T H E
Inhuman
Stepmother;
O
R T H E
O F
Miss
Harriot Montague.
I n
T W O V O L U M E S.
VOL.
I.
L O
N D O N:
Printed
for J. ROSON, No. 54, St. Martin’s-
Le
Grand, near Newgate-Street.
M
DCC LXX.
OF
Miss
Harriot Montague.
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IN that delightful
season of the year, when nature throws forth all her hoard of charms, and puts
to shame the weak efforts of art; when the groves were adorned with verdure,
the meads and gardens enamelled with flowers, when the little warbling
choristers of the woods begin to make their nests in the thick-set branches of
the shady bowers. In the reign of our late sovereign George the Ist, there came
to settle at a small village near Plymouth, a French gentleman and his lady,
whose names were Le Montague, they left France, their native country, upon
account of their religion. Monsieur Le Montague had been master of a vessel,
with which, making many prosperous voyages, he had gained a pretty fortune; and
was now resolved to pass the remainder of his days in a country of liberty,
where he might enjoy his religion without molestation, having disposed of all
his effects in France, and remitted the money by bills to England, into the
hands of one of his correspondents at Plymouth, where he chose to settle; he
having some acquaintance with the most considerable merchants, with whom he had
traded. He had been in England several times before, and was perfectly skilled
in our language; he put part of his money into the public funds, and with the
rest purchased a house and some lands, on which he lived with his wife and a
few servants, as happily as any man on earth could do; nothing was wanting but
children to make him completely so. He had been married eight years, and no
prospect of having any; however, he had not lived in this healthful country
above 18 months, when his lady with much joy acquainted him she was with child,
at which news he was much transported, and returned thanks to heaven. She was
at the expiration of her time happily delivered of a child, which proved a
girl, whose life in the subject of this history being full of such strange
misfortunes and wonderful adventures, that it well deserves the notice of the
public: they gave her the name of her fond mother, which was Harriot; the child
was so beautiful, every body that saw her admired her.
It
is needless to tell you that Monsieur Le Montague and his lady bred her up with
all the care and tenderness imaginable; but it pleased heaven to deprive this
little creature of her mother before she was three years old, for Madam Le
Montague fell sick of a fever, and died, after lingering under that terrible
disorder eight months: she was well respected by all her neighbours, which made
her greatly lamented, especially by the poor, to them she was very kind. Poor
Harriot was left to the care of her father, who was deeply concerned for the
death of his loving wife, looking upon the child as the dear pledge of which
was left him, of their mutual affection: he was so doatingly fond of her, that
he was resolved never to marry again, but to make it the business of his life
to instruct and provide for her on the most advantageous manner he was able.
Nor
was his good intentions frustrated, for Harriot as she encreased in years
shewed so great a capacity, and so quick an apprehension in all she went about,
that he had reason to expect great things from her; nor were his expectations
without foundation; for before she was twelve years old she could play on the
lute and harpsichord, dance finely, speak French and Italian perfectly, sung
delightfully, writ delicately, and used her needle with so much art and skill,
as if Pallas had been her governess. Monsieur Le Montague offered praises to
heaven hourly for her, and was more fond of her than he ought to have been,
fancying he could not outlive the loss of her: she in return for his excessive
fondness, was so obedient to his will, that his commands were always punctually
obeyed; she never offended him. But man is a frail creature, and there are unlucky
hours in life, which, if not carefully armed against, give us opportunities of
being undone. A merchant of London, in whose hands Monsieur Le Montague had a
great sum of money, died, and he was obliged to make a journey to town on
purpose to look after it, and get it out of the executrix’s hands who was
looked upon to be no very honest woman. He would not venture to take Harriot
with him, for fear of the small-pox, which at that time was very outrageous in
London: he left her with a gentlewoman, whom he had taken into his house since
the death of his wife, as a housekeeper, to manage the servants and wait on his
daughter: he set out for London as soon as he had provided every thing
necessary for the journey, and took up his residence at a friend’s house in the
city, where he was joyfully received. When he had transacted the business he
came upon, he was resolved to stay a few days to enjoy the pleasures of the
town, where he had not been for many years: he went to court and the
play-houses. His friend and he being together one evening at the play, two very
handsome well-dressed ladies came into the pit and sat down before them, one of
these ladies was very beautiful and genteel, the other seemed to be her
companion. Monsieur Le Montague felt a strange alteration in himself, at the
sight of this woman; he fell into discourse with her, and presented some
oranges and sweetmeats to her; he found her conversation as bewitching as her
face and mein: his friend kindly cautioned him, but in vain. In fine, the play
being done, he prevailed on the ladies to be admitted to see them home, and
asked his friend to accompany him, which he, after great persuasions,
unwillingly consented to: they ushered the ladies into a coach, the ladies bid
the coachman drive to a street in Piccadilly, where being come they alighted,
and the gentlemen were invited into a house furnished very genteely. They staid
supper, which was served up by two maid servants, consisting of cold meat,
tarts, and wine.
Supper
being over, they entered into a free manner of conversation; the lady, who
appeared to be the mistress of the house, was the youngest and handsomest, told
them she was a widow, and had buried her husband about two years before, who
was a country gentleman; he had left her a moderate fortune, and died without
issue. She finding the country too melancholy for her, had come to London with
this lady her aunt, who was a widow also; but having had an ill husband, was
not so well provided for, as one of her birth and fortune deserved: they had taken
a house in that part of the town, as most airy and retired, and had but few
visitors: then she excused herself with a charming air of modesty, for having
admitted these strangers to this freedom, which indeed Monsieur Le Montague had
desired with great importunity. They spent the remainder of the evening in a
very agreeable conversation, and then respectfully took leave, after having
obtained of the two ladies permission to repeat their visits, and continue the
acquaintance chance had so happily begun. The servant having called a coach,
Monsieur Le Montague gave her half a crown, and entered into it with his
friend, over head and ears in love with his charming widow; his friend
pleasantly ridiculed him all the way home, telling him these ladies were doubtless
kept-women or jilts, but Monsieur Le Montague was so inflamed with love for the
young widow, that he was deaf to all he said, yet seemed to hearken to him, and
turn the adventures into a jest, saying, he did not intend to visit them any
more.
When
he got home he was very desirous of going to bed, but the thoughts of his
charming widow so deprived him of rest, that he lay awake all night, thinking
on nothing but her. He visited her the next day, and was entertained with so
much modesty and wit, that he lost all consideration, and resolved, if
possible, to gain her for his wife. And now it is fit that we should know who
she was, and that we relate this fair one’s life, whose true name is Melinda.
She
was the younger daughter of a country gentleman, of a good family and estate,
and though well educated, and very witty, and accomplished, yet being wantonly
inclined, she at the age of fifteen fell in love with a young officer of the
guards, who came to the town her father lived in to visit some relations. This
gay young rake, who had a wife and two children in London, made love secretly
to this young lovely unexperienced girl, and having prevailed on her maid to
let him meet her in a grove behind her father’s house, where he pretended
honourable love to her, and promised to marry her. In fine, having gained her
affections and ruined her, fearing her father would revenge the injury he had
done his daughter, if he came to the knowledge of it, he one evening took leave
of her to go for London, pretending it was to desire his friends to get him a
better post, as he was at that time but an ensign; then he would write to his
relations to move his suit to her father. But alas! the deluded Malinda, young
as she was, too well discerned her lover’s base design, and was distracted with
shame, love, and revenge; she reproached him (letting fall a shower of tears)
in words so tender and so moving, that had he not been a hardened wretch, and
one of those heroick rakes that have been well versed in every vice, that this
famous city can instruct youth in, he would have relented; but he was a
complete gentleman, and had the tongue of a lawyer; was as deceitful as a
courtier, had no more religion than honesty, was handsome, lewd, and
inconstant; yet he pretended to be much concerned at leaving her, and made a
thousand protestations of his fidelity to her. He set out for London the next
morning before day, and left the poor undone Melinda in the utmost despair; she
was afraid to disclose her grief to any but her treacherous maid, who had been
the confident of their amour: some months past without one line from him, which
convinced her of being more unfortunate than she at first imagined; she found
herself with child, which put a thousand dreadful designs into her head,
sometimes she was resolved to put an end to her wretched life, and prevent her
shame, but then reflecting on the miserable state her soul must be in for ever,
those thoughts made her desist from her dismal purpose; but finding it
impossible to conceal her misfortune much longer, she was resolved to go to
London in search of the wretch, the author of her miseries.
In
order to this she got what money she could together, and one evening, having
before acquainted her treacherous confident with her design, she packed up her
cloaths and what rings and other things she had of value. At midnight the maid
got two of the men servants habits, which they put on, and so disguised
themselves, each carrying a bundle, they went away from her father’s house by
break of day; the maid having ordered her brother, to whom she had told her
design, to meet them a little way from the house with horses, on which they
mounted; he being the guide, went with them twenty miles, which was near half
way to London. There they parted with him, well rewarded him for his trouble,
and he took the horses back, after bribing him well to be secret; but they did
not fear he would make any discovery, he being so much concerned in assisting
them in their flight.
They
lay at the inn that night which he had carried them to, from whence a stage
coach went every other day to London, and was to set out from thence the next
morning, in which they went, having changed their cloaths at a bye ale-house on
the road before they came to the inn, and gave their men’s habits to their
conductor, they appeared to be really what they were; and Melinda’s beauty made
a conquest of an old superannuated captain, who with his nephew, a youth about
twelve years of age, was in the coach. He soon entered into discourse with her,
she wanted not wit, her youth and fine habit she had on, informed him she was a
person of no mean degree. He asked her many questions, and made her large
offers of his service, and she was nobly treated by the old gentleman at
dinner. They being now within a few miles of London, the unfortunate Melinda,
who knew not where to look for a lodging, nor how to find out the base author
of her miseries, ventured to tell the old gentleman that she was a stranger in
town, and should be highly obliged to him if he could help her to a lodging in
some private house of good reputation, and a sight of Frederick, whom she
supposed he might have some knowledge of, being an officer. The old gentleman
was indeed no stranger to him nor his vices, and immediately guessed the
condition of the unhappy Melinda by her blushes: he joyfully told her, that he
was well acquainted with him, and belonged to the same regiment, and that he
would introduce her into the house of a lady who was his relation, who would
study to make her as happy as she could desire. The unfortunate Melinda
joyfully accepted his generous offer, looked on this as Providence, and him as
her only friend. But alas, she was greatly deceived, for it was only a
forerunner of greater misfortunes which proved her entire ruin; for the captain
believing her now entirely ruined, had his own satisfaction in view, and
pitying her condition, knowing the villainous Frederick was already married,
thought it would be a deed of charity in him to keep her for himself. In order
to which, as soon as the stage came to the inn, he hired a hackney coach, into
which he put his nephew and a servant that he had with him, who rid up one of
his horses; sent them home to his own house; and went with the lady and her
maid to a house in Piccadilly, where dwelt a useful lady, in plain English, a
private quality bawd, who used to lodge a mistress for him often. This private
procuress was well bred, and a saint in appearance, she lived in so private a
manner, that her neighbours was unacquainted with her profession. She passed
for a married lady, and gave out that her husband was first lieutenant of a man
of war, and that he was at the East Indies, where the ship was stationed, and
that she let her lodgings to people of fashion; she kept a maid servant, and always
had a handsome attendant or two which passed for relations, who came to visit
her out of the country. She was called aunt by one, and cousin by another, as
she directed the poor creatures to stile her. The house was neatly furnished,
and there was no young creature in it at that time but our unfortunate
traveller, and a lady whose name was Lucinda, a young girl about eighteen years
of age, who had been trapanned there, and ruined by a nobleman at that time
famous for such villainous actions; this was the person that was with her at
the play, when Monsieur Le Montague saw them. The captain presented the
unfortunate Melinda to this good lady, giving her particular charge to be
careful and kind to her; but the old insinuating bawd had no occasion to be told
of that, for seeing her so young, handsome, and so well dressed, was well
pleased with her company, and was determined to practise all her arts to gain
her esteem and friendship, hoping in time she would prove a good bargain to
her. Supper was soon provided, and our unfortunate traveller eat very heartily.
