up in a great fright, guessing at the mistake, and that I had her
letter, and she found me with it open in my hand, just sinking away.
What business, said she, had you to read my letter? and snatched it
from me. You see, said she, looking upon it, it says Mrs. Jewkes, at
top: You ought, in manners, to have read no further. O add not, said I,
to my afflictions! I shall be soon out of all your ways! This is too
much! too much! I never can support this—and threw myself upon the
couch, in my closet, and wept most bitterly. She read it in the next
room, and came in again afterwards. Why, this, said she, is a sad
letter indeed: I am sorry for it: But I feared you would carry your
niceties too far!—Leave me, leave me, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, for a while:
I cannot speak nor talk.—Poor heart! said she; Well, I’ll come up again
presently, and hope to find you better. But here, take your own letter;
I wish you well; but this is a sad mistake! And so she put down by me
that which was intended for me: But I have no spirit to read it at
present. O man! man! hard-hearted, cruel man! what mischiefs art thou
not capable of, unrelenting persecutor as thou art!
I sat ruminating, when I had a little come to myself, upon the terms of
this wicked letter; and had no inclination to look into my own. The bad
names, fool’s play-thing, artful creature, painted bauble, gewgaw,
speaking picture, are hard words for your poor Pamela! and I began to
think whether I was not indeed a very naughty body, and had not done
vile things: But when I thought of his having discovered poor John, and
of Sir Simon’s base officiousness, in telling him of Mr. Williams, with
what he had resolved against him in revenge for his goodness to me, I
was quite dispirited; and yet still more about that fearful Colbrand,
and what he could see done to me: for then I was ready to gasp for
breath, and my heart quite failed me. Then how dreadful are the words,
that he will decide my fate in three weeks! Gracious Heaven, said I,
strike me dead, before that time, with a thunderbolt, or provide some
way for my escaping these threatened mischiefs! God forgive me, if I
sinned!
At last, I took up the letter directed for Mrs. Jewkes, but designed
for me; and I find that little better than the other. These are the
hard terms it contains:
‘Well have you done, perverse, forward, artful, yet foolish Pamela, to
convince me, before it was too late, how ill I had done to place my
affections on so unworthy an object: I had vowed honour and love to
your unworthiness, believing you a mirror of bashful modesty and
unspotted innocence; and that no perfidious designs lurked in so fair a
bosom. But now I have found you out, you specious hypocrite! and I see,
that though you could not repose the least confidence in one you had
known for years, and who, under my good mother’s misplaced favour for
you, had grown up in a manner with you; when my passion, in spite of my
pride, and the difference of our condition, made me stoop to a meanness
that now I despise myself for; yet you could enter into an intrigue
with a man you never knew till within these few days past, and resolve
to run away with a stranger, whom your fair face, and insinuating arts,
had bewitched to break through all the ties of honour and gratitude to
me, even at a time when the happiness of his future life depended upon
my favour.
‘Henceforth, for Pamela’s sake, whenever I see a lovely face, will I
mistrust a deceitful heart; and whenever I hear of the greatest
pretences to innocence, will I suspect some deep-laid mischief. You
were determined to place no confidence in me, though I have solemnly,
over and over, engaged my honour to you. What, though I had alarmed
your fears in sending you one way, when you hoped to go another; yet,
had I not, to convince you of my resolution to do justly by you,
(although with great reluctance, such then was my love for you,)
engaged not to come near you without your own consent? Was not this a
voluntary demonstration of the generosity of my intention to you? Yet
how have you requited me? The very first fellow that your charming
face, and insinuating address, could influence, you have practised
upon, corrupted too, I may say, (and even ruined, as the ungrateful
wretch shall find,) and thrown your forward self upon him. As,
therefore, you would place no confidence in me, my honour owes you
nothing; and, in a little time, you shall find how much you have erred,
in treating, as you have done, a man who was once
‘Your affectionate and kind friend.’
‘Mrs. Jewkes has directions concerning you: and if your lot is now
harder than you might wish, you will bear it the easier, because your
own rash folly has brought it upon you.’
Alas! for me, what a fate is mine, to be thus thought artful, and
forward, and ungrateful; when all I intended was to preserve my
innocence; and when all the poor little shifts, which his superior
wicked wit and cunning have rendered ineffectual, were forced upon me
in my own necessary defence!
