Assuring him—with all the sincerity I could muster—that I had omitted nothing from my testimony, I set my feet upon the floor, placed my hands against the edge of the mattress, and pushed myself into a standing position. So debilitating, however, had been the effects of that evening of madness that—when I endeavored to walk—my knees immediately buckled, and I nearly collapsed to the floor. I was rescued from this mishap by Crockett, who—swiftly grabbing me by the upper portion of my right arm—prevented me from falling.

“Let me give you a hand, ol’ hoss,” he said, as—with his stabilizing assistance—I slowly made way across the room. “I’ll be hanged if you ain’t as unsteady as a steamboat with one wheel.”

CHAPTER 25

The barouche which bore us to the party having been employed to transport Sissy and Miss Mullany back to Amity Street, it fell to Crockett to secure another conveyance for our use. How this was accomplished, I cannot say My mental condition was one of extreme stupefaction. Though my limbs retained their power of locomotion, my conscious mind had ceased to operate with any degree of autonomy. I can compare this state to no phenomenon more properly than to a waking dream—or, rather, nightmare. Even with my eyes fully open, I saw nothing but the all-too-vivid image of Henrietta Nicodemus’ savaged body—severed neck—and sundered head. The awful spectacle I had witnessed continued to possess me with a fierce and unrelenting hold.

At some point, Crockett must have succeeded in obtaining a carriage. He must have led me to the passenger’s side and helped me to clamber on board. Then—assuming the driver’s position and taking hold of the reins—the steadfast backwoodsman must have maneuvered the vehicle through the dark, cold, and empty streets, while I sat shivering beside him.