Being a little fatigued with her journey, she drank two or three glasses of
wine, which made her for the present forget all her misfortunes. He pressed her
to know her circumstances, she freely told him that the base Frederick had
promised her marriage and ruined her, but she would not tell him her true name,
nor from whence she came, but with tears intreated him to bring the base
Frederick to her, which he promised to do the next morning. He then took his
leave of her, much charmed with his valuable prize, hoping he should soon
obtain his desires, but in his heart he could but condemn his friend’s
villainy, as he knew that he was already married.
He
went to his own home to his wife, for he had one, a very amiable good sort of a
woman; he had likewise two children, but had never shewn a parental regard for
neither, nor a sincere love for his wife, but used her very ill. The poor
unfortunate Melinda was conducted with her maid to a handsome chamber, the maid
undressed herself and was soon asleep, but the miserable Melinda could not
close her eyes, she reflected on her own actions. It is impossible to describe
the uneasiness, or more properly speaking, the agonies she underwent, when she
considered that she had left her tender parents, blasted the reputable family
she belonged to, since none could but help guessing the cause of her sudden
flight; that she was now a stranger in the place, in the hands of those she
knew nothing of; that in case Frederick, from whom she had little cause to
expect any good, refused to marry and take care of her, she was ruined to all
intents and purposes; was scarce sixteen years of age, in a strange place, and
lay open to all the frauds that are practised in London, and amongst strangers
that she was not the least acquainted with. She could not return to her
friends, nor had with her but a small matter which could not long keep her from
starving; and how was she to provide for the poor helpless infant she was then
big with? This thought almost broke her heart; she shed a flood of tears, and
thought death a great happiness if she could be blessed with it; thus she
passed the night without closeing her eyes; thus by one imprudent action we
then ruin the peace and quiet of our lives for ever, by one false and imprudent
step undo ourselves. Would mankind but reflect how barbarous a deed it is, how
much below a man, nay, how like the devil it is to debauch a young experienced
virgin, and expose to ruin and an endless train of miseries the person whom his
persuasions hath drawn to gratify his beastly lust, to oblige him at the
expence of her own peace and honour to gratify his desire. It certain that if
our laws be just that punish a man with death who kills another, he certainly
merits that or something worse that ruins an innocent helpless virgin,
unacquainted with the frauds of mankind. What an abominable detested villain is
he who betrays a foolish maid, that credits his false oaths, vows, and cursed
deceitful tongue, and at last abandons her to shame and misery? Is he not worse
than a savage, nay, the savage has more humanity. And if women were not
infatuated, doubtless every maid would look on the man that proposes such a
question to her as her mortal enemy, and from that moment despise him. Forgive
this digression, our unfortunate girls condition and wrongs must inspire every
generous mind with some concern and resentment against the greatest part of
mankind.
The
captain, who dreamed of her all night, and was on fire to possess her, sent for
his friend Frederick in the morning to a tavern, told him of his adventure, and
asked him what he meant to do with her, and who she was: but to this last
question he was dumb, well knowing that the wretched Melinda was the captain’s
own niece, being his sister’s daughter. He said she was a country squire’s
daughter in another town, that he could do nothing for her, but give her a
purse of money, and remove her to a cheap lodging, and send her back to her
father’s when she was up again. The captain reproved him, and said he would
himself pay her lodging, and contribute something towards providing for her:
nay, in short, that if he would quit her company he would keep her. But
Frederick was startled at this proposal, fearing he would discover who she was,
and that it would be a quarrel betwixt them, and his ruin. He desired some time
to consider of that, and concluded to go immediately with him to her. They
found her up, her eyes swoln with weeping: at the moment Frederick entered the
chamber, she swooned; his love revived, he catched her in his arms; the
captain, disordered with this sight, went down stairs, and left them alone with
none but the maid, who shutting the door, left them together. ’Tis needless to
relate what passionate expressions passed on her side, and excuses on his. In
fine, he told her she was in an ill house, that the captain had bad designs
upon her, and that he would that evening fetch her away and take care of her;
that she should not discover who she was, as she valued her own peace and his
life. In fine, poor Melinda, born to be deceived, gave credit to all he said,
and followed his directions. The captain and he went away together; and in the
evening Frederick, having gone to an obscure midwife’s near Chelsea, and took a
lodging for her, fetched her away and carried her thither, pretending great
fondness. Here she continued some time, never stirring out of doors. He
continually visited her, and told the captain he had sent her into the country.
At last she was delivered of a dead child, and lay long ill of a fever; and
Frederick, being quite tired with the expence, proposed to her to return home.
She urged his promises and vows to marry her, till he was obliged to disclose
the fatal secret to her, that he was married already. What words can express
her resentments and disorder at that instant? In short, he left her in this
distraction, and that evening sent her a letter to call on him in a coach alone
at a tavern he appointed, saying he had thought of a means to make her easy.
She imprudently went, there he had hired two bailiffs to arrest her with a
false action. She was by them carried to a spunging house, and there kept while
he sold his post, and with his family went into the country; having the night
he trepanned her took away from the midwife’s her cloaths, money, and jewels,
and discharged the maid; who not daring to return to her friends or mistress’s
father’s, went down to an aunt she had in another shire: when Frederick had
dispatched his business and was gone, the officers told her he had released
her, and she might go where she pleased. She was so weak she could scarce walk,
nor knew one step of the way, or the name of the place she was in. One of these
fellows was so moved with her complaints, that he led her to the midwife’s house
as she directed, having learned the name of the street during her abode with
her. The midwife, who knew nothing of what she had suffered, received her with
amazement, and soon gave her an account how Frederick had taken away all her
clothes, and sent away her maid, which so afflicted Melinda, that she went half
dead to bed. In the morning, not knowing what other course to take, having
neither clothes nor money, and the midwife being poor, giving her to understand
she could not long entertain her, she resolved to seek out the generous
captain. In order to which she desired the midwife to go with her in a coach to
the lady’s house at Westminster, to which he had at first carried her: they
went, found the house, and were received by Mrs._________ with much
civility and kindness. The colonel was sent for, and came before dinner: he
took her in his arms with transport, protested never to part, but take care of
her till death. She related to him Frederick’s base usage of her. He told her
he had sold his post, and left the town. And in short, the midwife, being
treated and rewarded for bringing her thither, took leave. The best rooms in
the house were ordered for Melinda, and the captain did that night sleep in her
arms: thus her first misfortune involved her in a worse. Some months she lived
in this manner, being richly clothed and bravely maintained by her gallant, who
doated upon her. In this time she contracted a great friendship with a young
woman in the house, Lucinda, who was very handsome, good-natured, and about the
age of twenty: they were continually together, and lay in one bed when the
captain did not come to lie there. By this means they became so intimate, that
Lucinda gave her an account who she was, and how she came there.
She
told her she was the daughter of an eminent divine, who had seven children, and
very good preferment in the country; but living very high, and breeding his
children up at a great rate, provided no fortunes for them; so that dying
before they were placed out in the world, they were left to shift; and she
being one of the youngest, being then about thirteen, was taken by a lady to
wait on a little daughter she had about seven years old, and with the family
brought up to town; that in a year’s time her master, who was a young gentleman,
ruined her; and fearing her lady should discover the intrigue, persuaded her to
quit her service, pretending sickness, and that London did not agree with her;
and take leave of her lady to return to her mother, who kept a boarding-school
in the country to maintain herself and the children, two of the boys being yet
at school, and two girls at home. But she went not to her mother as she
pretended, but into a lodging her master had provided for her. In this house,
he for two years maintained and kept her company; but at last growing weary,
gave her a small allowance; so that by the bawd’s persuasions, she admitted
others to her embraces, and was at this time maintained by a merchant in the
city, and concluded her story with many tears; saying, she did not like this
course of life, and wish’d she could find a way to leave it; but that the bawd
always kept her bare of money by borrowing and wheedling it out of her, and
that they were always poor and wanting money, living, as she saw, very high in
diet; that she had had several children, but had but one alive, and that was at
nurse at Chelsea, being a little girl, about three years old, which she had by
a young lord, who took care of it. Melinda promised to serve her in all she was
able.
Now
a strange turn happened in her affairs: the captain’s brother-in-law, Melinda’s
father, having made all the inquiry after his daughter that was possible in the
country, and offered a reward to any that should inform him what was become of
her, was at last acquainted with the manner of her going to London by the
maid’s brother who had procured the horses for them. On which news he came away
for London in search of her; he arrived at his brother’s, the captain’s house,
tells him his business, and begs his assistance to find her out, knowing
nothing who had debauched her at first, nor why she fled; tho’ he too rightly
guessed that must be the occasion of her withdrawing herself. The captain, who
had never seen his niece Melinda in the country, having not been at his brother’s
house for many years past, was a little surprized at the circumstances of time
and place where he met with this young woman, and longed to get to her to
question her about it. It was night when his brother arriv’d, so he was oblig’d
to delay satisfying his curiosity till the morning; then he went to Melinda,
and telling her the reason of his coming, and that her father was come, she
swooned, and by that too well convinc’d him, that he had lain with his own
niece, and not only committed a great sin, but dishonoured his family. He at
this moment felt the stings of guilt and bitter repentance; he resolv’d never
more to commit the like: and now from an amorous lover, who used to teach her
vice, he became a wise monitor, and preach’d up virtue and repentance; and told
her, he would that day remove her from that ill house and place her in the
country, give her a maintenance to live honestly, and if possible, dispose of
her to advantage; that he would endeavour to reconcile her to her father,
provided she would never disclose what had pass’d between them. She gladly
agreed to all: and here providence was so merciful as to give her an
opportunity to be happy again; but, alas, youth once vitiated is rarely
reform’d; and woman, who whilst virtuous is an angel, ruin’d and abandon’d by
the man she loves, becomes a devil. The bawd had prevented all these good
designs from coming to effect, by introducing a young nobleman into her
company, the most gay agreeable man in the world, who was very liberal to the
procuress, and made Melinda such large presents, and used such rhetorick, that
she could not resist his solicitations, but yeilded to his desires. She was for
this cause deaf to reason, and acquainted Lucinda and Mrs._________
what had passed between her uncle and her: so it was agreed that she should go
where her uncle desired; get what she could, and return to them. In the evening
the captain came and took her and her clothes away, and carried her to Chelsea
to a widow gentlewoman’s house that was his friend. The next morning he
returned with her father, having told him, that Frederick had ruined her; and
that having fled to London, she had found a lady of his acquaintance out, where
she had been taken care of for four days past, having been abandoned and ill
used by Frederick: that he had heard of it from this lady but the day before
his arrival, and counselled him to forgive her, and take her home again, or
continue her with this good lady to live privately, and allow her something.
