him how much my curiosity had been excited by the adventure in the Park.
He made very light of it, saying, his services were only common ones;
but that the object having had a tolerable education, his expressions
were rather adapted to his own feelings than to the merit of the
benefit. 'Ah! Baron,' I cried, 'there is more in this affair than you
think proper to communicate. I shall not cease persecuting you till you
let me a little more into it. I feel myself interested, and you must
oblige me with a recital of the circumstances; for which purpose I will
set you down in my _vis-à-vis_.''Are you not aware, my dear Miss Finch,
of the pain you will put me to in resounding my own praise?--What can be
more perplexing to a modest man?' 'A truce with your modesty in this
instance,' I replied; 'be _just_ to yourself, and _generously indulgent_
to me.' He bowed, and promised to gratify my desire. When we were
seated, 'I will now obey you, Madam,' said the Baron. 'A young fellow,
who was the lover of the daughter to the old man you saw yesterday, was
inveigled by some soldiers to inlist in Colonel Montague's regiment. The
present times are so critical, that the idea of a soldier's life is full
of terror in the breast of a tender female. Nancy Johnson was in a state
of distraction, which the consciousness of her being rather too severe
in a late dispute with her lover served to heighten, as she fancied
herself the cause of his resolution. Being a fine young man of six feet,
he was too eligible an object for the Colonel to wish to part from.
Great intercession, however, was made, but to no effect, for he was
ordered to join the regiment. You must conceive the distress of the
whole family; the poor girl broken-hearted; her parents hanging over her
in anguish, and, ardent to restore the peace of mind of their darling,
forming the determination of coming up to town to solicit his discharge
from the Colonel. By accident I became acquainted with their distressed
situation, and, from my intimacy with Montague, procured them the
blessing they sought for. I have provided him with a small place, and
made a trifling addition to her portion. They are shortly to be
married; and of course, I hope, happy. And now, madam,' he continued, 'I
have acquitted myself of my engagement to you.' I thanked him for his
recital, and said, 'I doubted not his pleasure was near as great as
theirs; for to a mind like his, a benevolent action must carry a great
reward with it.' 'Happiness and pleasure,' he answered, 'are both
comparative in some degree; and to feel them in their most exquisite
sense, must be after having been deprived of them for a long time--we
see ourselves possessed of them when hope had forsaken us. When the
happiness of man depends on relative objects, he will be frequently
liable to disappointment. I have found it so. I have seen every prop, on
which I had built my schemes of felicity, sink one after the other; no
other resource was then left, but to endeavor to form that happiness in
others, which fate had for ever prevented my enjoying; and when I
succeed, I feel a pleasure which for a moment prevents obtruding
thoughts from rankling in my bosom. But I ask your pardon--I am too
serious--tho' my _tête-à-têtes_ with the ladies are usually so.' I told
him, such reflections as his conversation gave rise to, excited more
heart-felt pleasure than the broadest mirth could e'er bestow; that _I_
too was serious, and I hoped should be a better woman as long as I
lived, from the resolution I had formed of attending, for the future, to
the happiness of others more than I had done. Here our conversation
ended, for we arrived at his house. I went home full of the idea of the
Baron and his recital; which, tho' I gave him credit for, I did not
implicitly believe, at least as to circumstance, tho' I might to
substance. I was kept waking the whole night, in comparing the several
parts of the Baron's and James's accounts. In short, the more I
ruminated, the more I was convinced there was more in it than the Baron
had revealed; and Montague being an actor in the play, did not a little
contribute to my desire of _peeping behind the curtain_, and having the
whole _drama_ before me. Accordingly, as soon as I had breakfasted, I
ordered my carriage, and took James for my guide. When we came to the
end of the street, I got out, and away I tramped to Johnson's lodgings.
I made James go up first, and apprize them of my coming; and, out of the
goodness of his heart, in order to relieve their minds from the
perplexity which inferiority always excites, James told them, I was the
best lady in the world, and might, for charity, pass for the Baron's
sister. I heard this as I ascended the stair-case. But, when I entered,
I was really struck with the figure of the young girl. Divested of all
ornament--without the aid of dress, or any external advantage, I think I
never beheld a more beautiful object. I apologized for the abruptness of
my appearance amongst them, but added, I doubted not, as a friend of the
Baron's and an encourager of merit, I should not be unwelcome. I begged
them to go on with their several employments. They received me with that
kind of embarrassment which is usual with people circumstanced as they
are, who fancy themselves under obligations to the affluent for treating
them with common civility. That they might recover their spirits, I
addressed myself to the two little boys, and emptied my pockets to amuse
them. I told the good old pair what the Baron had related to me; but
fairly added I did not believe he had told me all the truth, which I
attributed to his delicacy. 'Oh!' said the young girl, 'with the best
and most noble of minds, the Baron possesses the greatest delicacy; but
I need not tell you so; you, Madam, I doubt not, are acquainted with his
excellencies; and may he, in you, receive his earthly reward for the
good he has done to us! Oh, Madam! he has saved me, both soul and body;
but for him, I had been the most undone of all creatures. Sure he was
our better angel, sent down to stand between us and destruction.'
