how what I write can be conveyed to your hands!—I have now nothing to
do, but write and weep, and fear and pray! But yet what can I hope for,
when I seem to be devoted, as a victim to the will of a wicked violator
of all the laws of God and man!—But, gracious Heaven, forgive me my
rashness and despondency! O let me not sin against thee; for thou best
knowest what is fittest for thy poor handmaid!—And as thou sufferest
not thy poor creatures to be tempted above what they can bear, I will
resign myself to thy good pleasure: And still, I hope, desperate as my
condition seems, that as these trials are not of my own seeking, nor
the effects of my presumption and vanity, I shall be enabled to
overcome them, and, in God’s own good time, be delivered from them.
Thus do I pray imperfectly, as I am forced by my distracting fears and
apprehensions; and O join with me, my dear parents!—But, alas! how can
you know, how can I reveal to you, the dreadful situation of your poor
daughter! The unhappy Pamela may be undone (which God forbid, and
sooner deprive me of life!) before you can know her hard lot!
O the unparalleled wickedness, stratagems, and devices, of those who
call themselves gentlemen, yet pervert the design of Providence, in
giving them ample means to do good, to their own everlasting perdition,
and the ruin of poor oppressed innocence!
But now I will tell you what has befallen me; and yet, how shall you
receive it? Here is no honest John to carry my letters to you! And,
besides, I am watched in all my steps; and no doubt shall be, till my
hard fate may ripen his wicked projects for my ruin. I will every day,
however, write my sad state; and some way, perhaps, may be opened to
send the melancholy scribble to you. But, alas! when you know it, what
will it do but aggravate your troubles? For, O! what can the abject
poor do against the mighty rich, when they are determined to oppress?
Well, but I must proceed to write what I had hoped to tell you in a few
hours, when I believed I should receive your grateful blessings, on my
return to you from so many hardships.
I will begin with my account from the last letter I wrote you, in which
I enclosed my poor stuff of verses; and continue it at times, as I have
opportunity; though, as I said, I know not how it can reach you.
The long-hoped for Thursday morning came, when I was to set out. I had
taken my leave of my fellow-servants overnight; and a mournful leave it
was to us all: for men, as well as women servants, wept much to part
with me; and, for my part, I was overwhelmed with tears, and the
affecting instances of their esteem. They all would have made me little
presents, as tokens of their love; but I would not take any thing from
the lower servants, to be sure. But Mr. Longman would have me accept of
several yards of Holland, and a silver snuff-box, and a gold ring,
which he desired me to keep for his sake; and he wept over me; but
said, I am sure so good a maiden God will bless; and though you return
to your poor father again, and his low estate, yet Providence will find
you out: Remember I tell you so; and one day, though I mayn’t live to
see it, you will be rewarded.
I said, O, dear Mr. Longman! you make me too rich, and too mody; and
yet I must be a beggar before my time for I shall want often to be
scribbling, (little thinking it would be my only employment so soon,)
and I will beg you, sir, to favour me with some paper; and, as soon as
I get home, I will write you a letter, to thank you for all your
kindness to me; and a letter to good Mrs. Jervis too.
This was lucky; for I should have had none else, but at the pleasure of
my rough-natured governess, as I may call her; but now I can write to
ease my mind, though I can’t send it to you; and write what I please,
for she knows not how well I am provided: for good Mr. Longman gave me
above forty sheets of paper, and a dozen pens, and a little phial of
ink; which last I wrapped in paper, and put in my pocket; and some wax
and wafers.
O dear sir, said I, you have set me up. How shall I requite you? He
said, By a kiss, my fair mistress: And I gave it very willingly; for he
is a good old man.
Rachel and Hannah cried sadly, when I took my leave; and Jane, who
sometimes used to be a little crossish, and Cicely too, wept sadly, and
said, they would pray for me; but poor Jane, I doubt, will forget that;
for she seldom says her prayers for herself: More’s the pity!
Then Arthur the gardener, our Robin the coachman, and Lincolnshire
Robin too, who was to carry me, were very civil; and both had tears in
their eyes; which I thought then very good-natured in Lincolnshire
Robin, because he knew but little of me.—But since, I find he might
well be concerned; for he had then his instructions, it seems, and knew
how he was to be a means to entrap me.