This was what the captain had contrived, and taught Melinda to say. The father
heard this with great grief, and swore to take revenge upon Frederick; but that
heaven prevented, for they had news of his death soon after; being thrown from
off his horse as he was hunting, and killed on the spot, in which heaven’s
justice was greatly manifested.
Now
doating upon the unfortunate Melinda, he consented to see and provide for her,
but not to carry her home to his wife and other daughters, lest it should
publish his misfortune more; but resolved to allow her a convenient maintenance
to live with this gentlewoman, and at his return to say, that she was run away
with, and married to a person much below what he expected, belonging to the
sea; and that he had done what he thought fit for her, and left her in town.
This, he thought, would silence his neighbours and afflicted wife, who had been
long indisposed with the grief she had fallen into on her account.
’Tis
needless to relate what passed between the father and daughter at their first
meeting; the disorder both were in was extraordinary: but having promised to
allow her thirty pounds a year, on condition she lived soberly and retired in
this gentlewoman’s house, and dispatched some other affairs that he had to do
in town, he returned home; and she remained some days in this place, her uncle
visiting, and frequently admonishing her to live well and repent of her
follies. But she could not bear this confinement, but longed to see her young
lover and friend Lucinda again: in short, she watched her opportunity one
morning, when the gentlewoman went out to a friend that lay sick, who had sent
for her; and packed up her clothes, called a boat, and left a letter on the
table for her uncle, to tell him she was gone to town to live, at the house
where he had placed her in before, where she should be glad to see him; and so
went away to Mrs._________ where she was joyfully received. The
captain soon received the news of her flight, and the letter; went to her, and
used all arguments to persuade her thence, but to no purpose; so she continued
there, and had variety of lovers; learning all the base arts of that vile
profession: till at last, having been so cunning as to have laid up a thousand
pounds, besides a great stock of rich clothes, a watch, necklace, rings, and
some plate, having liv’d in several lodgings, and been kept by several men of
fashion, she took Lucinda and furnished a house, kept two maid-servants, and
Lucinda’s pretty girl, and liv’d genteelly, being visited by none but such
lovers as could pay well for their entertainment. These were Melinda’s
adventures past, and the circumstance in which Monsieur Le Montague found her;
he visited her every day, and could not think of leaving London without
Melinda. She wisely considering with herself how precarious the way of life she
followed was, resolved to marry him, but cunningly delayed it in order to
encrease his passion; pretending that she could not marry so soon after the
death of her first husband, being but two years a widow. Monsieur Le Montague
confessed his design of marrying her to his friend; and though he was much
averse to it, yet having no particular knowledge of her, he could not alledge
any thing to deter him from it, but his own conjectures. In fine, Monsieur Le
Montague in two months time got her consent, and taking his friend along with
him, one fatal morning went to her house, from whence she, accompanied with her
friend and confident Lucinda, went with them to St. Martin’s church, where the
knot was tied, and the unfortunate Le Montague sealed his ruin. They returned
to her house, where they dined merrily, and Monsieur Le Montague lay that
night. In a few days after their marriage, he importuned her to go home with
him into the country, which she was no ways averse to; because she feared the visits
of her customers, some of whom could not be well denied admittance by reason of
their quality and power over her, would discover all to him. He was much
pleased at her appearing so ready to comply with his desires; and now they
prepared for going. At her request, he consented to give Lucinda the best part
of the furniture in the house, which she designed to continue in, and follow
the unhappy trade she had so long been versed in; though in reality she was
much averse to it, and wished from the bottom of her soul, that she could meet
with some honest man that would marry her; to whom she would be true and
virtuous, being no ways addicted to vice, but reduced to it by misfortune and
necessity.
And
now Melinda thought to go privately to her uncle the captain, to acquaint him
with her good fortune, in hopes he would now appear to credit her. She
pretended to him great repentance for her past follies, and he gladly received
her, visited her husband, and owned her for her niece; sent down word to her
parents, who were over-joyed to hear she was reclaimed, and so well disposed
of. Her mother came to town to see her long lost child. And now, had she had
the least spark of virtue, she had been truly happy. Monsieur Le Montague at
last carried her home in the stage-coach, having sent her cloaths, plate, and
what else they thought fit by the waggon, and returned five hundred pounds,
which she had called in from the goldsmith’s where she had placed it, by bills
to Bristol. They arrived safe, and she was welcomed by all his friends, and
treated handsomely. She pretended to be charmed with Harriot his beautiful
daughter; and for some months they lived very happily.
You
may naturally imagine that a virtuous life and the quiet country were things
that did not relish well with a woman who had lived a town life, and enjoyed
its pleasure in the highest luxury. Melinda wanted pleasure, and soon fixed her
wanton eyes upon a young sea-captain who used to visit at Monsieur Le
Montague’s. This young gentleman had been exchanged with a merchant’s son in
France, who was related to Monsieur Le Montague, and so became intimate with
him, and many French captains of ships and merchants. He was very handsome and
loved his pleasures, a lover of a fine girl, and a true friend to a bottle; Melinda
soon made herself understood by him, and he as soon fulfilled her desires, and
made Monsieur Le Montague the fashionable thing, a cuckold. She grew big with
child, and was delivered of a daughter, which Monsieur Le Montague, who had for
some time past suspected something of her intrigue with the young captain, who
we shall call Du Pre, did not look on this child with the same tenderness as he
did on Harriot; for which reason she now beheld Harriot with much indignation
and dislike: though she concealed her malice and seemed fond of her. Harriot
did all she was able to please her; but now having got a child of her own,
Melinda wished her out of the world; and her little darling Diana growing every
day more lovely in her eyes, and her husband seeming more reserved to her, and
to take little notice of the child, so enraged her, that she resolved to get
Harriot out of her way if possible, that Diana might inherit all the fortune.
Captain Du Pre went a voyage or two to France and Holland; and returning, when
he came back to visit her, she made known her wicked design to him, and in
fine, gained him to assist her in it. They contrived to send her beyond sea by
some captain of his acquaintance, and he pitched upon a French Master of a
ship, who was used to trade to Virginia and the Leward Islands. This captain
was of a cruel and avaricious disposition, that he would do any thing for
money; his name was Monsieur Le Merchant, Du Pre expected him hourly in that
port. Mrs. Le Montague, and her husband, and Harriot, had often gone together
on board ships to be treated by merchants and masters, her husband’s
acquaintance, and sometimes without her husband, with some other friends, and
particularly Du Pre. Captain Le Merchant being arrived at Bristol with his
ship, which was bound to Virginia, Du Pre acquainted him with their design on
Harriot, and offered him such a bribe as easily prevailed with the covetous
Frenchman to undertake to effect it. It was agreed on betwixt them, so soon as
he was ready to sail to give them notice; and now the fatal day was come when
the innocent lovely virgin, who was in the thirteenth year of her age, was to
be deprived of her dear father and friends, and exposed to all the dangers of
the seas, and betrayed into the hands of cruel relentless men. Monsieur Le
Montague, the evening that the ship was to sail, which was about two days after
they had agreed with the captain in this barbarous and unnatural project, went
to take a walk with a neighbouring gentleman. Captain Du Pre came with the French
captain to invite Mrs. Le Montague and Harriot on board; she in obedience to
her mother-in-law’s desires, went with her in the captain’s boat, little
thinking that she should make so long a continuance; and being come on board
they were highly treated, and something being put into some wine that was given
to Harriot, she was so bereft of her senses, that they put her on the captain’s
bed, and left her senseless, whilst they took leave of him and went on shore in
a chance-boat, which they called passing by the ship, which weighed anchor and
set sail immediately. And now Mrs. Le Montague, as they had contrived, so soon
as they were on shore, began to wring her hands and cry like one distracted,
pretending Harriot was drowned: she alarmed all the people as she went along,
saying, that she fell over the side of the boat into the sea, and no help being
near, was drowned: none could contradict her, because no body could tell what
boat they came in from the ship: the boat being gone off before she made the out-cry.
Being come aside, she threw herself upon her bed; and her husband being
informed of this sad news by the laments of the servants at his entering into
his house, and going up to her, asking a hundred questions of the manner of it;
she so rarely acted her part, that he believed she was really grieved, and
Harriot certainly drowned; which so struck him to the heart, that he was seized
with a deep melancholy, and spent most part of his days in his closet shut up
from company; and the mornings and evenings walking alone in some retired
place, or by the seashore. Melinda, being highly pleased that she had acted her
part so well in having got rid of the obstacle that gave her so much disgust,
and that her husband took the loss of his Harriot so much at heart, flattered
herself that she should soon be a widow, and return to her dear London, and
enjoy the company of her dear Du Pre without molestation.
