Chapter IV: Letter LV: My letter from my unfortunate Charles contained these words (2)

I availed myself of Simons’s counsel, and sent a small portmanteau to the Harwich coach that evening. On the following morning I civilly requested your brother to spare me ten days or a fortnight, explaining to him my wishes in part, by saying, that I expected to meet a friend at Harwich, and we should probably make a little excursion together. Good God, how delightful were my prospects! for these were bounded by seeing you and announcing my parents to you! Some questions, for which I was prepared, followed: reluctance gradually yielded. “He thought it but an idle expence; but I had been frugal, and therefore he should not refuse me;” and, opening his desk, he paid me my quarterly stipend of twenty guineas, which had been due nearly a month. He soon after told Simons, that he was going with a party of friends to Windsor, and should not return for a day or two; then carelessly asking me, when and how I intended to journey, he left us; shaking me by the hand, and with a Judas’s smile, he bade me “remember that my purse had not the virtue of Fortunatus’s.” Simons boasted much of a horse which a friend of his let out; and so strongly pointed out to me the advantages of travelling in this mode, that I went with him to the livery stable, in order to see the animal thus recommended. It had been a fine one; but had been ridden down, and I should have given up my project of riding on horseback but for his persuasions. He was certain the beast would travel well with me, and return better than when he set out; the terms were easy, and to please Simons, I consented to please his friend, the proprietor of the horse. Amongst the various arguments he used was one, which had probably turned the scale. I could run down to Rumford that night; the horse had been at the manger the whole day, and the remainder of the road to Harwich was light work. This project was adopted; but a heavy rain stopped me for some hours; and it was nine o’clock in the evening when I mounted and parted with my officious friend at the livery stable. The clouds were dispersed, and the moon, though not in her zenith, favouring me, I proceeded on gently. The horse was stiff with fatigue, and I found that Simons had “taken me in,” to use his own quaint language, I was within half a mile of Woodford, a village on the Epping road, when I was accosted by name, by a man whom I recollected having seen once or twice in your brother’s office. He checked the bridle, and civility obliged me to stop. Enquiries after Mr. Flamall’s health, were followed by wondering to meet me so late on such a road. “I may wonder in my turn,” answered I, “for you have more to apprehend from this damp evening than I have. But you will excuse me, I am hastening to Stretham, still some miles from hence.” I spurred my horse and bowing, wished him a good night. He shouting after me, “Look to your pistols, young man.” I had pistols with me, but I needed them not. I proceeded unmolested in my journey till within a mile of Rumford; when the miserable beast I rode making a trip, fell; and I received a contusion on my knee, that, for a time, prevented my rising, and totally disabled me from mounting again. With much difficulty I reached an inn at Rumford, leading the horse, and in my wish to find shelter, I became indifferent to accommodations. I took the first house that was open, and found, with civility, a bed, to which I instantly repaired. The next morning I found the injury I had received too serious to allow me to prosecute my journey, without hazard, on Simons’s vaunted horse. I therefore sent the beast home, with a note to Simons, mentioning my accident, and the necessity I was under of pursuing my journey in a post chaise, as it was absolutely my purpose to be at Harwich on the Saturday. My hostess, had, in the mean time, with much humanity applied her infallible nostrum to my knee; and, on my quitting her the following day, she generously insisted on my taking some of the ointment with me, assuring me, that by being repeated, it would relieve not only the tumour, but the pain. In this point, she was however mistaken, and, on reaching the appointed inn at Harwich, I could not stand on my legs. The waiter, who assisted me into the house, asked me, whether my name was Duncan; and being answered in the affirmative, he proceeded to tell me, that a person had called twice, within the hour, to enquire for me. Not doubting but this was my incognito friend, and that he would return to the house, I ordered him to be conducted to me, and dismissed the man for some coffee. During this interval of suspense and curiosity my knee solicited my attention; it was extremely painful, and I had recourse to my Rumford landlady’s specific for a bruise. Whilst employed in applying most assuredly what most assuredly augmented the evil, the door of the apartment was suddenly opened; and to my inconceivable surprise Simons hastily entered. “You are come at last,” said he with an oath, “I have been on the rack these two hours.” “And _I_ for near four and twenty,” replied I, interrupting him, and directing his attention to my employment; “but what brings you hither?” He grasped my hand with eagerness, and in a low voice told me, that he came to save my life. I laughed, I believe, for he swore most horridly, and concluded by saying, that he had not time to see me play the fool. “The person,” added he, “commissioned by your father to meet you here, is no stranger to me. Let it suffice, I am in his secret. He is, it may be, at this instant dying at Helvoetsluys of a fever, and I am ordered to conduct you there to him; all is prepared; and you must go this instant on board the packet. There is not a moment to lose.” I hesitated, for I thought of my Harriet; but he urged me with a vehemence that confounded my deliberations; and concluded by saying, that my honour, and even my life, depended on my following him. With his help and a porter’s I was conveyed to the water-side, and there found the boat, in which we reached the packet, then, getting under sail, I threw myself on the bed reserved for me, subdued by the pain in my knee, and soon after was seized with the sea sickness. I saw no more of my companion that night: and learned that, fearing to share in the common malady, he preferred being on deck. It was with difficulty that I supported myself to the public house at the Sluys; but overcome, as I was, with pain, I failed not to remark, that Simons spoke the Dutch language fluently. “It is well I can,” answered he roughly to my observation, “for your friend is not here; we must proceed to Rotterdam; and you must bear up as well as you can; the passage-boat is an easy conveyance for you. This boat was shared by others as well as ourselves; and with an irritation of mind, as great as my bodily sufferings, we proceeded to Rotterdam; and on reaching the hotel, I fainted. On recovering my senses, which had been suspended for some time, I saw a well dressed man engaged in giving me succour, and I concluded that this was the person I was to meet. On asking Simons whether he was the dying man I had been led to expect, he answered, that he was a surgeon, and that my knee required some better remedy than I had applied. I submitted to his orders, and was carried to bed. At length Simons was at leisure to satisfy my curiosity. He began the subject himself, by observing with some ill-humour that it was unlucky—I omit the epithets, my Harriet, with which he interlarded even his expressions of kindness, that, what with the indisposition of my friend, and my accident, which he found from the surgeon would unavoidably detain me some days in my bed, he should be forced to prolong his stay. I have written to Amsterdam,” continued he, “where I find the sick man was advised to remain; to-morrow or the next day, we shall have letters.” Need, I say, in what manner this interval was filled up by me! I wrote you a circumstantial account of these various events; and the fond wish of making my Harriet easy under a separation so unexpected, imparted to my bosom a portion of those hopes which were necessary for her support as well as mine. This letter I intrusted to the surgeon’s care, not chusing to employ Simons. I made him comprehend, that it was of importance to me; and, with a good-natured smile, he satisfied me, that he would faithfully discharge his trust. It was under cover to Mrs. Keith. Too fatally certain is it, that you never saw this letter! In the mean time, my soul was on the rack, from having no intelligence of you. Again, and again, I wrote to Mrs. Keith, and to you. I had no letters, and I began to suspect the surgeon had given Simons my letters, instead of putting them into the post-office. In the mean time his attention to my accommodations and health had nothing in them to surprise me; for he constantly talked of his being commissioned by the gentleman at Amsterdam, to be careful of his “_precious charge_,” and sometimes he translated passages from his letters expressive of the importance of my person, and his anxiety in not being in a state to attend me himself. I was now on crutches, and free from pain; and I was told that it was proper for me to proceed to Amsterdam. I decidedly refused, saying that I was determined to return to England; and he might inform his correspondent of my resolution, it being indispensibly necessary for my peace, to have news from thence. “I will furnish you with a newspaper,” said he gravely; “that will, I trust, make you change your mind; but it may not be amiss to prepare you for _news_ that will surprise you more than you are aware.” He began his narrative of the highway robbery charged on me, and finished by placing before me the article in the day’s paper, which, with a detail of the particulars, included a description of my person, situation, and even the initials of my name, and of the master with whom I served as clerk. You will judge, my Harriet, of the effect which this intelligence produced. I solemnly swore that no power on earth should prevent my immediately appearing and confronting the base and false accuser. “You know best,” replied Simons, “the proofs with which you can invalidate this man’s positive oath.” But I would advise you rather to secure such a condition of fortune, as will of itself, with nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand, prove that you are slandered. “In a word,” continued he, with a serious air, “I have had my instructions from those, who will take care of your honour better than you are able to do yourself. Your parents are rich and powerful, and, trust me, more than _one_ will be called to a strict account for their conduct in regard to you.” I was still resolved on my measures; for my wife’s deplorable condition solely engaged me. “It is well, Sir,” observed he, with a tone of authority, “I shall proceed without you, and even if it be necessary to Cadiz, and inform your noble parents, that you preferred a _gibbet_ to them. But you are a simpleton, Duncan,” added he, with more kindness, “I know your motive for this headstrong folly. Will your appearance, and the charge which will be brought against you, lessen the distress of the girl you love?” I started. “I know more than you think of that business also,” continued he; “and I advise you to write to her, and instantly make your way to your parents. You will then be able to offer her the protection she needs.” I burst into tears, and reproached him with having stopped my letters. He vehemently denied the charge; adding, “that he pitied Miss Flamall, and was better pleased to serve her than to injure her.”