Then our other three footmen, Harry, Isaac, and Benjamin, and grooms,
and helpers, were very much affected likewise; and the poor little
scullion-boy, Tommy, was ready to run over for grief.
They had got all together over-night, expecting to be differently
employed in the morning; and they all begged to shake hands with me,
and I kissed the maidens, and prayed to God to bless them all; and
thanked them for all their love and kindness to me: and, indeed, I was
forced to leave them sooner than I would, because I could not stand it:
Indeed I could not. Harry (I could not have thought it; for he is a
little wildish, they say) cried till he sobbed again. John, poor honest
John, was not then come back from you. But as for the butler, Mr.
Jonathan, he could not stay in company.
I thought to have told you a deal about this; but I have worse things
to employ my thoughts.
Mrs. Jervis, good Mrs. Jervis, cried all night long; and I comforted
her all I could: And she made me promise, that if my master went to
London to attend parliament, or to Lincolnshire, I would come and stay
a week with her: and she would have given me money; but I would not
take it.
Well, next morning came, and I wondered I saw nothing of poor honest
John; for I waited to take leave of him, and thank him for all his
civilities to me and to you. But I suppose he was sent farther by my
master, and so could not return; and I desired to be remembered to him.
And when Mrs. Jervis told me, with a sad heart, the chariot was ready
with four horses to it, I was just upon sinking into the ground, though
I wanted to be with you.
My master was above stairs, and never asked to see me. I was glad of it
in the main; but he knew, false heart as he is, that I was not to be
out of his reach.—O preserve me, Heaven, from his power, and from his
wickedness!
Well, they were not suffered to go with me one step, as I writ to you
before; for he stood at the window to see me go. And in the passage to
the gate, out of his sight, there they stood all of them, in two rows;
and we could say nothing on both sides, but God bless you! and God
bless you! But Harry carried my own bundle, my third bundle, as I was
used to call it, to the coach, with some plumb-cake, and diet-bread,
made for me over-night, and some sweet-meats, and six bottles of Canary
wine, which Mrs. Jervis would make me take in a basket, to cheer our
hearts now and then, when we got together, as she said. And I kissed
all the maids again, and shook hands with the men again: but Mr.
Jonathan and Mr. Longman were not there; and then I tripped down the
steps to the chariot, Mrs. Jervis crying most sadly.
I looked up when I got to the chariot, and I saw my master at the
window, in his gown; and I courtesied three times to him very low, and
prayed for him with my hands lifted up; for I could not speak; indeed I
was not able: And he bowed his head to me, which made me then very glad
he would take such notice of me; and in I stepped, and was ready to
burst with grief; and could only, till Robin began to drive, wave my
white handkerchief to them, wet with my tears: and, at last, away he
drove, Jehu-like, as they say, out of the court-yard. And I too soon
found I had cause for greater and deeper grief.
Well, said I to myself, at this rate I shall soon be with my dear
father and mother; and till I had got, as I supposed, half-way, I
thought of the good friends I had left: And when, on stopping for a
little bait to the horses, Robin told me I was near half-way, I thought
it was high time to wipe my eyes, and think to whom I was going; as
then, alack for me! I thought. So I began to ponder what a meeting I
should have with you; how glad you’d both be to see me come safe and
innocent to you, after all my dangers: and so I began to comfort
myself, and to banish the other gloomy side from my mind; though, too,
it returned now and then; for I should be ungrateful not to love them
for their love.
Well, I believe I set out about eight o’clock in the morning; and I
wondered and wondered, when it was about two, as I saw by a church
dial, in a little village as we passed through, that I was still more
and more out of my knowledge. Hey-day, thought I, to drive this strange
pace, and to be so long a going a little more than twenty miles, is
very odd! But to be sure, thought I, Robin knows the way.
At last he stopped, and looked about him, as if he was at a loss for
the road; and I said, Mr. Robert, sure you are out of the way!—I’m
afraid I am, said he. But it can’t be much; I’ll ask the first person I
see. Pray do, said I; and he gave his horses a mouthful of bay: and I
gave him some cake, and two glasses of Canary wine; and stopt about
half an hour in all. Then he drove on very fast again.