It
is necessary that we leave them for the present to enquire after the innocent
Harriot, who waking about midnight, was quite amazed to find herself on a bed
no bigger than a couch. Shut up in a nasty filthy closet, and hearing the
seamens voices, soon discovered the fatal secret, and knew that she was in the
ship. She got up, knocked loudly at the cabin door, upon which a young
gentleman opened it, a youth of excellent shape and features, in a fine habit;
he had a candle in his hand, and seemed to view her with admiration. ‘Lovely
maid, (said he) ‘what would you please to have, for I am bound to obey you, and
would willingly lose my life in defence of yours?’ ‘I beg to know Sir, (said
she) ‘where my mother and captain Du Pre are, and why I am left here alone?’ He
remained silent a moment, and bowing, answered, ‘madam, I am sorry that I must
be so unfortunate as to acquaint you with ill news the first time that I have
the honour to speak to you: they are gone ashore, and by what I can learn of
the matter sold you to the captain. I am a passenger in this ship, and shall, I
hope, be the instrument of your deliverance out of his cruel hands, which I
will do or lose my life; I was on shore when you were left here, but having
seen you come on board, I made haste back, and finding the ship just under
sail, upon my entrance into it asked where you was. On which he told me with
joy, that he had you safe in his cabin, having received a good sum to carry you
with us to Virginia. I love you, my dear Harriot (if I may be permitted to call
you so) with the greatest sincerity, and will lose my life in your defence,
both to secure your virtue and your liberty: is not the first time I have seen
you.’ At these words he sat down by her, pressed her hand, and kissed her. But
what words can express her confusion and grief when she found in what manner
she was betrayed by her cruel mother-in-law; she fetched a great sigh and
fainted: at which the young gentleman ran and fetched some cordial-water from
his chest, and gave her; when reviving, she fell into a transport of sorrow,
calling to heaven to help and deliver her. She desired to see the captain, and
made use of all the intreaties she was mistress of, to return with her; telling
him her father would give him treble the sum if he would restore her to him;
but the hardened wretch said that he had receiv’d his orders, and was
determined they should be punctually complied with; the poor undone Harriot,
finding nothing would avail, gave way to her sorrow, and refused every thing
they gave her. Leander, for that was the youth’s name, waited till her passion
was a little mitigated, and then began to reason with and comfort her; telling
her, she must submit to the Almighty’s will, and that she should look upon his
being in that ship as an earnest of God’s favour to take care of her: that he
was in circumstances that rendered him capable of serving her; that his name
was Leander, and that his father and hers had been intimate friends, being a
merchant who lived at Barbadoes, but had been dead about a twelvemonth, having
left him and one daughter in guardians hands, he not being yet of age: that these
guardians used him and his sister ill, having put her into a monastery against
her will, she being engaged to a young gentleman whom they would not let her
marry, pretending that he was not a suitable match in fortune, and that she was
too young, being but fourteen, to dispose of herself; which they did with no
other design, as he supposed, but to keep her fortune in their hands as long as
they could, in hopes that both he and she might die single, and leave all in
their power, being his uncle’s by his fathers side, and heirs to the fortune
which was very considerable, in case they died without issue. That his father
having effects to a great value in Virginia in the hands of a gentleman who was
brother by his mother’s side, she was likewise dead, he was going to ask this
uncle to take possession, and to ask his assistance to deal with his guardians,
whom he had left, because he had some reason to fear that they designed to
poison him; having been informed, by a trusty servant who had lived with his
father long, and now left in his house at Barbadoes, that he had over-heard
them contriving his death; that he had taken with him a good sum of money, and
some merchandize to trade with in Virginia. And thus Leander having acquainted
Harriot with his circumstances, concluded with many promises to take care of
her in the voyage, get her out of the captain’s hands, and would make her his
lawful wife when he came to Virginia. She heard him attentively, and answered
with great modesty, that if he did protect her from being injured by others,
and acted in delivering her as he pretended, both she and her father, if they
lived to meet again, would endeavour to be grateful to him: that she had now
resign’d herself to God, and was resolved to submit to what he pleased to permit
her to suffer, and to prefer death to dishonour. He embraced her on his knees,
and vowed to preserve her virtue, and never suffer her to be wronged or taken
from him whilst he had a drop of blood left in his veins, but to merit her
favour by all that man could do, which he as nobly performed as freely
promised. And now poor Harriot had none but him to comfort her; and tho’ she
strove all she was able, yet grief so weakened her, that in a few days she was
confined to her bed. ’Tis needless to relate all that the tender lover did to
render himself dear to the mistress of his heart; he tended and watched with
her many nights, sat on her bed-side, and told the tedious hours, alarmed with
every change of her distemper, which was an intermitting fever: he fee’d the
surgeon largely to save her, and at last had the satisfaction to see her
recovering; youth and medicines both uniting, restored the charming maid to
health, and Leander to his repose of mind; who now seeing the ship not many
leagues from the desired port, flattered himself that she should be his. But,
alas, fate had otherwise determined; their faith and virtue was to meet with
greater trials yet, and the time was far off before they should be happy.
Harriot
being now a little used to her new way of life, began to recover a little her
drooping spirits, by being continually entertained with the company of Leander,
for whom by this time she had no small esteem; they were continually together
except when decency required them to be asunder. One evening as they were both
walking the quarter deck with the captain, treating with him about her ransom,
the weather being excessive clear, not a cloud to be seen, a man at the
mast-head cried out a sail, which was bearing down to them with full speed, and
in half an hour’s time they could perceive that she was a ship of force, which
they feared, as it certainly was, a pirate. She came up with them in forty-five
degrees of latitude, bearing English colours, she mounted thirty guns, well
manned; and they soon discovered who they were by their firing at them and
putting up a bloody flag, bidding them surrender, directly lay to, and poured
in a broad-side. The French captain Du Pre, did on this occasion all that a
brave man could, nor did Leander fail to shew his courage, but fought both for
his mistress and liberty till he was wounded in many places, and retiring into
the cabin to have his wounds dressed, there he found the affrighted Harriot
lying in a swoon on the floor: at this sight he forgot himself, and catching her
up in his arms, fell back with her, and having lost much blood, he fainted;
mean time the villain Du Pre was killed on the deck, and the pirates gave a
great shout as soon as they saw him fall, threw out their graplings, and
entering the ship, soon mastered the few that were left to oppose them, and
coming into the cabin, saw the fair Harriot and her lover holding her clapsed
in his arms, as if resolved in death not to part with her. The pirates, who had
taken the ship, being English, French, and Irishmen, belonging to the crew at
Madagascar, were moved at this sight; particularly a desperate young man that
commanded the pirate ship; he was charmed with the face of the reviving
Harriot, who lifting up her bright eyes ravished his soul; he raised her up in his
arms, forcing Leander’s hands to let her go, he being still senseless; she
looked upon him with much amazement, but was silent with fear. The
pirate-captain comforted her with tender words, then she fell at his feet, and
entreated him to pity her companion, Leander. He presently ordered some wine to
be given him, had him laid on the bed, and his wounds dressed; then left her
with him, whilst he gave orders how to dispose of the goods and men that were
left alive in the ship, commanding the richest merchandize, some provisions,
and the guns and powder in it, to be carried aboard his own ship, and the men
and merchant-ship to be dismissed with what he thought sufficient to support
them till they reached Barbadoes or Virginia, excepting no person but the fair
virgin and her lover. Whilst he saw these things done, and searched the ship,
Harriot had time to bewail her sad state and her lovers, who was now so
overwhelm’d with grief and pain, that he could scarce utter his thoughts in
these moving expressions: ‘My dear Harriot, ’tis our hard fate to be now left
here alone in the hands of men whose obdurate hearts are insensible to pity,
from whom we can expect nothing but ill usage, did not your angelick face too
well convince me that they will spare your life. Oh! could I find a way to
secure your virtue, tho, with the loss of my life, I should die with pleasure:
but, alas, you must be sacrificed, and I be left the most unhappy wretch on
earth, if providence does not prevent it by some miracle or by death. Say, my
angel, what can we do?’ Harriot, shedding a flood of tears, replied, ‘My dear
preserver, my only hope on earth, all a weak virgin can do to preserve her
honour, I will do, and only death shall part us; but let me caution you to say
you are my brother, for the pirate captain seems to look on me with some
concern; I fear affection: and if so, should he discover ours to one another,
it might ruin us, and cause the villain to destroy you to possess me, who being
left in his hands when you are gone, shall be forced to what my soul abhors
more than death.’ What, do I say forced? no I never will be, for here is a
friend which I will always carry about me (pulling out a dagger) that will
defend me from the brutality of a villain that would do such an act of abhorrence.
My dear Leander, I will die before I will yield up my virtue. Leander, pressing
her hand, replied, ‘Alas, there needed only that dreadful thought to end me;’
and so fainted: her shrieks brought the pirate-captain, who was an Irish
gentleman, (whose story we shall relate hereafter) down to the cabin-door, who
seeing her wringing her hands over the pale young man who lay senseless, began
to suspect he was her lover, and was fired with jealousy: however, he ran to
her, and lifting her up in his arms, asked her, who this person was for whom
she was so greatly concerned? she answered, he was her brother; that they were
going from France to Virginia to a rich uncle, having been cheated by their
guardians of their fortune in France. And then she fell on her knees, and
besought him with tears to land them on that coast, or put them into the next
ship he met with bound to that place or near it. Appeased with hearing he was
her brother, tho’ doubtful of the truth, he embraced her, and promised to do
what she desired; commanding his surgeon and crew to do all that was necessary
to save the young man’s life and recover him. Cordials being given him, and his
wounds carefully dressed, he got strength daily. Mean time the captain, who was
deeply smitten with the lovely Harriot, entertained great suspicions of
Leander, had them carefully watched to discover whether he was her brother or
not, resolving to get rid of him if his rival: but Harriot being on her guard,
so well behaved herself, that he could get no satisfaction for some time. He
daily importuned her with his passion for her in Leander’s presence, on whom
she was continually attending; and told her, If she would consent to marry him
when they come ashore at the island of Providence, which was at that time the pirate’s
place of rendezvous, he would make her the richest lady in christendom, and
give her brother a fortune, having such immense treasures buryed there in the
earth, of jewels and gold, as would purchase them a retreat, and all things
else they could desire in this world. To all these offers she gave little
answer, but modestly excused herself from making any promises, saying she was
too young to marry yet, and would consider farther of it when they came ashore,
yet thanked him for his generous treatment of them. These delays still more
inflamed him; he grew every day more earnest and importunate, and often
proceeded to kiss her in Leander’s presence, whose inward grief can hardly be
described, which his face often betrayed by turning pale, whilst his enraged
soul sparkled in his fiery eyes when he saw his mistress rudely folded in the
arms of a villain, who was not worthy to wipe her shoes. One day Harriot,
willing to change the discourse of love, begged the pirate-captain to inform
her who he was, and how he came to follow this unhappy course of life; perhaps,
said she, being convinced you are well descended, as your gentlemen-like
treatment of us inclines me to believe, I shall esteem you more. Glad to oblige
her, he began the story of his life in this manner.
I
was born in Ireland, divine Harriot, of a noble and loyal family, who fighting
for King James II. were undone: my father fell with honour in the field, our
estate was afterwards confiscated, and my poor mother, a lord’s daughter, left
with three helpless children, of whom I was the eldest, exposed to want. I was
then eighteen, and had a soul that could not bear misfortunes, or endure to see
my mother’s condition; so I took my young sister, who was then but ten years
old, and fair as an angel, and leaving my mother, and my brother, but an
infant, at a relation’s house, who charitably took them in, escaped from my
ruined country and friends to France, hoping to get some honourable post there,
under that hospitable generous king who had received my prince. When we arrived
at St. Germains, having spent what little our kind friends had given us at our
first setting out from home, we were received but coldly. My sister, indeed,
was by a French lady taken to be a companion for her eldest daughter, something
so like a servant, that my soul burned with indignation. I waited long to get
preferment, living on charity, that is, eating at other tables. At last I fell
in company with some desperate young gentlemen, who, like me, were tired with
this uncertain course of life, some of whom had been bred to sea; we agreed to
go separately to Brest, and sieze in the night some small vessel ready
victualled and equipped for a voyage, some of us having first gone aboard as
passengers. This design we executed with so good success, that finding a small
merchant-ship bound for Martinico, we sent five of our companions, being in all
fourteen, as passengers, on board with our trunks of clothes; and pretending to
take leave of them, all followed, staying till night, drinking healths with the
French captain, who suspected nothing, and had but eight hands aboard of twenty
six that belonged to the ship, which was designed to weigh anchor, and set sail
the next day: we seized upon him first, and then on his men, singing so loud
that they were not heard to dispute by the ships, who were lying near us in the
harbour: we bound and put them all under hatches, and set sail immediately,
resolving to make for the island of Jamaica, where we hoped to sell the
merchandize we had in the ship, which was laden with rich goods; and having
made our fortunes there, to go for Holland, and settle ourselves as merchants,
or look out for some other way to make ourselves easy, and gain some settlement
in the world. When we were got to sea, we fetched the captain up, and told him
partly our design: he begged to be set ashore with his men, at some port of
France; pleading he had a wife and seven children, and was undone if we carried
him thence in that manner. So we consented to his desire, and at break of day
gave him one of the boats, and six of the men to carry him to land, which I
suppose he got safely to, having heard nothing more of him.