Unable to extract more from a man who hourly assumed with me more of _respect_ as well as of _authority_, I yielded to his control. I was still lame and helpless; and except the diminished sum with which your brother had furnished me, I had no resources for my premeditated plan. Simons soothed me, by conducting me to the post-office, where I deposited a letter for you, and his orders taken, to forward all letters to our address at Cadiz, to a house of business sufficiently ostensible to gain him attention with the people at the office. We prepared immediately for our departure for Amsterdam, when he entered the apartment with an opened letter in his hand. “I thought how it would be,” said he, “your cursed accident, and the delay it has occasioned will oblige me to go the whole voyage with you. Your father’s agent is too ill for the voyage; he has sent me bills of “exchange;” he displayed the notes, and urged me to lose no time. He is, I find, in the country; and dangerously ill. However, I am embarked, and will not desert you. At Amsterdam I was again surprised. This _Proteus_ spoke the Spanish tongue well, and in his conversation with the captain of a Spanish ship bound for Cadiz, I perceived that he assumed the gravity and stateliness of a Spanish grandee. On the man’s leaving us, after having settled the terms for our accommodation, I mentioned my surprise, on finding him so qualified for a traveller.” “I lived on the continent some time in my young days,” answered he. “I was private secretary to an ambassador, who in his lack of brains, forgot to pay me for the five years use he made of mine; he taught me a lesson however which I wanted,” continued he with a malicious grin, “namely, to live by my own wit; and to regard every man either as a fool or a knave.” It required very little judgment, my dear Harriet, to determine the class to which Simons belonged; yet in spite of his habitual vulgarity, and coarse language, I hourly perceived that he had moved in a different sphere, and could at his pleasure assume the gentleman. He spoke of me as a Spaniard by birth, and by the respect he showed me, taught those about me to consider me as of importance; performing the part of my governor; and making no secret of my having been a stranger to my rank, parents, and country, from nearly the hour I was born. These hints were needless, to stimulate a curiosity constantly on the fullest stretch. To my questions I received only one answer: “I am bound to secresy, and it is for _my interest_ to be faithful. Have patience, time will discover all to you.” Thus goaded on, and convinced of my inability of securing him in my interest; having exhausted my own little stock of money, and depending, in a strange country upon Simons for pecuniary assistance, I left Amsterdam without having received letters from you; and in the anguish of my soul I sought relief from the hope of meeting with protection, and being placed in a situation to succour you; for I made no doubt of your brother’s interference with your wishes to write to me. Our navigation was for a time pleasant. The gentle breezes which filled our sails soon exempted me from sea sickness; rest restored my knee, and my hours were beguiled by my assiduously studying the Spanish language; for which, Simons having proposed it for my amusement, I had purchased a few needful books.