I had so much to think of, of the dangers I now doubted not I had
escaped, of the loving friends I had left, and my best friends I was
going to; and the many things I had to relate to you; that I the less
thought of the way, till I was startled out of my meditations by the
sun beginning to set, and still the man driving on, and his horses
sweating and foaming; and then I began to be alarmed all at once, and
called to him; and he said he had horrid ill luck, for he had come
several miles out of the way, but was now right, and should get in
still before it was quite dark. My heart began then to misgive me a
little, and I was very much fatigued; for I had no sleep for several
nights before, to signify; and at last I said, Pray Mr. Robert, there
is a town before us, what do you call it?—If we are so much out of the
way, we had better put up there, for the night comes on apace: And,
Lord protect me! thought I, I shall have new dangers, mayhap, to
encounter with the man, who have escaped the master—little thinking of
the base contrivance of the latter.—Says he, I am just there: ’Tis but
a mile on one side of the town before us.—Nay, said I, I may be
mistaken; for it is a good while since I was this way; but I am sure
the face of the country here is nothing like what I remember it.
He pretended to be much out of humour with himself for mistaking the
way, and at last stopped at a farmhouse, about two miles beyond the
village I had seen; and it was then almost dark, and he alighted, and
said, We must make shift here; for I am quite out.
Lord, thought I, be good to the poor Pamela! More trials still!—What
will befall me next?
The farmer’s wife, and maid, and daughter, came out; and the wife said,
What brings you this way at this time of night, Mr. Robert? And with a
lady too?—Then I began to be frightened out of my wits; and laying
middle and both ends together, I fell a crying, and said, God give me
patience! I am undone for certain!—Pray, mistress, said I, do you know
’Squire B——, of Bedfordshire?
The wicked coachman would have prevented the answering me; but the
simple daughter said, Know his worship! yes, surely! why he is my
father’s landlord.—Well, said I, then I am undone; undone for ever!—O,
wicked wretch! what have I done to you, said I to the coachman, to
serve me thus?—Vile tool of a wicked master!—Faith, said the fellow, I
am sorry this task was put upon me; but I could not help it. But make
the best of it now; here are very civil reputable folks; and you’ll be
safe here, I’ll assure you.—Let me get out, said I, and I’ll walk back
to the town we came through, late as it is:—For I will not enter here.
Said the farmer’s wife, You’ll be very well used here, I’ll assure you,
young gentlewoman, and have better conveniences than any where in the
village. I matter not conveniences, said I: I am betrayed and undone!
As you have a daughter of your own, pity me, and let me know if your
landlord, as you call him, be here!—No, I’ll assure you he is not, said
she.
And then came the farmer, a good-like sort of man, grave, and
well-behaved; and spoke to me in such sort, as made me a little
pacified; and seeing no help for it, I went in; and the wife
immediately conducted me up stairs to the best apartment, and told me,
that was mine as long as I staid: and nobody should come near me but
when I called. I threw myself on the bed in the room, tired and
frightened to death almost; and gave way to the most excessive fit of
grief that I ever had.
The daughter came up, and said, Mr. Robert had given her a letter to
give me; and there it was. I raised myself, and saw it was the hand and
seal of the wicked wretch, my master, directed to Mrs. Pamela
Andrews.—This was a little better than to have him here; though, if he
had, he must have been brought through the air; for I thought I was.
The good woman (for I began to see things about a little reputable, and
no guile appearing in them, but rather a face of grief for my grief)
offered me a glass of some cordial water, which I accepted, for I was
ready to sink; and then I sat up in a chair a little, though very
faintish: and they brought me two candles, and lighted a brushwood
fire; and said, if I called, I should be waited on instantly; and so
left me to ruminate on my sad condition, and to read my letter, which I
was not able to do presently. After I had a little come to myself, I
found it to contain these words:
‘DEAR PAMELA,
‘The passion I have for you, and your obstinacy, have constrained me to
act by you in a manner that I know will occasion you great trouble and
fatigue, both of mind and body. Yet, forgive me, my dear girl; for,
although I have taken this step, I will, by all that’s good and holy!
use you honourably. Suffer not your fears to transport you to a
behaviour that will be disreputable to us both: for the place where
you’ll receive this, is a farm that belongs to me; and the people
civil, honest, and obliging.