When Mrs. Jewkes came up to me again, she found me bathed in tears. She
seemed, as I thought, to be moved to some compassion; and finding
myself now entirely in her power, and that it is not for me to provoke
her, I said, It is now, I see, in vain for me to contend against my
evil destiny, and the superior arts of my barbarous master. I will
resign myself to the Divine will, and prepare to expect the worst. But
you see how this poor Mr. Williams is drawn in and undone: I am sorry I
am made the cause of his ruin. Poor, poor man!—to be thus involved, and
for my sake too!—But if you’ll believe me, said I, I gave no
encouragement to what he proposed, as to marriage; nor would he have
proposed it, I believe, but as the only honourable way he thought was
left to save me: And his principal motive to it at all, was virtue and
compassion to one in distress. What other view could he have? You know
I am poor and friendless. All I beg of you is, to let the poor
gentleman have notice of my master’s resentment; and let him fly the
country, and not be thrown into gaol. This will answer my master’s end
as well; for it will as effectually hinder him from assisting me, as if
he was in a prison.
Ask me, said she, to do any thing that is in my power, consistent with
my duty and trust, and I will do it: for I am sorry for you both. But,
to be sure, I shall keep no correspondence with him, nor let you. I
offered to talk of a duty superior to that she mentioned, which would
oblige her to help distressed innocence, and not permit her to go the
lengths enjoined by lawless tyranny; but she plainly bid me be silent
on that head: for it was in vain to attempt to persuade her to betray
her trust:—All I have to advise you, said she, is to be easy; lay aside
all your contrivances and arts to get away, and make me your friend, by
giving me no reason to suspect you; for I glory in my fidelity to my
master: And you have both practised some strange sly arts, to make such
a progress as he has owned there was between you, so seldom as I
thought you saw one another; and I must be more circumspect than I have
been.
This doubled my concern; for I now apprehended I should be much closer
watched than before.
Well, said I, since I have, by this strange accident, discovered my
hard destiny; let me read over again that fearful letter of yours, that
I may get it by heart, and with it feed my distress, and make calamity
familiar to me. Then, said she, let me read yours again. I gave her
mine, and she lent me hers: and so I took a copy of it, with her leave;
because, as I said I would, by it, prepare myself for the worst. And
when I had done, I pinned it on the head of the couch: This, said I, is
the use I shall make of this wretched copy of your letter; and here you
shall always find it wet with my tears.
She said she would go down to order supper; and insisted upon my
company to it. I would have excused myself; but she began to put on a
commanding air, that I durst not oppose. And when I went down, she took
me by the hand, and presented me to the most hideous monster I ever saw
in my life. Here, Monsieur Colbrand, said she, here is your pretty ward
and mine; let us try to make her time with us easy. He bowed, and put
on his foreign grimaces, and seemed to bless himself; and, in broken
English, told me, I was happy in de affections of de finest gentleman
in de varld!—I was quite frightened, and ready to drop down; and I will
describe him to you, my dear father and mother, if now you will ever
see this: and you shall judge if I had not reason, especially not
knowing he was to be there, and being apprised, as I was, of his hated
employment, to watch me closer.
He is a giant of a man for stature; taller by a good deal than Harry
Mowlidge, in your neighbourhood, and large boned, and scraggy; and has
a hand!—I never saw such an one in my life. He has great staring eyes,
like the bull’s that frightened me so; vast jaw-bones sticking out:
eyebrows hanging over his eyes; two great scars upon his forehead, and
one on his left cheek; and two large whiskers, and a monstrous wide
mouth; blubber lips; long yellow teeth, and a hideous grin. He wears
his own frightful long hair, tied up in a great black bag; a black
crape neckcloth about a long ugly neck: and his throat sticking out
like a wen. As to the rest, he was dressed well enough, and had a sword
on, with a nasty red knot to it; leather garters, buckled below his
knees; and a foot—near as long as my arm, I verily think.