At this period, however, one incidental cause of sorrow was added to my oppressive burden. Two or three days after your departure from town, I had began to bathe, trusting to its relieving me from a portion, at least, of that languor which I experienced; and, cautiously guarded in all that related to my Harriet, had taken your picture from my bosom, and placed it in my port-folio with your letters, which I carefully kept locked in a large trunk, with articles that were not of every day’s use. I had seen on reaching Helvoetsluys that this trunk made the greatest part of our baggage; and on noticing it to Simons, he replied, that he expected my thanks for his zeal in my service in bringing it, as he supposed it was kept as lumber in my room, and that I should have no objection to a change of linen. To this necessity I had been hitherto a stranger, and the trunk remained corded till I was settled in my cabin on board the Spanish ship. The treasure it contained was too precious to be forgotten. I searched for it in vain. Neither your letters nor your portrait were to be found. I did not conceal my suspicions, nor my distress from Simons, who as usual, with the most horrid imprecations affirmed that he had not opened the trunk; nor had any other motive in removing it, but that of contributing to my comforts and amusement, knowing that I had some books in it. To contest with Simons was a vain attempt. I was silenced, and bore this trial, to use my master’s words like a “whining puppy.” Yet in spite of himself I perceived that he had an interest in preserving my health and tranquillity, and that he never ceased to recommend to me patience; hinting continually that I should soon be in a condition to take ample vengeance on those who had injured me, and to protect you, who had been so unjustly dealt with. These conversations with his avowed good will for you, and pity for me had their effect.

We were within thirty or forty leagues of our post when we were boarded by a large, well-armed Algerine corsair, and taken without resistance; for such was the inferiority of our force, that it was not possible for us to escape. Surprised and confounded by an event for which I was altogether unprepared, my compassion was notwithstanding exerted in comforting my terrified companion. I strove to encourage him by the same hopes which had calmed my own spirits; and with confidence I assured him, that as subjects of Great Britain we should be enlarged at Algiers; and that we had only to apply to the British consul resident there, in order to be protected. In this expectation we were cruelly disappointed, by the measures which the pirate pursued; who from motives we could not fathom, after having treated me with extraordinary lenity, and Simons without rigour, landed us with great circumspection during the night at some distance from the harbour; and to our amazement and consternation we were, with our chests, placed in a covered vehicle not unlike a waggon, and without loss of time conducted up the country. We were manacled and vigilantly concealed from every eye by those who were charged with us; who still maintained their claims to our gratitude, by offering us no violence or harshness. I had not been much surprised at seeing Simons relapsing into the pusillanimity he had betrayed in the first moments of our capture; but I was astonished to find that, with his grief for himself and the most bitter execrations on his folly, he bemoaned my hard fate in terms which I little expected from him. “Take courage,” said I, willing to relieve his sorrow, “you have nothing to reproach yourself with in this misfortune, and I am sorry, that your good intentions and zeal for my service have led you into this difficulty; but we may yet find the means of applying to the consul, or purchasing our freedom. Do not despair.” “I must,” replied he with a look of horror. “I have been a d——d rascal, and your destruction, my poor boy. If you were to forgive me, God never will; and this is only the beginning of my punishment.” He wept in agonies, and I was alarmed. “I can neither be useful to you, nor yet forgive you,” observed I, desisting from my ineffectual attempts to soothe his agitations, “’till I am more in your confidence. Tell me what have you done to injure me, and trust to my principles, which command me to forgive an offending brother.” “By G—d,” exclaimed he, “this is too much! I cannot bear it, villain as I am! But you shall know all; and you shall see that at least I never intended to harm you, though it is but too true that my business in your concerns was to serve myself.”