‘You will, by this time, be far on your way to the place I have
allotted for your abode for a few weeks, till I have managed some
affairs, that will make me shew myself to you in a much different
light, than you may possibly apprehend from this rash action: And to
convince you, that I mean no harm, I do assure you, that the house you
are going to, shall be so much at your command, that even I myself will
not approach it without leave from you. So make yourself easy; be
discreet and prudent; and a happier turn shall reward these your
troubles, than you may at present apprehend.
‘Meantime I pity the fatigue you will have, if this come to your hand
in the place I have directed: and will write to your father to satisfy
him, that nothing but what is honourable shall be offered to you, by
Your passionate admirer, (so I must style myself,)
‘———————-’
Don’t think hardly of poor Robin: You have so possessed all my servants
in your favour, that I find they had rather serve you than me; and ’tis
reluctantly the poor fellow undertook this task; and I was forced to
submit to assure him of my honourable intentions to you, which I am
fully resolved to make good, if you compel me not to a contrary
conduct.’
I but too well apprehended that the letter was only to pacify me for
the present; but as my danger was not so immediate as I had reason to
dread, and he had promised to forbear coming to me, and to write to
you, my dear parents, to quiet your concern, I was a little more easy
than before and I made shift to eat a little bit of boiled chicken they
had got for me, and drank a glass of my sack, and made each of them do
so too.
But after I had so done, I was again a little flustered; for in came
the coachman with the look of a hangman, I thought, and madamed me up
strangely; telling me, he would beg me to get ready to pursue my
journey by five in the morning, or else he should be late in. I was
quite grieved at this; for I began not to dislike my company,
considering how things stood; and was in hopes to get a party among
them, and so to put myself into any worthy protection in the
neighbourhood, rather than go forward.
When he withdrew, I began to tamper with the farmer and his wife. But,
alas! they had had a letter delivered them at the same time I had; so
securely had Lucifer put it into his head to do his work; and they only
shook their heads, and seemed to pity me; and so I was forced to give
over that hope.
However, the good farmer shewed me his letter; which I copied as
follows: for it discovers the deep arts of this wicked master; and how
resolved he seems to be on my ruin, by the pains he took to deprive me
of all hopes of freeing myself from his power.
‘FARMER NORTON,
‘I send to your house, for one night only, a young gentlewoman, much
against her will, who has deeply embarked in a love affair, which will
be her ruin, as well as the person’s to whom she wants to betroth
herself. I have, to oblige her father, ordered her to be carried to one
of my houses, where she will be well used, to try, if by absence, and
expostulation with both, they can be brought to know their own interest
and I am sure you will use her kindly for my sake: for, excepting this
matter, which she will not own, she does not want prudence and
discretion. I will acknowledge any trouble you shall be at in this
matter the first opportunity; and am
‘Your Friend and Servant.’
He had said, too cunningly for me, that I would not own this pretended
love affair; so that he had provided them not to believe me, say what I
would; and as they were his tenants, who all love him, (for he has some
amiable qualities, and so he had need!) I saw all my plot cut out, and
so was forced to say the less.
I wept bitterly, however; for I found he was too hard for me, as well
in his contrivances as riches; and so had recourse again to my only
refuge, comforting myself, that God never fails to take the innocent
heart into his protection, and is alone able to baffle and confound the
devices of the mighty. Nay, the farmer was so prepossessed with the
contents of his letter, that he began to praise his care and concern
for me, and to advise me against entertaining addresses without my
friends’ advice and consent; and made me the subject of a lesson for
his daughter’s improvement. So I was glad to shut up this discourse;
for I saw I was not likely to be believed.
I sent, however, to tell my driver, that I was so fatigued, I could not
get out so soon the next morning. But he insisted upon it, and said, It
would make my day’s journey the lighter; and I found he was a more
faithful servant to his master, notwithstanding what he wrote of his
reluctance, than I could have wished: I saw still more and more, that
all was deep dissimulation, and contrivance worse and worse.
Indeed I might have shewn them his letter to me, as a full confutation
of his to them; but I saw no probability of engaging them in my behalf:
and so thought it signified little, as I was to go away so soon, to
enter more particularly into the matter with them; and besides, I saw
they were not inclinable to let me stay longer, for fear of disobliging
him so I went to bed, but had very little rest: and they would make
their servant-maid bear me company in the chariot five miles, early in
the morning, and she was to walk back.
