The Case of Summerfield | Page 4

of reasoning, versatility of illustration, and
compactness of logic, has never been equaled. The only other publication which at that
period he had made, was a book that astonished all of his friends, both in title and
execution. It was called "The Desperadoes of the West," and purported to give minute
details of the lives of some of the most noted duelists and bloodstained villains in the
Western States. But the book belied its title. It is full of splendid description and original
thought. No volume in the language contains so many eloquent passages and such
gorgeous imagery, in the same space. His plea for immortality, on beholding the
execution of one of the most noted culprits of Arkansas, has no parallel in any living
language for beauty of diction and power of thought. As my sole object in this
communication is to defend myself, some acquaintance with the mental resources of
Summerfield is absolutely indispensable; for his death was the immediate consequence of
his splendid attainments. Of chemistry he was a complete master. He describes it in his
article on a Deity, above alluded to, as the "Youngest Daughter of the Sciences, born
amid flames, and cradled in rollers of fire." If there were any one science to which he was
more specially devoted than to any and all others, it was chemistry. But he really seemed
an adept in all, and shone about everywhere with equal lustre.
Many of these characteristics were mentioned by Judge Wheeler at the time of
Summerfield's visit to Galveston, but others subsequently came to my knowledge, after
his retreat to Brownsville, on the banks of the Rio Grande. There he filled the position of
Judge of the District Court, and such was his position just previous to his arrival in this
city in the month of September of the past year.
One day, toward the close of last September, an old man rapped at my office door, and on
invitation came in, and advancing, called me by name. Perceiving that I did not at first
recognize him, he introduced himself as Gregory Summerfield. After inviting him to a
seat, I scrutinized his features more closely, and quickly identified him as the same
person whom I had met twenty-two years before. He was greatly altered in appearance,
but the lofty forehead and the gray eye were still there, unchanged and unchangeable. He
was not quite so stout, but more ruddy in complexion, and exhibited some symptoms, as I
then thought, of intemperate drinking. Still there was the old charm of intellectual

superiority in his conversation, and I welcomed him to California as an important
addition to her mental wealth.
It was not many minutes before he requested a private interview. He followed me into my
back office, carefully closed the door after him and locked it. We had scarcely seated
ourselves before he inquired of me if I had noticed any recent articles in the newspapers
respecting the discovery of the art of decomposing water so as to fit it for use as a fuel for
ordinary purposes?
I replied that I had observed nothing new upon that subject since the experiments of
Agassiz and Professor Henry, and added that, in my opinion, the expensive mode of
reduction would always prevent its use.
In a few words he then informed me that he had made the discovery that the art was
extremely simple, and the expense attending the decomposition so slight as to be
insignificant.
Presuming then that the object of his visit to me was to procure the necessary forms to get
out a patent for the right, I congratulated him upon his good fortune, and was about to
branch forth with a description of some of the great benefits that must ensue to the
community, when he suddenly and somewhat uncivilly requested me to "be silent," and
listen to what he had to say.
He began with some general remarks about the inequality of fortune amongst mankind,
and instanced himself as a striking example of the fate of those men, who, according to
all the rules of right, ought to be near the top, instead of at the foot of the ladder of
fortune. "But," said he, springing to his feet with impulsive energy, "I have now the
means at my command of rising superior to fate, or of inflicting incalculable ills upon the
whole human race."
Looking at him more closely, I thought I could detect in his eye the gleam of madness;
but I remained silent and awaited further developments. But my scrutiny, stolen as it was,
had been detected, and he replied at once to the expression of my face: "No, sir; I am
neither drunk nor a maniac; I am in deep earnest in all that I say; and