CHAP. V.

_Charles Duncan’s Narrative continued._

I will not, my dear Harriet, attempt to give you, in the language of a reprobate, the confession of one; let it suffice, that I faithfully communicate to you, the information which he, in the course of our three days journey, poured into my appalled ear; and when his recital is cleared from his oaths, it will be as follows: “You may date your ruin,” said he, “from the hour you were at Grantham, in your way to London with Mrs. Duncan, your supposed mother.” I started. “Let me at once tell you,” observed he, “that I know more of your history than you do yourself; therefore do not interrupt me. You met there a very handsome courteous lady, who took the coach with you from thence; she called herself Mrs. Peachley; she is Flamall’s wife, and sister to Keith. You know her kindness in recommending your mother to Keith’s lodgings. Your indisposition on the journey was declared the following day. You could not rise, and Mrs. Duncan, with much alarm, recommended you to Mrs. Keith’s care, and lamented the necessity which forced her from your bed side, for an hour or two, having an appointment which could not be delayed. At her return, she found you much worse, and a physician was summoned. For several days and nights this good mother of yours never left you. You were every hour nearer the grave; and overcome by her fatigue and terror, she got the start of you; for she was dead and buried before your eight and twenty days fever had fairly left you. During this time, when you were, for the greater part, more fit for Bedlam, or for your coffin, Mrs. Duncan was kindly visited by Mrs. Peachley, who, having called to see her relations, discovered that she had found a prey worth pursuing; and finding that her brother had inmates not likely to cavil at the price of his lodgings, she redoubled her attentions, by several times calling on Mrs. Duncan, to enquire after you, and, as she said, to see that the Keiths were assiduous in their attendance. Your poor mother, who knew not a being in London; but the person she had met the day of her arrival, and who was out of town, mentioned, with extreme distress, that in an hour of such difficulty, she had the additional misfortune of finding, that her only friend had left London and was gone abroad. This confidence became more enlarged, in proportion as your danger was more imminent. She incessantly lamented the absence of this Mr. Joseph Jago; and in her illness, she consulted Mrs. Peachley, on the means she should take to secure to you the little property which her death would give you in case you survived her. Mr. Flamall’s good offices were employed; and she made her will, which was witnessed by her two doctors. You were left to Mr. Flamall’s care, and your money into the bargain, until such time as his trust should be set aside by your natural guardians, who lived abroad; or until you were of age, in case these relations did not appear. Hitherto all went well, but Keith’s wife, either from hatred of her sister, or the spirit of contradiction common to her, thought it a good opportunity of acting like an honest woman; she was careful of you during your delirium; and also attentive to your poor mother. Your generosity when you left her house for Mr. Flamall’s, confirmed her good dispositions towards you. I had not been without my suspicions, that the cautions which kept me in _the back ground_ all this time, were not used without solid reasons; Flamall, however, in the executive trust, which had thus devolved on him; brought home with him on the night of the funeral, some papers which belonged to the deceased Mrs. Duncan, in order for their better security as he said, and he then mentioned you and your condition, adding, that he did not think you could survive your mother; and that he had no clue to any of your connexions. He spoke of your little property in the funds; and the suspicion he entertained, that Mrs. Duncan was not your real mother.” “Why do you not examine her letters?” asked I. “I have,” answered he; “but they are written in Spanish; and I do not wish to have this young man’s story published unnecessarily; if he live, he may be able to give an account of himself, and if he die they must be translated.” “I am able to do that,” replied I; “and it may be prudent to know the ground you tread.” Flamall understood the tone with which this observation was made, and he gave me three or four letters from a pocket book, which he said, the defunct had in her trunk, and which constituted all the papers, that could lead to an explanation of a secret, which she had too long deferred to communicate. “I shall only notice to you,” continued Simons, “those passages which struck me the most. Two or three of the letters contained little more than most tender expressions of maternal affection; and the most pathetic description of the writer’s hopes and fears, as these related to you. One of a later date informed Mrs. Duncan that Jachimo de Castros had been summoned by the Duke to ——, his agency being more important there, than in England; that his services were supplied by the orders he had left with a _tried friend_, Joseph Jago, a merchant in the Minories, to whom she was to apply in every exigency, and who would forward her letters. Another, of a later and recent date, was still more important, but it was like the oracles of old to me. Joy dictated the broken sentences. Much was said of a picture which heaven in its mercy had placed in Mrs. Duncan’s hands. Joseph Jago would supply her with a thousand pounds.” “Her _Henrico_” was to be cautiously introduced to a knowledge of a mother, whose miseries were forgotten, in the hopes of clasping her son, her long lost blessing, to her bosom. “Spare no expence for the masters he may yet need,” adds the writer, “it must be yet some months before all is ready for his appearance here; when, with an exultation, the thoughts of which transports me to extasy, his mother will be proclaimed innocent, and he, my Margaret, his father’s heir.” No signature was added to these letters; but it was now my turn to be _cautious_. I gave Mr. Flamall, not the most exact translation of their contents; and he observed, that they would do you more harm than good; for it was clear you were a bastard; and had lost your best friend, who had happily left you enough for bread, assisted by your industry. I was soon the friend of Keith; from him I only got hints, that quickened my curiosity. His wife was more pliant. She informed me, that Mrs. Duncan had written a long letter to Joseph Jago four days before she died; and had, in her hearing, desired that Mr. Flamall should send it to his house. Her husband was entrusted with it, and the gentleman was told, that his partner had received it, and had promised to forward it without delay. Now, added she, I know this was a lie, for it was in Mr. Flamall’s pocket at the time, and this is nothing to what I could say if I chose. “I was, as yet,” continued Simons, “only on the threshold;” and I forbore to press my questions. Flamall was _close_; and yet I found he was in cash. Keith had also money; and it was my business to diminish his stock. This was soon effected; and one night he said, that he had been a cursed fool; for he might have made a man of himself had he insisted on his due. I urged him, however, by reminding him, that he ought to have known Flamall and the jade his sister. Yes, replied he, but they are always too cunning for me; though I know what was in the pocket case; and so does my wife; one, of ten, only of the notes, came to my share for all my trouble. I could not get more from him; but I knew then my next step was to the Minories. Your mother’s Joseph Jago was a rich Jew merchant, and I found his house without difficulty. I was received into an office of business, where several clerks were at the desk, and one who appeared to take the lead, civilly asked me my business. My enquiries led to his answers. “Mr. Jago’s absence was undetermined; but any letters or commissions I might have, would be punctually sent him _to Cadiz_ with his own letters.” “Could I be favoured with his address?” “Certainly, but he had reason to believe his friend was then at Madrid; however, any letters directed for him to the house of Jachimo de Castros would reach him.” He courteously desired one of the young men to write the address, and presenting it to me, I withdrew.