I had contrived in my thoughts, when I was on my way in the chariot, on
Friday morning, that when we came into some town to bait, as he must do
for the horses’ sake, I would, at the inn, apply myself, if I saw I any
way could, to the mistress of the inn, and tell her the case, and to
refuse to go farther, having nobody but this wicked coachman to contend
with.
Well, I was very full of this project, and in great hopes, some how or
other, to extricate myself in this way. But, oh! the artful wretch had
provided for even this last refuge of mine; for when we came to put up
at a large town on the way, to eat a morsel for dinner, and I was fully
resolved to execute my project, who should be at the inn that he put up
at, but the wicked Mrs. Jewkes, expecting me! And her sister-in-law was
the mistress of it; and she had provided a little entertainment for me.
And this I found, when I desired, as soon as I came in, to speak with
the mistress of the house. She came to me: and I said, I am a poor
unhappy young body, that want your advice and assistance; and you seem
to be a good sort of a gentlewoman, that would assist an oppressed
innocent person. Yes, madam, said she, I hope you guess right; and I
have the happiness to know something of the matter before you speak.
Pray call my sister Jewkes.—Jewkes! Jewkes! thought I; I have heard of
that name; I don’t like it.
Then the wicked creature appeared, whom I had never seen but once
before, and I was terrified out of my wits. No stratagem, thought I,
not one! for a poor innocent girl; but every thing to turn out against
me; that is hard indeed!
So I began to pull in my horns, as they say, for I saw I was now worse
off than at the farmer’s.
The naughty woman came up to me with an air of confidence, and kissed
me: See, sister, said she, here’s a charming creature! Would she not
tempt the best lord in the land to run away with her? O frightful!
thought I; here’s an avowal of the matter at once: I am now gone,
that’s certain. And so was quite silent and confounded; and seeing no
help for it, (for she would not part with me out of her sight) I was
forced to set out with her in the chariot for she came thither on
horseback, with a man-servant, who rode by us the rest of the way,
leading her horse: and now I gave over all thoughts of redemption, and
was in a desponding condition indeed.
Well, thought I, here are strange pains taken to ruin a poor innocent,
helpless, and even worthless young body. This plot is laid too deep,
and has been too long hatching, to be baffled, I fear. But then I put
my trust in God, who I knew was able to do every thing for me, when all
other possible means should fail: and in him I was resolved to confide.
You may see—(Yet, oh! that kills me; for I know not whether ever you
can see what I now write or no—Else you will see)—what sort of woman
that Mrs. Jewkes is, compared to good Mrs. Jervis, by this:——
Every now and then she would be staring in my face, in the chariot, and
squeezing my hand, and saying, Why, you are very pretty, my silent
dear! And once she offered to kiss me. But I said, I don’t like this
sort of carriage, Mrs. Jewkes; it is not like two persons of one sex.
She fell a laughing very confidently, and said, That’s prettily said, I
vow! Then thou hadst rather be kissed by the other sex? ‘I fackins, I
commend thee for that!
I was sadly teased with her impertinence, and bold way; but no wonder;
she was innkeeper’s housekeeper, before she came to my master; and
those sort of creatures don’t want confidence, you know: and indeed she
made nothing to talk boldly on twenty occasions; and said two or three
times, when she saw the tears every now and then, as we rid, trickle
down my cheeks, I was sorely hurt, truly, to have the handsomest and
finest young gentleman in five counties in love with me!
So I find I am got into the hands of a wicked procuress; and if I was
not safe with good Mrs. Jervis, and where every body loved me, what a
dreadful prospect have I now before me, in the hands of a woman that
seems to delight in filthiness!
O dear sirs! what shall I do! What shall I do!—Surely, I shall never be
equal to all these things!
About eight at night, we entered the court-yard of this handsome,
large, old, and lonely mansion, that looks made for solitude and
mischief, as I thought, by its appearance, with all its brown nodding
horrors of lofty elms and pines about it: and here, said I to myself, I
fear, is to be the scene of my ruin, unless God protect me, who is
all-sufficient!
I was very sick at entering it, partly from fatigue, and partly from
dejection of spirits: and Mrs. Jewkes got me some mulled wine, and
seemed mighty officious to welcome me thither; and while she was
absent, ordering the wine, the wicked Robin came in to me, and said, I
beg a thousand pardons for my part in this affair, since I see your
grief and your distress; and I do assure you, that I am sorry it fell
to my task.