And
now we put out all the sail we could, and had a prosperous voyage, till we came
near Jamaica: there we met a pirate sloop well-mann’d and armed, carrying
French colours: we were now most of us sick, and in great want of fresh water
and provisions. They gave us a signal to lie by, and we supposing them to be
friends, obeyed, joyful to meet a ship to assist us: but they soon made us
sensible of our mistake, sending their boat’s crew on board, who seized us and
our ship, and carried us all fettered to the island of Providence; where, in
short, we grew intimate with these and other pirates, and consented to pursue
the same course of life. They did not trust us in one ship together, but
dividing us, took us out with them. Ten of us have already lost our lives
bravely; three are married, and command ships like me; we have vast treasures,
and live like princes on the spoils of others. ’Tis true, ’tis no safe
employment, for we are continually in danger of death: hanging or drowning are
what we are to expect; but we are so daring and hardened by custom, that we
regard it as nothing. For my own part, I am often stung with remorse, and on
reflection wish to quit this course of life: I am ashamed to think of the
brutish actions I have done, and the innocent blood I have spilt, makes me
uneasy, and apprehensive of death.
And
now, sweet Harriot, I have told you my unhappy story, ’tis in your power to
reclaim and make me happy: promise then to be mine, and I will marry you, and
take all the treasure I am master of, and with your brother sail for Virginia;
from thence we’ll go to England as passengers. You shall acquaint your uncle
that we have been taken by pirates, and left on that place; for my ship shall
in the night make off, and the boat having landed us, shall return to it; so
that we and our wealth shall be left without fear of discovery. Then he
addressed himself to Leander, saying, ‘Sir, I have treated you, for your
sister’s sake, kindly and generously; I expect you should lay your commands
upon her to consent to my request: I would not be obliged to use the methods I
can take to procure what I now sue for; but if I am constrained to use force,
it will be your own faults.’ At these words he went out of the cabin much
disordered, and left them in great perplexity; a death-like paleness overspread
their faces, and they sat silent for some moments: Then Leander fetching a deep
sigh, casting his eyes up to heaven, said, ‘Now, my God, manifest thy goodness
to us, and deliver us from the hands of this abominable villain that would rob
me of life, and my lively Harriot of her virtue.’ Harriot would have spoke, the
tears streaming down her pale cheeks, but he stopped her from declaring her sad
thoughts, saying, softly, ‘Hush, my angel, we are watched, betray not the fatal
secret that will bring death to me, and ruin you.’ They composed their looks as
much as possible; and three days passed, in which the pirate-captain grew so
importunate with Harriot, that she was forced to declare herself in some
manner, and told him she was engaged to a gentleman in France. Finding that his
importunities were in vain, he grew enraged, and told her, he was too well
acquainted with the reason of her coldness towards him; and since fair means
would not do, he would try other methods. At these words Leander started up and
seized him by the throat, cried villain it is out of thy power, for thou cannot
nor shall not whilst I live; but though Leander was a great deal stronger than
the pirate, it was a very imprudent thing, for he was soon overpowered, after
having lain three dead at his feet they seized him, put him in irons, and
carried him down into the hold. Harriot transported with grief at this dismal
sight, threw herself at the pirate’s feet, and told him, ‘’Tis in vain, cruel
man, that you endeavour to force me to consent to your desires, I have a soul
that scorns to yield to threats; nay, death shall not fright me into a
compliance with your unjust request: I have already given my heart and faith to
another, and am now resolved never to eat or drink again, till you release my
husband, for such he is by plighted vows and promises, which I will never
break: no, I will be equally deaf to prayers and threats; and if you use force,
death shall free me. This is my last resolve, do as you please.’ At these words
she rose and left him, and sat down with a look so resolute and calm, that his
soul shook: he sat down by her, and reasoned with her: ‘Lovely Harriot, said
he, why do you force me to be cruel? I love you passionately, and cannot live
without you, nothing should have forced me to this act of barbarity, but my
passion for you. Heaven will absolve you from the vows you have made, since you
shall break them by necessity, not choice; that sin I shall be answerable for:
my passion makes me as deaf to reason, as you are to pity: I beg you would
consider e’er it is too late, and I am drove to use the last extremity to gain
you. Your lover’s life is in my power: be kind and he may live, and be happy
with some other maid; if you refuse my offers, he shall surely die: I give you
this night to resolve; therefore it is in your power to preserve his life or
destroy it.’ At these words he left her, setting a watch at the cabin door, and
taking every thing from her that could harm her. He went to the quarter-deck,
and called for Leander, who was brought up to him loaded with irons, he used
threats, intreaties, and all he could think of, to make him consent to part
with Harriot, and assist him to gain her; all which he rejected with scorn and
disdain. At last he was so enraged, that he caused Leander to be stripped, and
lashed in a cruel manner, who bravely stifled his groans, and would not once
complain, lest Harriot should hear him, and be driven to despair. But the
pirate’s rage did not end here; he had him carried down and shewn to her, the
blood running down his tender back and arms; he ordered him to be gaged, that
he might not speak to her: but she, doubtless, inspired with courage from
above; supported this dreadful sight with great constancy and calmness, spoke
to Leander in these words: ‘’Tis the will of heaven, said she, my dear Leander
that we should suffer thus: Be constant, as I will be, God will deliver us by
death or miracle.’ The pirate ordered him back to the hold, some brandy being
given him to drink, which he refused. And now he resolved to gratify his flame,
by enjoying Harriot at midnight by force: in order to which he left her under a
guard, and returned not to her till the dead of night, when, being lain on the
bed in her cabin, weeping and praying, almost spent with extream grief and
abstinence, he stole gently to her, having put on Leander’s coat, in hopes to
deceive her the more easily; then laying his cheek to hers, he wispered,
‘Charming Harriot, see your glad lover loosened from his chains, flies to your
arms.’ She, as one awakened from a horrid dream, trembling, and in suspence,
lifted up her eyes amazed, and thought him to be Leander; when he, impatient to
accomplish his base design, proceeding to further freedoms beyond modesty,
discovered to her the deceit, which she, inspired by her good angel, seemed not
to know: but taking the dagger from her bosom which she always kept there,
unperceived by any, and stabbed him in the belly so dangerously, that he fell
senseless on the bed. At this instant a sailor cryed out, ‘a sail, a sail;
where’s our captain?’ This alarmed all the crew, and the gunner running to the
great cabin-door, which the captain had locked when he went in, knocked and
called; but only Harriot answered, he was coming. Mean time the ship they had
seen coming up, gave them such a broad-side, as made the whole crew run to
their arms: a bloody fight ensued, and Harriot consulting what to do, believing
the pirate captain dead, and being well assured the ship that fought with that
she was in, must be some man of war or frigate come in pursuit of the pirates,
because she first attacked them, resolved to disguise herself, and go out of
the cabin to see the event, hoping the danger they were in would make them free
her dear Leander. She catched up a cloak that lay in the cabin, and a hat, and
so disguised opened the door; but seeing a horrid fight between the ships crew
and the Spaniards, who had now boarded her, (for it was a Spanish man of war,
who was sent out to scour the pirates in those parts, and having met the French
ship out of which Harriot had been taken, and by them got intelligence of this
pirate ship, was come in pursuit of them) she did not dare to venture farther
than the door. Mean time the pirate-captain recovering from his swoon, got up,
so wounded and faint with loss of blood, that he could scarce crawl to the
door, from which he pushed Harriot, whom he did not at that instant know: he
called for help, but seeing the enemy driving his men back upon him, sword in
hand, he endeavoured to take down a cutlass that was near him, and fell down.
The pirates seeing their commander fall, were put in the greatest disorder; the
Spaniards soon mastered them, having made a dreadful slaughter, putting all to
the sword that came in their way, what few that escaped secured themselves in
the hold, until such times their fury was abated; the Spanish captain, who was
not only a brave, but a most accomplished young gentleman, with some of his
officers, entered the great cabin, in which Harriot, and the half dead pirate
were: she immediately cast off her disguise, and threw herself at his feet,
begging him in the French tongue, to pity and protect her, and a young
gentleman whom the pirate had bound in irons, under the hatches, whose life she
valued above her own. He gazed upon her with admiration: her beauty and youth
were such advocates, as a gallant Spaniard could not refuse any thing she
asked: he took her up in his arms, promised her all she desired, and commanded
the young gentleman should be immediately looked for, and, if living, set at
liberty. Leander had heard the guns and noise, and none but a brave man can be
sensible of what he felt, to behold himself lay bound hand and foot, whilst his
mistress’s distress and liberty were disputed, he was ready to tear his limbs
off to get free from his fetters; but heaven preserved his life by keeping him
thus confined, who else had been exposed to all the dangers of the flight. The
Spaniards soon found and freed him, bringing him up to the cabin, where Harriot
received him with transport; and the Spanish captain, and his friends, gave him
joy of his freedom. The pirate captain, at her intreaty, was taken care of by
the surgeon, his wound dressed, and put to bed, being almost senseless, and in
great danger of death. And now a sufficient number of men, with a lieutenant,
being left on board the pirate ship, Leander and Harriot, having all that
belonged to them restored by the brave Spaniard, went on board his ship, where
they were highly treated, and might in safety bless God, and enjoy some repose.
Once
more they were again agreeably entertained with each other’s company, when they
little expected ever to enjoy that happiness again. The Spanish ship was bound
for the island of St. Domingo, from whence our lovers hoped to get passage to
Virginia, little expecting what changes of fortune they were to meet with in
the island they were going to. There was on board the Spanish ship a young
gentleman named Don Carlos, the son of the governor of St. Domingo, who went,
attended by two servants, as a volunteer, to shew his courage, and for
pleasure. He was very handsome, and of a daring and impatient temper, ambitious
and resolute, tho’ respected by all that knew him, his father’s darling, and,
in short, a man who could bear no contradiction. He was so charmed with
Harriot, that he was uneasy when out of her sight: he mustered up all his
resolution at first to check his passion, as knowing she was promised to
Leander, yet, in spight of all his resolutions it daily increased; he began to
hate him as his rival, and meditate how to take her from him. It is the nature
of the Spaniards, we all know, to be close and very subtle in their designs,
very amorous, and very revengeful: this Cavalier wisely concealed his passion
from her, and contrived to get his ends so well, that he effected it without
appearing criminal. In their passage to St. Domingo, they met a small French
merchant-ship bound to Virginia, whose captain was acquainted with the affair:
they saluted, and the French captain came on board; where, seeing Leander, he
appeared very joyful. ‘Sir, said he, I have a lady on board, who has left
France to follow you, the charming Madamoiselle Camilla, your guardian’s
daughter, who, sensible of the injuries her father had done you, and constant
in her affection to you, is a passenger in my ship: I will go fetch her.’