So far all went well for my purpose; and I was doing you no mischief; but I will at once tell you, that I had motives for my conduct, in which you had not the least concern. Flamall had not only kept this whole transaction from me; but had refused to assist me in a difficulty of my own; and it behoved me to have him in my power. Had he known your chances in life, he would not have sworn to be your ruin, when he discovered, that you made love to his sister, nor would he have effected it, but for his wife. Your marriage was no secret to them; and I saw there was a plot brewing to ruin your poor wife, as well as yourself; for that “she devil” hated her, because she was virtuous. I was consulted by Flamall on this occasion, whose rage was checked by my arguments. Let it be noted by you here also, that he saw as well as I, that you were not a _fool_, nor would be his _tool_. At this juncture I was one day with him in his office, when casually opening a drawer in his private desk for a mislaid paper, I saw a Morocco picture case appear. I took my time, and on examining it, found it not only the representation of the most beautiful woman I ever beheld, but also enriched with costly diamonds. I was at no loss from what quarter it came; nor who had a right to it. My plan was now completed; for I had the means in my hands of saving my own head from the pillory _at least_, and by serving you, should gain friends who would better recompense my services than Flamall had done. “It is d—d hard when rogues are not honest to one another,” added he, “for they have no one in that case on whom to depend: but let that pass. You had swallowed the bait I had sent you, the anonymous letter answered, and you requested permission to go to Harwich. All that followed you know; but it is for me to inform you, that the honourable gentleman who saluted you on the road to Rumford, was Mr. Peachley, the uncle of Mr. Flamall’s wife, who was at that time in his house, which you passed, and moreover, I was in this secret, and what is more, received my fee in gold: Little did they suspect, that, villain as I was, I could not, nor would not, have been in this infernal business, had I not been certain of saving you as well as myself. But you were no sooner departed, and the coast clear, than I took the picture, and disposing of the frame for our joint convenience, I secured the angel face, which I will now give you.”