He said, he fright de lady; and offered to withdraw; but she bid him
not; and I told Mrs. Jewkes, That as she knew I had been crying, she
should not have called me to the gentleman without letting me know he
was there. I soon went up to my closet; for my heart ached all the time
I was at table, not being able to look upon him without horror; and
this brute of a woman, though she saw my distress, before this addition
to it, no doubt did it on purpose to strike more terror into me. And
indeed it had its effect: for when I went to bed, I could think of
nothing but his hideous person, and my master’s more hideous actions:
and thought them too well paired; and when I dropt asleep, I dreamed
they were both coming to my bed-side, with the worst designs; and I
jumped out of my bed in my sleep, and frightened Mrs. Jewkes; till,
waking with the terror, I told her my dream; and the wicked creature
only laughed, and said, All I feared was but a dream, as well as that;
and when it was over, and I was well awake, I should laugh at it as
such!
And now I am come to the close of Wednesday, the 27th day of my
distress.
Poor Mr. Williams is actually arrested, and carried away to Stamford.
So there is an end of all my hopes from him, poor gentleman! His
over-security and openness have ruined us both! I was but too well
convinced, that we ought not to have lost a moment’s time; but he was
half angry, and thought me too impatient; and then his fatal
confessions, and the detestable artifice of my master!—But one might
well think, that he who had so cunningly, and so wickedly, contrived
all his stratagems hitherto, that it was impossible to avoid them,
would stick at nothing to complete them. I fear I shall soon find it
so!
But one stratagem I have just invented, though a very discouraging one
to think of; because I have neither friends nor money, nor know one
step of the way, if I was out of the house. But let bulls, and bears,
and lions, and tigers, and, what is worse, false, treacherous,
deceitful men, stand in my way, I cannot be in more danger than I am;
and I depend nothing upon his three weeks: for how do I know, now he is
in such a passion, and has already begun his vengeance on poor Mr.
Williams, that he will not change his mind, and come down to
Lincolnshire before he goes to London?
My stratagem is this: I will endeavour to get Mrs. Jewkes to go to bed
without me, as she often does, while I sit locked up in my closet: and
as she sleeps very sound in her first sleep, of which she never fails
to give notice by snoring, if I can but then get out between the two
bars of the window, (for you know I am very slender, and I find I can
get my head through,) then I can drop upon the leads underneath, which
are little more than my height, and which leads are over a little
summer-parlour, that juts out towards the garden; and as I am light, I
can easily drop from them; for they are not high from the ground: then
I shall be in the garden; and then, as I have the key of the back-door,
I will get out. But I have another piece of cunning still: Good Heaven,
succeed to me my dangerous, but innocent devices!—I have read of a
great captain, who, being in danger, leaped overboard into the sea, and
his enemies, as he swam, shooting at him with bows and arrows, he
unloosed his upper garment, and took another course, while they stuck
that full of their darts and arrows; and so he escaped, and lived to
triumph over them all. So what will I do, but strip off my upper
petticoat, and throw it into the pond, with my neckhandkerchief! For to
be sure, when they miss me, they will go to the pond first, thinking I
have drowned myself: and so, when they see some of my clothes floating
there, they will be all employed in dragging the pond, which is a very
large one; and as I shall not, perhaps, be missed till the morning,
this will give me opportunity to get a great way off; and I am sure I
will run for it when I am out. And so I trust, that Providence will
direct my steps to some good place of safety, and make some worthy body
my friend; for sure, if I suffer ever so, I cannot be in more danger,
nor in worse hands, than where I am; and with such avowed bad designs.
O my dear parents! don’t be frightened when you come to read this!—But
all will be over before you can see it; and so God direct me for the
best! My writings, for fear I should not escape, I will bury in the
garden; for, to be sure, I shall be searched and used dreadfully if I
can’t get off. And so I will close here, for the present, to prepare
for my plot. Prosper thou, O gracious Protector of oppressed innocence!
this last effort of thy poor handmaid! that I may escape the crafty
devices and snares that have begun to entangle my virtue; and from
which, but by this one trial, I see no way of escaping. And oh!
whatever becomes of me, bless my dear parents, and protect poor Mr.
Williams from ruin! for he was happy before he knew me.
Just now, just now! I heard Mrs. Jewkes, who is in her cups, own to the
horrid Colbrand, that the robbing of poor Mr. Williams was a
contrivance of hers, and executed by the groom and a helper, in order
to seize my letters upon him, which they missed. They are now both
laughing at the dismal story, which they little think I overheard—O how
my heart aches! for what are not such wretches capable of! Can you
blame me for endeavouring, through any danger, to get out of such
clutches?
Past eleven o’clock.