'Wonder not, madam,' said the father, 'at the lively expressions of my
child; gratitude is the best master of eloquence; she feels, Madam--we
all feel the force of the advantages we derive from that worthy man.
Good God! what had been our situation at this moment, had we not owed
our deliverance to the Baron!' 'I am not,' said I, 'entirely acquainted
with the whole of your story; the Baron, I am certain, concealed great
part; but I should be happy to hear the particulars.'
"The old man assured me he had a pleasure in reciting a tale which
reflected so much honour on the Baron; 'and let me,' said he, 'in the
pride of my heart, let me add, no disgrace on me or mine; for, Madam,
poverty, in the eye of the right-judging, is no disgrace. Heaven is my
witness, I never repined at my lowly station, till by that I was
deprived of the means of rescuing my beloved family from their distress.
But what would riches have availed me, had the evil befallen me from
which that godlike man extricated us? Oh! Madam, the wealth of worlds
could not have conveyed one ray of comfort to my heart, if I could not
have looked all round my family, and said, tho' we are poor, we are
virtuous, my children.
'It would be impertinent to trouble you, Madam, with a prolix account of
my parentage and family. I was once master of a little charity-school,
but by unavoidable misfortunes I lost it. My eldest daughter, who sits
there, was tenderly beloved by a young man in our village, whose virtues
would have reflected honour on the most elevated character. She did
ample justice to his merit. We looked forward to the _happy_ hour that
was to render our child so, and had formed a thousand little schemes of
rational delight, to enliven our evening of life; in one short moment
the sun of our joy was overcast, and promised to set in lasting night.
On a fatal day, my Nancy was seen by a gentleman in the army, who was
down on a visit to a neighbouring squire, my landlord; her figure
attracted his notice, and he followed her to our peaceful dwelling. Her
mother and I were absent with a sick relation, and her protector was out
at work with a farmer at some distance. He obtruded himself into our
house, and begged a draught of ale; my daughter, whose innocence
suspected no ill, freely gave him a mug, of which he just sipped; then,
putting it down, swore he would next taste the nectar of her lips. She
repelled his boldness with all her strength, which, however, would have
availed her but little, had not our next-door neighbour, seeing a
fine-looking man follow her in, harboured a suspicion that all was not
right, and took an opportunity of coming in to borrow something. Nancy
was happy to see her, and begged her to stay till our return, pretending
she could not procure her what she wanted till then. Finding himself
disappointed, Colonel Montague (I suppose, Madam, you know him), went
away, when Nancy informed our neighbour of his proceedings. She had
hardly recovered herself from her perturbation when we came home. I felt
myself exceedingly alarmed at her account; more particularly as I learnt
the Colonel was a man of intrigue, and proposed staying some time in the
country. I resolved never to leave my daughter at home by herself, or
suffer her to go out without her intended husband. But the vigilance of
a fond father was too easily eluded by the subtilties of an enterprising
man, who spared neither time nor money to compass his illaudable
schemes. By presents he corrupted _that_ neighbour, whose timely
interposition had preserved my child inviolate. From the friendship she
had expressed for us, we placed the utmost confidence in her, and, next
to ourselves, intrusted her with the future welfare of our daughter.
When the out-posts are corrupted, what _fort_ can remain unendangered?
It is, I believe, a received opinion, that more women are seduced from
the path of virtue by their own sex, than by ours. Whether it is, that
the unlimited faith they are apt to put in their own sex weakens the
barriers of virtue, and renders them less powerful against the attacks
of the men, or that, suspecting no sinister view, they throw off their
guard; it is certain that an artful and vicious woman is infinitely a
more to be dreaded companion, than the most abandoned libertine. This
false friend used from time to time to administer the poison of flattery
to the tender unsuspicious daughter of innocence. What female is free
from the seeds of vanity? And unfortunately, this bad woman was but too
well versed in this destructive art. She continually was introducing
instances of handsome girls who had made their fortunes merely from that
circumstance. That, to be sure, the young man, her sweetheart, had
merit; but what a pity a person like her's should be lost to the world!