Leander stood like one thunder-struck at this news, and Harriot looked upon him
with disdain and shame; whilst joy glowed in Don Carlos’s face. And now ’tis
fit that we should know the unfortunate maid’s story, who thus followed him
that fled from her.
You
have been already informed that this young lady was Leander’s guardian’s
daughter, and by consequence his first cousin; they had been bred up together
and designed for one another; she was fair, wise and virtuous, but yet could
not charm Leander’s heart, though he did her’s; she loved him before she was
sensible what love was, and her passion encreased with her years: her father,
who had his own interest more in view than his daughter’s welfare, approved her
choice, because it secured the estate to the family; and Leander treated her
always with great respect and tenderness as his kinswoman and a lady of great
merit, but never made any promises of marriage; she was but little younger than
himself, and had refused many advantageous offers, declaring she was
pre-ingaged. She was much concerned at her father’s wicked designs against him,
and though she too well perceived he did not love her as a lover ought, which
indeed her father hated him for, yet she so doted on him, that she resolved to
serve and follow him to death, flattering herself, that since she could not
discover he loved any other person, time and her constancy would gain her his
affection. When he left France to go for Virginia, she resolved to follow him
so soon as she could get an opportunity; in order to which she got what money
she could together, and went disguised like a man on board this French ship,
where she made herself known to the captain, having left a letter for her
father to acquaint him where she was gone. She soon came a-board the Spanish
ship, and seeing Leander, who could not possibly receive her uncivilly, she ran
to him with a transport that too well manifested her affection for him. Are we
again met, said she, and has Heaven heard my vows? Nothing but death shall
separate me from you any more. Madam, said he, extremely disordered, I am sorry
that you have risked your life and honour so greatly for a person who is unable
to make you the grateful returns you merit; my friendship shall ever speak my
gratitude; but here is a lady to whom my faith is engaged. Too constant
Camilla, how is my soul divided between love and gratitude? At these words
Harriot, who was inflamed with jealousy and distrust, seeing how beautiful her
rival was, and reflecting that they had been long acquainted and bred up together,
that it was his interest to marry the French lady, addressed herself to Camilla
in this manner, ‘Madam, your plea and title to Leander’s heart is of much older
date than mine; ’tis just he should be your’s; and that I may convince you that
my soul is generous and noble, I will save him the confusion of making
apologies to me, and resign my right in him.’ Leander would have spoken, but
Harriot interrupted him with the following words, ‘Yes, base, ungenerous
Leander, who have deceived me, return to your duty, I will no more listen to
your oaths and vows, leave me to the providence of God; I ask no other favour
of you and this lady, but to assist me to get a passage home to England.’
Leander was so confounded, he knew not what to do; he strove all he could to
convince Harriot of his sincerity, and at the same time was found to speak in
such a manner, not quite to drive a lady to despair for whom he had a tender
regard. Camilla, too sensible that he did not love her, and distracted to see
her rival so adored, and herself so slighted and exposed, did all she was able
to augment her rival’s uneasiness; and now Leander was so watched and teized by
both, that he was near distracted; he desired to go into the French ship with
the two ladies to go for Virginia, but Don Carlos secretly opposed it,
resolving to take Harriot from him; in order to which he got the Spanish
captain to get Leander to go on board the French ship to be merry. Leander
entertained not the least suspicion of its being a contrivance, readily went,
leaving the two ladies setting together in the great cabin. Some time after,
the Spanish captain, stepping out of the room, goes into his boat, and
returning to his own ship, whispers Camllla, whom Don Carlos and he had
acquainted with their design, who willingly agreed to rid herself of her rival,
to go on board the French ship immediately, which she did. In the mean time
Leander, missing the captain, asked for him, and was told he was gone to his
own ship, at which he was surprized; but when he saw the boat come back with
one woman only, his colour changed, and knowing Camilla when she came nearer,
he began to suspect some treachery; he gave her his hand to come into the ship,
saying, where is Harriot, why did you not bring her with you, what is the reason
that you are come alone? I have brought your trunks and things, said she; she
is coming on board when the boat returns. Whilst they were talking the boat
made off, the trunks being handed up. He then too plainly discovered the
stratagem, he stormed like a madman, calling for the French captain’s boat:
mean time the Spanish ship made off with all her sails, being a ship of war and
a good sailor; the little merchant ship, which was heavy loaden, could not
pretend to overtake her. Having thus lost the divine Harriot, whom he loved as
much as man could love, he lost all patience, reproaching Camilla in the most
cruel terms, nay even cursing her as the cause of his ruin and death; she
endeavoured to appease him with all the tender soft expressions imaginable, pretending
that she was innocent and knew nothing of the Spaniard’s design; and in return
vented her reproaches against him in the following words. ‘Ah! cruel Leander,
(said she) do not repay my affection with such unkind treatment; have I not
followed you, left my native country, and all that was dear to me, exposing
myself to all the dangers of the seas and various sicknesses incident to change
of climate: in fine, what I have left undone to merit your esteem? Are these
the returns you make me? Must a stranger rob me of your heart? Consider what
this usuage may reduce me to do: if fate to punish you, has taken her from you,
must I bear the blame? ’Tis just heaven, that in pity to my sufferings decrees
your separation; and if you cannot love me, yet ’tis the least you can do to
use me civilly and send me back to my home, that I may retire to some convent,
and spend my unhappy life in prayers for you, for I will pray for and love you
to death.’ At these words she fainted, and fell down at his feet. Leander, touched
with this moving sight, almost forgot his own griefs, and laying her on his bed
in his cabin, revived her with wine and cordials; and seeing her open her eyes,
he took her kindly by the hand, saying, ‘Charming Camilla, forgive me the rash
expressions I have used: urged by my despair I knew not what I did or said; I
own the obligation I have to you, and have all the grateful sense of it that
you can wish; you are dear to me as the ties of blood and friendship can make
you, and though fate has permitted me to give my heart to another, yet you
shall ever be the next to her in my esteem.’ These tender speeches, with many
others of the same kind, in some sort comforted the afflicted Camilla, who
concluded in herself that she should in time, having got rid of her rival, get
his affection; in order to which she behaved herself so towards him, and
treated him with such respect and tenderness, that he was obliged to conceal
his grief for Harriot’s loss, and appear tolerably satisfied: yet he was almost
distracted in reality, and determined to go in search of her so soon as he
could get ashore at Virginia, and find a ship to carry him to the island of St.
Domingo, to which he knew the Spanish ship was bound, designing to leave
Camilla with his uncle. Thus resolved he seemed pacified, and in a few days
they got into the desired port, and were received by his uncle with much joy;
who promised, upon hearing his nephew’s story, to assist him in all he was
able, to oblige his guardians in France to do him and his sister justice.
And
now Leander’s whole business was to get a bark to carry him to the island where
he supposed his mistress to be; but the inward grief of his mind, and the
constraint he had put upon himself, had so impaired his health, that he fell
sick of a fever, which brought him so low that he was ten months before he was
able to go out of his chamber, his illness being much increased by the vexation
of his mind; all which time Camilla waited on and attended him with such
extraordinary care and tenderness, that she much injured her own constitution,
and fell into a consumption, at which Leander was much concerned. In this time
he contracted a great friendship with a young gentleman, his uncle’s only son,
a young man of extraordinary parts and goodness, handsome and ingenious; his
name was Lewis Dumaresq, which was the name of Leander’s mother’s family: he
was about twenty-two years old, and had travelled most parts of Europe. To him
Leander made known all his secret thoughts, and design of going to St. Domingo
in search of Harriot, offered to accompany him thither, and to assist him in
all he was able. Here we must leave Leander to recover his health, and relate
what befel Harriot, who was left in Don Carlos’s hands and power.
As
soon as Harriot found the ship under sail, and discovered that she was betrayed
and robbed of her dear Leander, she retired to her cabin, cast herself on her
bed, and abandoned herself to grief. ‘My God, said she, lifting up her delicate
hands and watry eyes, for what am I reserved? What farther misfortunes must I
suffer? No sooner did thy Providence provide me a friend to comfort me in my
distress, and delivered me out of the merciless hands of pirates, but it has
again exposed me helpless and alone to strangers. Men who are more violent and
revengeful in their nature, than any I have yet met withal. Perhaps poor
Leander is already drowned in the merciless sea by the cruel Carlos, to whom,
unless thy goodness again delivers me, I must be a sacrifice.’ Whilst she was
thus expostulating with heaven, the amorous Spaniard came to her cabin-door,
and gently opening it, sat down on the bed by her, and seeing her drowned in
tears, was for some moments silent; at last, taking her hand he kissed it
passionately, and said, ‘Too charming lovely maid, why do you thus abandon
yourself to passion? Give me leave to convince you that you have no just cause
of grief, and that I have done nothing base or dishonourable; your lover had
ungratefully left a lady to whom he had been engaged from his infancy, one who
highly deserved his esteem, and so loved him that you see she has ventered her
life and fame to follow him: to you he was a stranger, and being false to her
he had known so long, you have all the reason in the world to doubt his
constancy to you. Your rival had resolved to rid herself of you, and you were
hourly in danger of death whilst she was with you. Believe me, Harriot, the
fear of losing you, whom my soul adores, made me take such measures to secure
your life, and restore to the lady her faithless lover. I am disengaged, and
have a fortune worthy your acceptance. This day, this hour, if you’ll consent,
I’ll marry you to secure you from all fears of being ruined or abandoned by me;
and till you permit me to be happy, I’ll guard and wait on you with such
respect and assiduity, that you shall be at last constrained to own that I do
merit to be loved, and with that lovely mouth confirm me happy.’ She answered
him with much reserve, wisely considering in herself, that if she treated him
with too much rigor, he might be provoked to use other means to gratify his
passion; that she was wholly in his power, and unable to deliver herself out of
his hands. In fine, some days passed, in which she was so altered with grief,
that her lover was under great concern, he treated her with all the gallantry
and tender regard that a man could use to gain a lady’s heart; he let nothing
be wanting, but presented her with wines, sweetmeats, and every thing the ship
afforded, offering her gold and rings, and at length perceived that she grew
more chearful and obliging, at which he was even transported. The weather had
till now been very favourable, but as they were sailing near the
Summer-Islands, a dreadful storm or hurricane arose, and drove them with such
fury for a day and a night, that the ship at last struck against one of the
smallest of them, and stuck so fast on the shore that they could not get her
off, which obliged them to get the boats out and lighten the ship of the guns
and heaviest things, in doing which they discovered that the ship had sprung a
leak; this made them under a necessity of staying on this island for some days
to repair the damage. The captain, Harriot, Don Carlos, and all the ship’s crew
went on shore; they found it was one of those islands that was uninhabited, so
they resolved to go from thence as soon as they could to Bermudas; but
Providence had decreed their stay there for some time. The time they landed was
about midnight, the sky darkened extremely, and such a storm of lightning and
thunder followed, that the ship took fire, and was consumed with all that was
left in it; the affrighted Harriot, who had no other covering to defend her but
the tents they had made of the tarpaulins and sails, now thought her
misfortunes and life were at an end; her lover and all the rest recommended
themselves to God, not expecting to survive that dreadful night. Some of the
ship’s crew venturing to look out after the ship, were lost, being blown into
the sea, and the morning shewed the dismal prospect of their flaming ship,
which lay burning on the shore almost intirely consumed. All the hope they now
had left, was, that some boats or barks would come to their relief from the
adjacent islands. The storm being over towards evening, after having taken some
refreshment of what provisions and drink they had left, which they had brought
on shore, they ventured to walk about the island, on which was plenty of fowl
and trees. Don Carlos leading Harriot, they wandered to a place where they saw
some trees growing very close together, in the midst of which they perceived a
sort of hut or cottage made of a few boards and branches of trees, and coming
up to it saw a door standing open made of a hurdle of canes; and concluding
this place was inhabited by somebody, curiosity induced them to look into it.