Mrs. Jewkes is come up, and gone to bed; and bids me not stay long in
my closet, but come to bed. O for a dead sleep for the treacherous
brute! I never saw her so tipsy, and that gives me hopes. I have tried
again, and find I can get my head through the iron bars. I am now all
prepared, as soon as I hear her fast; and now I’ll seal up these, and
my other papers, my last work: and to thy providence, O my gracious
God! commit the rest.—Once more, God bless you both! and send us a
happy meeting; if not here, in his heavenly kingdom. Amen.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st days
of my distress.
And distress indeed! For here I am still; and every thing has been
worse and worse! Oh! the poor unhappy Pamela!—Without any hope left,
and ruined in all my contrivances. But, oh! my dear parents, rejoice
with me, even in this low plunge of my distress; for your poor Pamela
has escaped from an enemy worse than any she ever met with; an enemy
she never thought of before, and was hardly able to stand against: I
mean, the weakness and presumption, both in one, of her own mind; which
had well nigh, had not the divine grace interposed, sunk her into the
lowest, last abyss of misery and perdition!
I will proceed, as I have opportunity, with my sad relation: for my pen
and ink (in my now doubly-secured closet) are all I have to employ
myself with: and indeed I have been so weak, that, till yesterday
evening, I have not been able to hold a pen.
I took with me but one shift, besides what I had on, and two
handkerchiefs, and two caps, which my pocket held, (for it was not for
me to encumber myself,) and all my stock of money, which was but five
or six shillings, to set out for I knew not where; and got out of the
window, not without some difficulty, sticking a little at my shoulders
and hips; but I was resolved to get out, if possible. And it was
farther from the leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had sprained
my ancle; and when I had dropt from the leads to the ground, it was
still farther off; but I did pretty well there, at least. I got no hurt
to hinder me from pursuing my intentions. So being now on the ground, I
hid my papers under a rose-bush, and covered them with mould, and there
they still lie, as I hope. Then I hied away to the pond: The clock
struck twelve, just as I got out; and it was a dark misty night, and
very cold; but I felt it not then.
When I came to the pond-side, I flung in my upper-coat, as I had
designed, and my neckhandkerchief, and a round-eared cap, with a knot;
and then with great speed ran to the door, and took the key out of my
pocket, my poor heart beating all the time against my bosom, as if it
would have forced its way through it: and beat it well might! for I
then, too late, found, that I was most miserably disappointed; for the
wicked woman had taken off that lock, and put another on; so that my
key would not open it. I tried, and tried, and feeling about, I found a
padlock besides, on another part of the door. O then how my heart
sunk!—I dropt down with grief and confusion, unable to stir or support
myself, for a while. But my fears awakening my resolution, and knowing
that my attempt would be as terrible for me as any other danger I could
then encounter, I clambered up upon the ledges of the door, and upon
the lock, which was a great wooden one; and reached the top of the door
with my hands; then, little thinking I could climb so well, I made
shift to lay hold on the top of the wall with my hands; but, alas for
me! nothing but ill luck!—no escape for poor Pamela! The wall being
old, the bricks I held by gave way, just as I was taking a spring to
get up; and down came I, and received such a blow upon my head, with
one of the bricks, that it quite stunned me; and I broke my shins and
my ancle besides, and beat off the heel of one of my shoes.
In this dreadful way, flat upon the ground, lay poor I, for I believe
five or six minutes; and then trying to get up, I sunk down again two
or three times; and my left hip and shoulder were very stiff, and full
of pain, with bruises; and, besides, my head bled, and ached grievously
with the blow I had with the brick. Yet these hurts I valued not; but
crept a good way upon my feet and hands, in search of a ladder, I just
recollected to have seen against the wall two days before, on which the
gardener was nailing a nectarine branch that was loosened from the
wall: but no ladder could I find, and the wall was very high. What now,
thought I, must become of the miserable Pamela!—Then I began to wish
myself most heartily again in my closet, and to repent of my attempt,
which I now censured as rash, because it did not succeed.
God forgive me! but a sad thought came just then into my head!—I
tremble to think of it! Indeed my apprehensions of the usage I should
meet with, had like to have made me miserable for ever! O my dear, dear
parents, forgive your poor child; but being then quite desperate, I
crept along, till I could raise myself on my staggering feet; and away
limped I!—What to do, but to throw myself into the pond, and so put a
period to all my griefs in this world!—But, O! to find them infinitely
aggravated (had I not, by the divine grace, been withheld) in a
miserable eternity! As I have escaped this temptation, (blessed be God
for it!) I will tell you my conflicts on this dreadful occasion, that
the divine mercies may be magnified in my deliverance, that I am yet on
this side the dreadful gulf, from which there could have been no
return.