You may judge, my Harriet, of the sensations which assailed me, when he produced from its concealment, this evidence of my birth, and irreparable ruin. It was indeed the countenance of an angel which met my eyes! She was in a Spanish habit, the painting exquisitely finished and enamelled. My expressions of grief and despair touched Simons. “I am cursed,” said he, grasping my hand, “you recant, you cannot forgive me! but believe me, or not, I wished to serve you. I was fully convinced that I should succeed in tracing these men, whom I have mentioned; and by this means your father and mother. They are noble and rich, the picture frame was finished by a ducal coronet; it grieved me to break it; but it was unavoidable. I could have proved your identity, and given such evidences of Mrs. Duncan’s death, and the circumstances which had thrown you into the hands of villains as would have been unanswerable. But I am taken in my own toils,” added he, with vehement and dreadful imprecations; “and not allowed to be honest when I wished to be so.” I again soothed him, and by dwelling on my hopes of procuring my liberty, I solemnly engaged to take care of him to the utmost of my power. “I believe you on your word,” replied he with more composure. “You have convinced me that virtue is not a convention of interest, nor religion a lie. There was a time, when my conduct disgraced neither; but I was young, and had passions to gratify which your creed did not suit. I was gulled by a hypocrite, robbed by rascals, and defrauded of six or eight years labour by the neglect and ingratitude of the man whom I served by my _talents_, as much as _by my hand_. Your compassion may save me, from worse bonds than even these,” added he wringing my hand. “I am old, but I have yet a heart; and humanity may make me faithful.”

Misery, my Harriet, does not harden the heart. It produced in mine an interest for this unhappy creature’s _recovery_ and comfort; and insensibly he became my consolation, for, with a fertility of invention, he suggested so many ways of reaching Gibraltar, and from thence the object of my wishes, that hope was renewed. His communications from time to time gratified my curiosity; although the subject of it was diverted to a less interesting concern than you, my beloved wife. Simons spoke of you, in terms of kindness and pity. “Then again,” said he, “I was a rascal; for I knew that her worthy father died in good circumstances, though without having secured to her a provision; yet I held my tongue; and was continued in my office with an advanced stipend. Flamall was certain, as he told me, that her beauty would be her fortune, and his advantage; and with this scheme in his head, she was treated with kindness under his roof, to the great disappointment of his wife, who had hoped to see herself acknowledged as Mrs. Flamall.” “And wherefore does he keep his marriage a secret, even from his sister?” asked I. “He has solid reasons,” replied he, “for keeping the lady in the back ground; her alliance is not the most honourable. Some business in which she and her uncle were useful to Mr. Flamall, obliged him to purchase her uncle’s evidence, and to silence hers as being his wife; but in return Flamall can any day he pleases hang old Peachley.” I was now, my Harriet, circumstantially informed of a transaction which I shall spare my pen the task of going over with you. But it opened such a scene of wickedness as to leave no doubts on my mind, that your brother was fully qualified to impose upon your innocence; and my soul sickened in reflecting that you were in the power of a man, who, to use Simons’s words, “wrote more hands than any man in the profession; and with an exactness so unrivalled, that he could impose on the Devil himself.”

On the evening of our fourth day’s tedious journey we reached the abode of our new master. He was a man of about forty, could speak a few words of English, and as many of Spanish. He examined me with attention. My youth and appearance pleased him, but unfortunately the people who had conducted us from the ship, had received an impression which they gave to him, and poor Simons was judged to be my domestic. You know that his person is not conciliating, and it was in vain that I discovered the interest I took in his fate. We were separated; my master taking me with him the next morning to a house and garden, several leagues from the town, in which he was ruler. Here my philosophy was checked. I was seized by an ardent fever, and for many days they thought me dying. Nature resisted the attack, I was treated humanely, and till I had strength to crawl into the garden, and to seek the shade, they assiduously carried me to the fountain, which they perceived I liked. But my grief was beyond their kind offices; I had lost my mother’s picture, and I understood that my patron had it. He at length condescended to visit me; for I believe he thought me a man above the common sort. My tears and intreaties produced nothing. He replied, that the lady pleased him, “it was pretty,” and by Mohammed he would keep the painting. To soften this obduracy he sent me my books and linen; and I was given to understand that I was to teach him English when I was well.

I next implored him to send my friend to me. He evaded my request; and I conceived from the signs made me, that he was removed too far from me to render it easy to accomplish. The gentleness of my bondage in the mean time kept hope alive; for although I had the habit, and the badge of slavery, I had no cause for complaint. As my strength recruited, I was employed in light labour in the garden, and my mind was engaged by assiduously learning the Moorish language. Again, and again, I pleaded for the society of my friend, but in vain. At length I was told that he was dead; and the first use I made of my more familiar knowledge of the language, gave me the detailed circumstances of his miserable end. His grief and impatience on being separated from me was shown in a manner which the people about him neither understood, nor pitied. He refused food, and they chastised his obstinacy. He became more determined, and he was left to himself and time for the remedy. Nature at length conquered; he asked for food by signs expressive of his wants and submission; and they incautiously placed before him some boiled rice and water, of which he ate and drank so voraciously, that he died in great agonies, a few hours after.

