Middlesbrough & Stockton Gazette and General Advertiser. — 1870-01-07 (Stockton-on-Tees, Durham, England)

CHAPTER XIX. (CormtruEb). THE moments were moments of breathless emotion and dread expectation as to what the 'blazing torch might reveal. Suddenly one universal cry of horror burst from every lip, for at a depth not so very great the bottom was reached, and there lay grim and stiff, a mangled human body, which they recognised as that of Sir Pergus Sinclair. The bottom of the well was dry, and he reclined in a half-sitting position against the side, his face ~,tished and bloody, and something white in one of his hands. That he was dead was evident enough, but it looked as if he had survived the fall for some time, for the posture was not that of one who had fallen and never stirred. Perhaps hours had elapsed ere death came to release him from his agony, and perchance, also, had be been succoured in time, his life might have been spared, or, at least, he might have uttered the name of his murderer. But, alas, he was beyond this now. Cold and rigid ha lay, in the silence of death, and no one would ever know how great or protracted his sufferings had been. The question now was—hew was the body to be got to the surface? There was but one way of doing it—viz., by one of their number being lowered, and passing the rope round the dead man's body, by which means it could be drawn up. But who was bold enough to undertake the task? They looked one to another, and were silent. 'A sovereign to the man who will go down,' Saifi the Sheriff, in a quiet tone. There was utter silence for some moments; then a voice said— 'l'll go.' It was the Young gipsy, and as he spoke he stepped forwara, showing neither doubt nor trepidation. One of the strongest ropes were tied round his waist, and the end of it given into the hands of halfa-dozen of the most stalwart of the group. With a fearless air the lad got over the parapet, and with the agility of one used to climbing he took hold of the rope with both hands and called to the men to give way. In a very little lie had reached the bottom, where the torch still burned brightly, and stood beside the corpse. The end of another strong rope was now let down to him from above, and this he coolly and deliberately fastened under the dead man's arm's taking care to make the knot secure and truseworthy. Then he called out to those who held his own rope to stand firm, and he climbed up hand over hand with the ease and rapidity of a squirrel. . 'He has a written book in one hand and a bit of cloth in the other,' he observed, when he was once more in the midst of them. 'The cloth is the colour of the clothes which Master Lynedoch had on. As he spoke, the torch was brought up, stil burning and rafter it, in a slow, cautious, solemn manner, the body was raised, and was soon revealed to the universal gaze in all its horrid ghastliness— bloody, and cruelly disfigured. The face was so bruised and wounded as to be almost beyond identification, but the dress, complete in every particular, put it beyond a doubt thet it was indeed the body of Sir Fergus Sinclair. As the gipsy had reported, his right -hand clutched a torn fragment of grey cloth, while in the left was a pocket-book at the tablets, and on these a few lines were written in penciL The Fiscal took the book with difficulty from the dead man's grasp, and was able to decipher the following;— 'I have been murdered by my cousin, Lynedoch Sinclair. On this day, October 14th, 18—,lie came upon me as I sat on the well, and avowed his purpose of killing me that he might get the estate. We struggled, but he overpowered me and threw me down the well. I am wounded to the death, but strive to write this so that, if my body shall ever be discovered, he may be brought to justice for the deed. Death is near. The lord forgive me! '