It was well for me, as I have since thought, that I was so maimed, as
made me the longer before I got to the water; for this gave me time to
consider, and abated the impetuousness of my passions, which possibly
might otherwise have hurried me, in my first transport of grief, (on my
seeing no way to escape, and the hard usage I had reason to expect from
my dreadful keepers,) to throw myself in. But my weakness of body made
me move so slowly, that it gave time, as I said, for a little
reflection, a ray of grace, to dart in upon my benighted mind; and so,
when I came to the pond-side, I sat myself down on the sloping bank,
and began to ponder my wretched condition; and thus I reasoned with
myself.
Pause here a little, Pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takest
the dreadful leap; and consider whether there be no way yet left, no
hope, if not to escape from this wicked house, yet from the mischiefs
threatened thee in it.
I then considered; and, after I had cast about in my mind every thing
that could make me hope, and saw no probability; a wicked woman, devoid
of all compassion! a horrid helper, just arrived, in this dreadful
Colbrand! an angry and resenting master, who now hated me, and
threatened the most afflicting evils! and that I should, in all
probability, be deprived even of the opportunity, I now had before me,
to free myself from all their persecutions!—What hast thou to do,
distressed creature, said I to myself, but throw thyself upon a
merciful God, (who knows how innocently I suffer,) to avoid the
merciless wickedness of those who are determined on my ruin?
And then, thought I, (and oh! that thought was surely of the devil’s
instigation; for it was very soothing, and powerful with me,) these
wicked wretches, who now have no remorse, no pity on me, will then be
moved to lament their misdoings; and when they see the dead corpse of
the unhappy Pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying
breathless at their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their
obdurate heart, which, now, has no place there!—And my master, my angry
master, will then forget his resentments, and say, O, this is the
unhappy Pamela! that I have so causelessly persecuted and destroyed!
Now do I see she preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is
no hypocrite, nor deceiver; but really was the innocent creature she
pretended to be! Then, thought I, will he, perhaps, shed a few tears
over the poor corpse of his persecuted servant; and though he may give
out, it was love and disappointment; and that, perhaps, (in order to
hide his own guilt,) for the unfortunate Mr. Williams, yet will he be
inwardly grieved, and order me a decent funeral, and save me, or rather
this part of me, from the dreadful stake, and the highway interment;
and the young men and maidens all around my dear father’s will pity
poor Pamela! But, O! I hope I shall not be the subject of their ballads
and elegies; but that my memory, for the sake of my dear father and
mother, may quickly slide into oblivion.
I was once rising, so indulgent was I to this sad way of thinking, to
throw myself in: But, again, my bruises made me slow; and I thought,
What art thou about to do, wretched Pamela? How knowest thou, though
the prospect be all dark to thy short-sighted eye, what God may do for
thee, even when all human means fail? God Almighty would not lay me
under these sore afflictions, if he had not given me strength to
grapple with them, if I will exert it as I ought: And who knows, but
that the very presence I so much dread of my angry and designing
master, (for he has had me in his power before, and yet I have
escaped;) may be better for me, than these persecuting emissaries of
his, who, for his money, are true to their wicked trust, and are
hardened by that, and a long habit of wickedness, against compunction
of heart? God can touch his heart in an instant; and if this should not
be done, I can then but put an end to my life by some other means, if I
am so resolved.
But how do I know, thought I, that even these bruises and maims that I
have gotten, while I pursued only the laudable escape I had meditated,
may not kindly have furnished me with the opportunity I am now tempted
with to precipitate myself, and of surrendering up my life, spotless
and unguilty, to that merciful Being who gave it!
Then, thought I, who gave thee, presumptuous as thou art, a power over
thy life? Who authorised thee to put an end to it, when the weakness of
thy mind suggests not to thee a way to preserve it with honour? How
knowest thou what purposes God may have to serve, by the trials with
which thou art now exercised? Art thou to put a bound to the divine
will, and to say, Thus much will I bear, and no more? And wilt thou
dare to say, That if the trial be augmented and continued, thou wilt
sooner die than bear it?