I found in this relation, my Harriet, my last human tie dissolved; and I deplored the loss of a man, whom in happier circumstances of fortune, I should, it is probable, have scorned for his vices, and condemned as a being, lost to every virtuous feeling; but isolated as I stood, Simons was a prop, and I could not think of him as a man who had outlived humanity. But to return to my more immediate purpose. My patron, pleased with my rapid progress in his language, now became a pupil for mine, and with much curiosity he would listen to my reading and imperfect translations of the English authors; but he soon relaxed from his ardour, the labour discouraged him, and he contented himself with occasionally conversing with me in his native tongue. My story produced no compassion, he had long desired to have an Englishman in his house, and as such I should by any application at Algiers have brought him into trouble with the Dey; he therefore chose to believe that I was of Spanish origin. My mother’s picture was an evidence of this, for he had seen Spanish ladies, although none so beautiful. Judge of the torments I endured, when in saying this he would produce the picture, and comment on its superlative beauties. Thus passed the first three years of my captivity, and my incessant and defeated projects of escaping to Algiers. At this period my patron removed to a more distant province; and I was further removed from every hope. Two years more were passed in that languor of mind, which the annihilation of hope occasioned. My master discovered, that he had gained no advantage from having an English slave. I was too feeble for labour, and too pensive for his amusement; and without a scruple of conscience, or a mark of regret, he exchanged me for a fine Arabian horse which pleased him; and with the most unpitying indifference refused to restore to me my mother’s picture, saying, that I had been a costly bargain.

With my new master, my toils were incessant; but to what purpose should I detail these years of misery to my Harriet? Wherefore should I attempt to delineate chaos, in which nothing of my former train of thought appeared, but the remembrance of the wife whom I had left in the power of a demon? It would be a fruitless attempt to give language to feelings, which at times overpowered my reason. But man, my Harriet, is no less incomprehensible, than the power which has endued him with the force to resist suffering. In the days of ease and enjoyment, the principles of his soul lie dormant; he shrinks from the slightest blast, which annoys his enervated body and mind; given up to adversity, to hardship, and labour, all his powers exert their energy to preserve an existence, of which he is weary. Like the animals, it was my office to watch and serve; I slept after my allotted toil; and in the morning awoke to the privileges of the man, and the prospects of _the Christian_. How often did I bless my Maker, for the hopes of the Gospel. How often recall to my mind the lessons of my tender and pious Mrs. Duncan! My mind was soothed by the hope that you were _dead_, my Harriet; and I exulted in the thought of meeting with you in a world of bliss. My master, at this period, sold me to another; he was on the eve of a long and fatiguing journey, and he had the wisdom to perceive, that my strength was unequal to the duties it would unavoidably impose. I was, in consequence, sold to another Arabian merchant; but one much more wealthy than the master I had so laboriously served, during his wandering desultory journeys, in his traffic of buying female slaves. To my unspeakable relief, I found that I was, with others in my master’s suite, furnished with a horse for our journey, of which each rider had the care, and my good fortune for once appeared. One of the most valuable of these beautiful animals was suddenly seized with an indisposition, which must, in a few hours, have proved fatal from the means used to preserve his life. My master despaired of his recovery; and I ventured to propose copious bleeding. My advice was taken, and I was the operator; the horse recovered, and my favour was established. Our journey terminated at my master’s home, and we became stationary. His only son, a youth of about sixteen, became attached to me, and, for a time, I entertained the romantic hope, of cultivating a mind, not deficient in natural endowments; but the moment my pupil found that amusement led to application, he lost his relish for Ibrahim’s instructions. His father, a quiet indolent man, had, in the first instance of the son’s preference of me, formally given me to him, not displeased by the modes of instruction I had adopted; nor was he without hope, that my example and precepts might restrain the impetuosity of his son’s temper. I still hope, that I contributed to the amelioration of the soil, though I was unable to sow the seed I wished to see spring up. He exchanged me with perfect indifference for a young female slave; but with generosity he recommended me to my new patron as something more than a common man, adding, that I knew all things. Whether this character, or my reserved, although resigned behaviour, produced the effect, is not a question of any importance here; but it is certain, that he treated me with kindness, and conceived that I should repay him by the price he had affixed to my talents. He was by birth an American, his traffic had conducted him into many remote regions; and I found in his conversation both improvement and amazement. Time had blunted the keen anguish of my wounded bosom; bondage was familiar to my dejected spirits; I was a non-entity to all, but my Maker; and in contemplating his arms of mercy, I could smile at my chains. In the course of two years I had, with my patron, journied by sea and land, until we at length reached Grand Cairo; where, induced by the profit accruing from my sale, he parted with me to a Turk of some estimation in the eyes of his countrymen, for he was opulent and well protected. He was advanced in years, had a noble countenance, and spoke to me with a dignified and placid courteousness, bidding me look upon him with confidence. I obeyed, and our eyes met. Good God! when I perceived the tremulous signs of humanity, the sympathetic greeting of his still expressive lineaments, my soul melted within me; I was unable to resist the sweet invitation of pity, and I burst into tears, instead of paying him the exacted homage of a slave to his master. He turned aside, and I saw, yes, my Harriet! I saw the tear roll down his venerable face. Here, for a time, was my harbour of repose. My benefactor and my friend listened to my tale of woe, and whether it arose from the suggestion of an enlightened reason, or from the benevolence of his heart, he neither blamed me for adhering to my religion, nor recommended to me his own. Once, and once only, he said with a smile, “be discreet Ibrahim, and be true to Allah in thy services; and whether thou art a follower of Jesus or of Mohammed, he will acknowledge thee.” I bowed in silence, and I gave no offence by being steadfast in my faith in the Gospel.