There, stretched on an old mattress, lay a man who appeared to be of a middle
age, pale as death, and so meagre and motionless, that they doubted whether he
was living or dead, his habit was all torn and ragged, yet there appeared
something so lovely and majestic in his even dying look, that it nearly touched
their souls. Don Carlos going into this poor hut, took him by the hand, and
finding he was not dead, spoke to him, asking if he could rise and eat, who he
was, and other questions, to all which he made no answer, but looked earnestly
upon him. Mean time Harriot ran and fetched a bottle of rum, returning with
such incredible speed, that only that ardent charity that inflamed her generous
soul could have enabled her to do; Don Carlos poured some of this rum into his
mouth, but it was some time before the poor creature could swallow it; at last
he seemed a little revived, and said in French, God preserve you who have
relieved me; he could say no more, but fainted: Don Carlos, repeating his
charitable office, gave him more rum, whilst Harriot fetched some bread and
meat; he swallowed a mouthful or two, but could eat no more. By this time the
captain and other officers came up, and were equally surprized at so sad an
object; two of the seamen were ordered to stay with him that night; and the
next morning Harriot and the rest returned to visit him, impatient to know who
he was, and how he came in that condition. He was come a little to himself, and
received them in so courtly a manner, though he was unable to rise up upon his
feet, his weakness was so great, that they concluded he was some man of
quality; and after some civilities had passed, Don Carlos begged to know who he
was. I will, said he, if I am able, oblige you with the recital of a story so
full of wonders, that it will merit a place in your memories all the days of
your lives; you seem to be gentlemen, and that young lady’s curiosity shall be
gratified. Don Carlos bowing, seated Harriot and himself on the ground by him,
the captain and the rest stood before the cottage door, and the stranger having
taken a piece of bisket and a glass of wine, being very faint, began the
narrative of his life in the following manner.
‘I
was born in France at St. Maloes, my father was a rich merchant in that place,
his name was Le Montague, I was the youngest of two sons which he had, and
being grown up to man’s estate, my father was mightly sollicitous to see me
disposed of advantageously, hoping I should marry such a fortune as might
provide for me without lessening his own, so that my elder brother might be
advanced to a title which he designed to purchase for him, or some great
employ. This he was continually sounding in my ears. But, alas, my soul was
averse to his commands, for I had already engaged my affections to a young lady
whom I had unfortunately seen when I was but fifteen, at a monastery to which I
had been sent by my father, to see a kinswoman who was a professed nun there;
visiting her, I saw this fair young pensioner, who was then about fifteen years
old; she was beautiful as an angel, and I found her conversation as charming as
her face; her name was Clementina; and the monastery being at a village not
above ten miles distant from St. Maloes, I used secretly to visit her at least
once or twice a week, so that I got her promise to marry me so soon as I was
settled in the world. She told me she was the only daughter of an old widow
lady who lived fifty miles distant, was extreme rich, and had placed her there,
because the abbess was her mother’s sister; that her fortune was left her at
her mother’s disposal. This was her circumstance, which obliged me, being a
younger brother, to defer marrying her till I had got some way of providing for
her, that I might venture to take her without asking our parents consent: this
delay was our undoing; for when I was twenty, an old widow-lady came to my
father’s on some money-affairs, and was lodged at our house, where she took
such a fancy to me, that she boldly sollicited my father to lay his commands
upon me to marry her, which offer he readily accepted; and having laid all the
advantages of this rich match before me, concluded with injoining me with the
strictest injunctions to marry her forthwith. I pleaded in vain that I was
pre-ingaged to another. He told me in a rage, I must take my choice, either to
consent or go out of his doors immediately, protesting he would never give me a
groat, and disown me if I was disobedient to his commands. But when I proceeded
in the humblest manner to make known who the person was to whom I was
preingaged. Good heaven! how was I surprized to find it was this lady’s
daughter? And now the fatal secret being known, Clementina was in a few days
removed out of my sight and knowledge, being taken away from the monastery, and
sent I know not whither. Some months past in which I busied myself in making
inquiry after her, but all in vain; at last, quite wearied out with my father’s
threats and the widow’s importunities, I consented to be wretched, and married
her, whom in my soul I loathed and hated; nor had I done it, but in hopes to
get to the knowledge of the place where my dear Clementina was concealed from
me, resolving never to consummate my marriage with her mother: which way of
proceeding so enraged her, that we lived at continual variance: yet shame
withheld her from declaring this secret to the world; together with spite,
because she would continue to plague me by living with me. At last, by the
means of one of the servants, whom I bribed, (having now all her fortune at
command, which I took care to manage so well, that I laid by a great sum of
money to provide for me and Clementina, with whom I resolved to fly from France
so soon as I could find her) I got knowledge that she was locked up in a
convent near Calais; on which I converted all my money secretly into gold and
bills of exchange, resolving to set out for England with her so soon as we
could get off, having there an uncle at Bristol, my father’s brother.’ At these
words Harriot looked earnestly upon him, surprized to find he was her
cousin-german. But he continued his discourse thus: ‘But now I was in a great
dilemma how to get to the speech of her to inform her of my design, as likewise
how to get away from my wife, who was continually hanging upon me, and
following of me, fearing she should discover whither I was going, being certain
she would remove Clementina from the convent. I therefore picked a quarrel one
evening with my wife about a trifle on purpose, and the next morning took horse
by break of day, attended with only one servant in whom I could confide, and
set out for St. Malos, were being arrived, I hired a vessel to carry me to
Calais, fearing to be followed if I had gone by land; the wind was contrary for
some days, so that my revengeful wife had time to send for Clementina from the
convent. At my arrival there, I had the mortification to find her gone, but
none could, or indeed would, inform me whither she was carried: this so
exasperated me against my wife, that I resolved not to return home any more: so
I went directly to my father’s, and staid there a month, pretending business
with some masters of ships that were expected to come into that port. Mean time
my wife got intelligence where I was, and came to me: I received her civily
before my father; but at night, when we were in bed, we fell into a warm
dispute, which ended in a resolution on my side to leave her for ever, with
which I acquainted her; but then she fell to intreaties, and in the softest
terms laid before me my ingratitude to her, and how wicked my design was upon
her daughter; pleading, that as she was my wife, she had all the reason in the
world to keep me from the conversation of a person whom I loved better than
herself; that she had made me master of a plentiful fortune, and concealed from
the world the high affront I had put upon her, in refusing to perform the
duties of a husband to her. To all which I answered, That as for the ceremony
of our marriage, I looked upon it as nothing, since I was compelled to it; that
I had denied myself all converse with her as a wife, because I would not commit
a sin, by breaking my solemn vows and engagements with her daughter, whom I had
made choice of before I saw her; and since there was no other way left to free
me, I resolved to declare all to the world, and annul our marriage, and restore
what mouey and estate I had remaining in my hands to her. At these words she
flew into a violent passion. Well then (said she) since you will thus expose
me, I’ll do myself this justice, to remove Clementina from your sight for ever;
be assured you shall never see her more in this world. She that moment leaped
out of bed, called for her servant, and put on her clothes; and though I used
many intreaties to deter her, nay proceeded to threats, yet she persisted in
her resolution, and going down to my father, acquainted him with all that had
passed between us, desiring him to prevent me from following her, which he,
being highly incensed against me, too well performed: for he came up to my
chamber, where I was dressing in order to follow her, but he kept me there in
discourse whilst she took coach and was gone I knew not whither, nor could I
for some days hear any news of her. Mean time my father and brother continually
persecuted me on her account, bidding me go home and live like a Christian; nay
they employed several priests and the bishop of the place to talk to me, so
that I was now looked on with much dislike; and being weary of this schooling,
I set out for home, where I found my wife sick, which indeed so touched me,
that I repented of having used her so unkindly, and resolved to treat her more
respectfully for the time to come. A whole year past, all which time she
languished of a lingering fever and inward decay, grief having doubtless seized
her spirits. I used her with as much tenderness as if I had been her son; we
never bedded together, but kept two apartments. In fine, she died, and on her
death-bed, some hours before she expired, took me by the hand as I sat on her
bedside, and said these words to me, which are still fresh in my memory; Mr. Le
Montague, I am now going to leave you, and I hope to be at rest; I have loved
you as tenderly and passionately as ever wife did a husband; and though I
committed a great folly in marrying a person who was so much younger than
myself, and pre-ingaged, yet no vitious inclinations induced me to it, as my
behaviour to you since must convince you. I flatter myself, that gratitude and
my behaviour towards you, would have gained your love, but was deceived. I have
never been to blame in all my conduct towards you, but to my child I have been
cruel and unkind; for fearing a criminal conversation between you if you came
together, I used all my endeavours to keep you asunder, and finding that even
the convents could not secure her, provoked by your ill usage, at last I
resolved to send her out of France, which I effected by means of a captain of a
ship which was bound to Canada, who took her with him with a sum of money,
promising to see her there disposed of in marriage to some merchant or officer
in those parts, which we doubted not but she would readily consent to, finding
herself among strangers, and bereft of all hopes of seeing you any more. I have
never heard of her since. This action I heartily repent of, and to expiate my
fault, I shall leave you all my fortune, with a strict injunction, as you hope
for everlasting happiness hereafter, to go in search of her, and employ it in
endeavouring to find her; and if she be married, give her part to make her
happy: and may that God, whose merciful forgiveness and pardon I now implore,
direct and prosper you, and bring you safe together, if she be yet single. I
can do no more, but ask you to accept of this my last action as an atonement
for all the trouble I have occasioned you, and not hate my memory. I was so
struck with hearing Clementina was sent so far off, and so disarmed of my
resentments by the sight of my wife’s condition, who was now struggling with
death, that the tears poured down my face, and my soul was so oppressed, that I
swooned; which so disturbed her, that her confessor, who was present at this
discourse, ordered me to be carried out of the room.’ Here he seemed faint, and
Don Carlos gave him some wine; after which he continued his relation in this
manner. ‘Recovering from my swoon, I soon discovered by the outcries and
lamentations of the servants that my wife was dead. I behaved myself with all
the decency and prudence I was able on this occasion, and buried her suitable
to her birth and fortune; after which I thought of nothing but my voyage to
Canada, having informed myself of the ship and captain’s name, who carried away
Clementina; which was not returned, or expected back to France in three years,
being gone a trading voyage for some merchants at Dieppe. I left my father to
take care of the estate, who sent my brother to reside there; made my will, and
having provided myself with money, bills of exchange, and all other
