
His habitual resort when in Baltimore was the Widow Meagher"s place, on the city front, inexpensive, but respectable, having an oyster and liquor stand, and corresponding in some respects with the coffee shops of San Francisco. Here I frequently met him."
"But about his death?"
"The mystery of the poet"s death had remained a mystery for more than forty years when there appeared in a Texas paper an article from the pen of the editor, in which he gave a letter from a Dr. Snodgra.s.s professing to reveal the truth of the matter.
"About the time that this article was published there appeared one in the San Francisco _Chronicle_ by a reporter of that paper, telling of an interview which he had with this same Dr. Snodgra.s.s, of whom he says: "He was a well-known literary Bohemian of this city who long ago gave up his profession and is spending his old age in a state of dreamy existence from which he is seldom aroused except to correct some error concerning people and things of past times, of which he possesses a mine of reminiscences.""
The Doctor, denying that Poe had died from dissipation, gave an account of the manner of his death as he knew it, corresponding in all particulars with that given by him to the Texas editor. In conclusion, he said:
"Poe did not die of dissipation. I say that he was deliberately murdered. He died of laudanum or some other drug forced upon him by his kidnappers. When one said, "What is the use of carrying around a dying man?" they put him in a cab and sent him to the hospital. I was there and saw it myself."
"Poe had been shifting about between Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York for some years. Once he had been away for several months in Richmond, and one evening turned up at the widow"s. I was there when he came in. Then it was drinks all round, and at length we were real jolly.
It was the eve of an election, and we started up town. There were four of us, and we had not gone half a dozen squares when we were nabbed by policemen, who were looking up voters to "coop." It was the practice in those days to seize people, whether drunk or sober, and keep them locked up until the polls were opened and then march them to every precinct in control of the party having the coop. This coop was in the rear of an engine-house on Calvert street. It was part of the plan to stupefy the prisoners with drugged liquor. Next day we were voted at thirty different places, it being as much as one"s life was worth to rebel. Poe was so badly drugged that he had to be carried on two or three rounds, and then the gang said it was no use trying any longer to vote a dead man and must get rid of him. And with that they shoved him into a cab and sent him away."
"Then he died from dissipation, after all?"
"Nothing of the kind. He died from the effects of laudanum or some other poison forced on him in the coop. He was in a dying condition when being voted twenty or thirty times. The story told by Griswold and others of his being picked up in the street is a lie. I saw him thrust into the cab myself."
And Mrs. Clemm?
When she received Poe"s letter bidding her to expect him at Fordham that week, she hastened thither to set her house in order for his reception.
Day after day she watched and waited, but he did not come. And at length, when the week had pa.s.sed, she one evening sat alone in the little cottage around which and through the naked branches of the cherry tree the October wind was sighing, and in anguish of spirit wrote to "Annie":
"Eddie is dead--_dead_."
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
AFTER THE WAR.
In the fall of 1865--the year which saw the conclusion of the unhappy war--I returned to Richmond and to my old home of Talavera, which I had not seen in four years.
What a shock to me was the first sight of it! In place of the pleasant, smiling home, there stood a bare and lonely house in the midst of encircling fortifications, still bristling with dismantled gun-carriages. Every outbuilding had disappeared. All the beautiful trees which had made it so attractive--even the young cedar of Lebanon, which had been our pride--were gone; greenhouses, orchard, vineyard, everything, had been swept away, leaving only a dead level overgrown with broom-straw, amidst which were scattered rusted bayonets and a few hardy plants struggling through the trampled ground. The place was no longer "_Talavera_," but "_Battery 10_."
In this desolate abode I remained some time, awaiting the arrival of our scattered family, and with no protectors save a faithful old negro couple. Each evening we would barricade as well as we could the entrance to the fort, as some slight protection against the hordes of newly freed negroes who roamed the country, living on whatever they could pick up.
One evening when we had taken this precaution, some one was heard calling without, and, mounting the ramparts, I beheld a forlorn looking figure in black standing upon the outer edge of the trench. It proved to be Rosalie Poe; and when I had brought her into the light and warmth of the fire, I saw how changed and ill she appeared. She told me of the Mackenzies. Mrs. Mackenzie was dead. "Mat" (Mrs. Byrd) was a widow, with a beautiful young daughter, and her brother, Mr. Richard, was in wretched health. Miss Jane Mackenzie had died in England, leaving her fortune to her brother, residing there, and the destruction of the war had completed the poverty of the family. They lived on a little place in the country, with a cow and a garden as their chief means of support.
"They have to work for a living now," Rose said, forlornly; "but I am not strong enough to work. I am going to Baltimore, to my relations there, and see what they can do for me."
I inquired after young Dr. Mackenzie, gay, handsome, genial "Tom," whom everybody loved.
"Tom is dead," said Rose, sadly. "He died of camp-fever and bad food.
When he came home he had only the clothes which he wore, and a neighbor gave us something to bury him in."
With a pang I thought of the gay wedding at Duncan Lodge, and the happy faces that had been there a.s.sembled.