CHAP. VI.

_Charles Duncan’s Narrative concluded._

I again return to my story. The recital of my life produced an effect which the good Abdallah had not foreseen. He frequently indulged me in the recapitulation of those circumstances of my disastrous fortune, which no interval of time had been able to erase from my mind. He permitted me, my Harriet, to speak of my wife, of my hopes as a parent; and my wounds bled afresh. To pity and soothings, he added more solid proofs of his regard. “I am old,” observed he, “and cannot live long; you are a comfort to me; and the fate of those you deplore is probably long since decided. I will give you freedom, and the means of returning to your country, on condition you remain here, and close my eyes.” I, with gratitude, accepted of those terms; and, some months before he died, he had, in presence of the official magistrate, formally registered my freedom. He had, moreover, the precaution to give me a purse of gold, which he ordered me to secrete, saying, that his death might leave me pennyless, as he could not trust to the generosity of those who might succeed him. I was faithful to my benefactor; and in heaven we shall again be friends!

I met with no impediment after his decease in the steps I took for my farther enlargement, and at length with my little treasure I reached Alexandria, where I found a French vessel ready to sail for Marseilles, in which I embarked as a passenger. My early acquaintance with the mathematics, and my desultory voyages with my patron, had rendered me no inexpert seaman. Our navigation was tedious, and the captain an ignorant babbler. For amusement, I had recourse to my activity; and, in the exercise on deck, I saw that the vessel was badly manœuvred, and in a crazy condition; keeping us constantly at the pump, and under apprehensions for our safety. Inured to labour, and cheerfully giving my time to the common relief of all, I became a favourite with the sailors, which providentially saved their lives and my own. Within a few leagues of our port we met with rough weather; and a swelling sea succeeded the gale, which was only formidable to a ship in the condition of ours. The leak gained upon us rapidly, and the captain, in despair, gave orders for the longboat to be prepared, and for each man to think of his preservation. The night was dark, and the peril obvious, in an attempt to reach land in the boat. My arguments prevailed; by incessant toil we kept the vessel floating till day break, when we took to the boat, and saw her sink before we had gone half a furlong. We reached, however, the port, and the _shipwrecked Duncan_, once more saw himself poor and friendless; but I was _free_. I looked at my muscular arms and I smiled; for I was _independent_; and quitting my companions, who were relieved from their necessities by the charity they solicited, I repaired to a house, in order to replenish my strength with bread of my _own_. My slender purse sufficed, however, for my wants. I had enough to buy me the dress of a seaman, and fortunately finding an American ship bound for London, I offered myself as a shipwrecked Englishman, willing to work my passage _home_. Something in my voice and manner betrayed my feelings, when I pronounced the word _home_. The captain had the heart of a man, and I was told, to take my _birth_ “on board” that very evening, and that it should be a warm one; for he pitied me. During the voyage my quiet melancholy and some accidental discourses of “_my learning_,” to use the worthy captain’s word, so augmented the interest his benevolence had excited in my behalf, that, on reaching our port, he asked me what were my intentions respecting my future employment. I replied that my first care would be to seek out a _friend_, who, if found, would determine my fate, and probably place me beyond the reach of penury. “But you may not find him,” replied he, viewing with attention emotions which I was unable to check. “Let me advise you to keep where you are, till you can do better. I like you, and will retain you as ship steward; you are a good seaman and an honest capable man; and may be the maker of your own fortune.” I rejected this offer, saying, that I knew not whether my private concerns would permit me to leave England so soon as he would. “Well,” replied he, “I will not press you into my service; but I must pay for what you have done. I was on the look-out for a hand to supply one who had left me when we met. You have more than done that fellow’s duty, and you are justly entitled to your wages.” He placed ten guineas in my hand, and added, that whilst the ship was at her moorings, he thought I might as well make her my “head quarters,” as she would give me a bed and board until a better hammock was found; “and in order to make this offer sit easy on your mind,” continued he, taking my trembling hand, “You may keep a clear reckoning, by being useful to me with your pen, and your sobriety.” He instantly left me, and at his return I thanked him, and entered on my office of clerkship.