necessaries, I went aboard a merchantship called the Venturous, bound for those
parts to trade, not doubting but that we should meet with the captain there who
had conveyed Clementina thither, and then there was no question but I should
make him confess where he had left her. We had a prosperous voyage for some
weeks, but coming near Newfoundland, we unfortunately met a pirate ship, who
boarded and took us after a fierce dispute which lasted three hours, in which
our ship was so shattered, that she sunk as they were rifling her; in which
accident several of the pirates perished, and all the passengers and sailors
belonging to our ship, except my unfortunate self and surgeon, who were taken
up by ropes into the pirate ship, where we were put in irons into the hold, I
suppose because they were in an ill humour at the loss of their companions and the
ship. Some days past before we had the favour of being brought up upon the
deck, and our irons taken off. We were both very sick; as for my part, I was so
afflicted at being prevented from going my intended voyage, that I was careless
of what became of me. There was amongst the pirates some that looked like
gentlemen, but they all talked and behaved themselves like desperate villains,
oaths and curses were as common as in a gaming-house, they drank like Germans,
and discoursed like atheists, and libertines; they asked us many questions, who
and what we were, to all which we answered cautiously. I told them, if they
would set me on any shore thereabouts, from whence I might travel by land, or
get shipping to Canada, I would promise if I lived to return to France, to
remit a thousand pistoles to any part of the world, or person they should name;
they took little notice of my offers, but let us have the liberty of walking in
the day-time on the decks, and at night they put us under hatches. At last we
arrived at the island of Providence, where they were received by their
companions with much joy. We remained in this wretched place ten whole months,
in which time they used us like slaves, with many others whom they could not
prevail with to take up their desperate manner of living. At last, wearied with
this way of life, we desired to go out in one of their ships, desiring them to
treat us as she should deserve by our bravery and good behaviour: they
consented; and now all my hopes were that I should meet a welcome death to free
me from the miseries of life, or find some way to escape from them. There were
beside myself and friend, six gentlemen, three of whom were Spaniards, and the
other three English, who, like us, went with them thro’ necessity; the ship was
a frigate of 30 guns, and carried 140 hands: they designed to cruize near the
Havanna, in hopes to catch some of the Spanish ships coming out thence: as we
lay cruizing at some distance, a dreadful storm arose, which at last tore our
ship in pieces near this island where we now are; every man was obliged to
shift for himself; I catched hold of a plank, floating on which, it pleased
Providence to cause the winds and waves to cast me on this place much bruised;
here I have been three weeks. I made this hut with some old planks and what I
found on the shore, to secure me from the cold and storms; this old mattrass
and coat I also found; all my food has been the eggs of sea-fowls and birds,
which I have daily gathered up on the sands and in holes in the rocks and
hollow trees; but the anguish of my mind, with the bruises I received in my
stomach in the ship-wreck, had at last reduced me to such weakness, that I
could no longer rise on my feet to seek for food; and when divine Providence
brought you here to my relief, I had been three whole days without tasting any
sustenance, and had by this been freed from my miseries.’ Then he fetched a
deep sigh, concluding his story with these words: ‘Yet I am in duty bound to
thank God and you, and hope, since he has prolonged my stay on earth a little
longer, that he will make life supportable, by furnishing me with means to find
her out, without whom I must be ever wretched.’
As
soon as the unfortunate Le Montague had made an end of his story, the
compassionate Harriot, touched to the heart with the misfortunes of her cousin
which so equalled her own, acquainted him who she was, and in few words of the
manner of her coming to that place; at which he was filled with admiration: but
he was so amazed when he heard that Leander and Camilla had left France in such
a manner, that he could scarce credit it, they being his intimate friends; yet
she in the relation made no mention of Don Carlos’s treachery or Leander’s love
to her, saying only he was gone to Virginia in a French ship. The conversation
now turning to be general, every person spoke their sentiments of Le Montague’s
adventures; some days passed with much anxiety, provisions were husbanded, and
their fears of wanting daily increased; Monsieur Le Montague soon mended, and company
rendered their solitary way of living in this desolate place more supportable;
they were hourly in expectation of seeing some ship pass by to the adjacent
islands, having placed a white cloth on the top of a stick on the most eminent
part of the island, to give notice of their distress: thus they spent three
whole weeks, in which time most of the victuals they had saved were spent, the
dreadful apprehensions of famine appeared in every face, and every one walked
about looking what they could find to eat, in hopes to satisfy nature without
diminishing the small stock of provisions they had left. Don Carlos, who was
one of the most vigilant in searching out something to give Harriot fit for her
to eat, went one morning to the farthest part of the island, which was about
seven miles over, and there ascending a high rock, stood looking on the sea,
and perceived a boat fastened in a little cliff of the rock, out of which cliff
a black came, and launching out the boat, put off to sea, making towards another
island. Don Carlos concluded this person lived somewhere in this rock, and
resolved to search about it in hopes to discover some persons there, by whom he
might be assisted and his friends, to get from this dismal island, or at least
to wait the man’s return, or find out his abode, in order to return thither
that evening. He found it very dangerous to descend on that side of the rock
next the sea, and was long e’er he could find the place out of which he saw the
man come forth; but at last he perceived a sort of a door, which seemed to shut
in a place that was the entrance of a cavern in the rock: but it was fast
locked, and he could not discern through the keyhole any thing but a glimmering
light, yet he heard a human voice like a woman’s, talking to a child, but he
understood but little of it, because it was a language he could not speak much
of, being English; he waited some hours, and finding the man did not return, he
went away, and hastened to Harriot with the glad tidings that he had found a
boat, and persons on the island. Both she and the whole company were agreeably
surprized with this news; and the captain, Monsieur Le Montague, Don Carlos,
and Harriot, all resolved to make their evening’s walk to this place.
In
the morning Harriot and the rest walked to the rock in the evening, and getting
up to the top of it, saw from thence the black man standing at the entrance of
his cave, with a white woman who seemed to be very young and very handsome; she
had a Malotta child in her arms about a year old, her gown and petticoat was
made of a fine silk. Don Carlos called to them in French, at which the man
looked up; and Harriot spoke in English to the woman, desiring her to come up
and speak to her; on which the blackamoor pushed the woman in, and returning no
answer, shut the door upon himself and her. Don Carlos and the rest concluded
that they feared being discovered; so they all descended the rock and went to
the door, resolving to force it open if they could not gain entrance otherwise,
and remove their fears by speaking gently to them, and acquainting them with
their distress. They knocked and called at the door for some time; but hearing
a noise within, and no answer, they broke open the door with much difficulty,
and entering, went through a narrow passage in the rock, so strait that but one
person could go a-breast; at the end of which they came into some strange rooms
fashioned by nature, though cleansed of moss and loose stones by labour: into
these, light entered by the holes that were in some places open through the top
of the rocks; but some part of the caves, or caverns, for they were scarce fit
to be called rooms, were very dark. In the biggest room was a lamp burning, and
here they saw two chests locked, and on a shelf some platters and bowls made of
calibash-shells, with two or three wooden spits; and some sticks were burning
in a corner of the room, in a place made with stones piled round, and opening
in the front like a furnace, on which stood a pot, wherein something was
boiling. There likewise hung up some fishing-tackle and a gun with a
powder-horn, as also a bow with a quiver of arrows. In a place which was shut
with a door, like a cupboard, stood bread and flower, and on the table (for
there was a very odd one, and stools, which which seemed to be of the negro’s
making) stood a basket with some clean linen for a child, and some canvas cut
out for slaves jackets and drawers. In another room they saw a quilt and
coverlids lying on some rushes on the floor; but they could find no living
creature, at which they were much amazed. They called, and spoke in the softest
terms, desiring them to come forth, if hid there, promising to do them no harm;
but in vain. At last they heard a child cry, and following the sound of the
voice, went through a narrow turning on the right hand, which brought them to a
place where a door was shut, before which lay a terrible bear: Don Carlos, who
was the foremost, carrying the lamp in one hand, and his sword in the other,
being presently more apprehensive of Harriot’s danger than his own; she being
next behind him, ran at the bear, designing to kill it, if possible, before it
could rise; but was stopped by the sound of a human voice which came from that
beast, saying, ‘For heaven’s sake, spare my life, and I’ll do all you’ll have
me.’ At these words the negro came out of the bear’s skin, and threw himself at
Don Carlos’s feet, who took him up; and Harriot bid him fear nothing, they
being persons in distress, that wanted his assistance, and would pay him nobly
for serving them. Then he opened the door he had lain before in the beast’s
skin, and brought forth the young woman and child, whom Harriot embraced,
whilst the poor creature wept for joy to see a Christian white woman. Now they
were all chearful, and the negro being told, that they wanted his assistance,
to carry one of them to any of the adjacent islands that was inhabited to get
them some provisions, and hire a vessel to carry them to the island of St.
Domingo, he readily promised to do it: ‘My boat, says he, will carry no great
weight, being a small canoe which I made myself; but it will carry me and one
more, with some small quantity of provisions.’ They were all impatient to know
how this beautiful woman and black man came to this place; which they found she
seemed not willing to declare whilst the negro was present; and therefore
Harriot begged that she might accompany her whilst he brought the boat round to
the other side of the island, to take in one of the sailors; not thinking it
safe to trust Don Carlos, or one of the gentlemen with him in so slight a
vessel. This the negro did not seem to be pleased withal, but yet dared not
refuse it. He used to drag his boat up out of the water into a cleft, where it
was impossible to be seen. And now the transported woman, with her tauny child,
accompanied Harriot to her tent, and in the way recounted her sad story in
these words:
‘My name is Leonora: I am the daughter of a planter in Virginia, who has a great plantation there, is extremely rich; and having no more daughters than myself, bred me up in the best manner, sending me to England for education, from whence I returned at thirteen years old. I was courted by several, and by one in particular whom I liked, and my father did not disapprove of; but it was my unhappy fate to be miserably disappointed of all my hopes. Amongst a great many negro slaves whom my father had to work in our plantation, he you saw was one, who appearing to be bred above the rest, and more capable of being serviceable in the house, was taken into it. He was about twenty years old, handsome and witty, could read and write, having (as he pretends) been a prince in his own country and taught several languages and arts by a Romish priest, who was cast ashore at Angola, from whence he came. He behaved himself so well, that he gained my father’s favour, and used often to wait on me when I walked out in an evening or rid out, running by my horse’s side; in short, he was ever ready to do me service. We had a pleasure-boat, having a city house at James-Town; and when I was there, I used often, with my companions, to go on th