That she believed the Colonel to be too much a man of honour to seduce a
young woman, though he might like to divert himself with them. What a
fine opportunity it would be to raise her family, like _Pamela Andrews_;
and accordingly placed in the hands of my child those pernicious
volumes. Ah! Madam, what wonder such artifices should prevail over the
ignorant mind of a young rustic! Alas! they sunk too deep. Nancy first
learnt to disrelish the honest, artless effusions of her first lover's
heart. His language was insipid after the luscious speeches, and ardent
but dishonourable warmth of Mr. B--, in the books before-mentioned.
Taught to despise simplicity, she was easily led to suffer the Colonel
to plead for pardon for his late boldness. My poor girl's head was now
completely turned, to see such an accomplished man kneeling at her feet
suing for forgiveness and using the most refined expressions; and
elevating her to a Goddess, that he may debase her to the lowest dregs
of human kind. Oh! Madam, what have not such wretches to answer for! The
Colonel's professions, however, at present, were all within the bounds
of honour. A man never scruples to make engagements which he never
purposes to fulfill, and which he takes care no one shall ever be able
to claim. He was very profuse of promises, judging it the most likely
method of triumphing over her virtue by appearing to respect it. Things
were proceeding thus; when, finding the Colonel's continued stay in our
neighbourhood, I became anxious to conclude my daughter's union, hoping,
that when he should see her married, he would entirely lay his schemes
aside; for, by his hovering about our village, I could not remain
satisfied, or prevent disagreeable apprehensions arising. My daughter
was too artless to frame any excuse to protract her wedding, and equally
_so_, not to discover, by her confusion, that her sentiments were
changed. My intended son-in-law saw too clearly that _change_; perhaps
he had heard more than I had. He made rather a too sharp observation on
the alteration in his mistress's features. Duty and respect kept her
silent to me, but to him she made an acrimonious reply. He had been that
day at market, and had taken a too free draught of ale. His spirits had
been elevated by my information, that I would that evening fix his
wedding-day. The damp on my daughter's brow had therefore a greater
effect on him. He could not brook her reply, and his answer to it was a
sarcastic reflection on those women who were undone by the _red-coats_.
This touched too nearly; and, after darting a look of the most ineffable
contempt on him, Nancy declared, whatever might be the consequence, she
would never give her hand to a man who had dared to treat her on the eve
of her marriage with such unexampled insolence; so saying, she left the
room. I was sorry matters had gone so far, and wished to reconcile the
pair, but both were too haughty to yield to the intercessions I made;
and he left us with a fixed resolution of making her repent, as he said.
As is too common in such cases, the public-house seemed the properest
asylum for the disappointed lover. He there met with a recruiting
serjeant of the Colonel's, who, we since find, was sent on purpose to
our village, to get Nancy's future husband out of the way. The bait
unhappily took, and before morning he was enlisted in the king's
service. His father and mother, half distracted, ran to our house, to
learn the cause of this rash action in their son. Nancy, whose virtuous
attachment to her former lover had only been lulled to sleep, now felt
it rouze with redoubled violence. She pictured to herself the dangers he
was now going to encounter, and accused herself with being the cause.
Judging of the influence she had over the Colonel, she flew into his
presence; she begged, she conjured him, to give the precipitate young
soldier his discharge. He told her, 'he could freely grant any thing to
her petition, but that it was too much his interest to remove the only
obstacle to his happiness out of the way, for him to be able to comply
with her request. However,' continued he, taking her hand, 'my Nancy has
it in her power to preserve the young man.' 'Oh!' cried she, 'how freely
would I exert that power!' 'Be mine this moment,' said he, 'and I will
promise on my honour to discharge him.' 'By that sacred word,' said
Nancy, 'I beg you, Sir, to reflect on the cruelty of your conduct to me!
what generous professions you have made voluntarily to me! how sincerely
have you promised me your friendship! and does all this end in a design
to render me the most criminal of beings?' 'My angel,' cried the
Colonel, throwing his arms round her waist, and pressing her hand to his
lips, 'give not so harsh a name to my intentions. No disgrace shall
befall you. You are a sensible girl; and I need not, I am sure, tell
you, that, circumstanced as _I_ am in life, it would be utterly
impossible to marry you. I adore you; you know it; do not then play the
sex upon me, and treat me with rigour, because I have candidly confessed
I cannot live without you. Consent to bestow on me the possession of
your charming person, and I will hide your lovely blushes in my fond
bosom; while you shall whisper to my enraptured ear, that I shall still
have the delightful privilege of an husband, and Will Parker shall bear
the name. This little delicious private treaty shall be known only to
ourselves. Speak, my angel, or rather let me read your willingness in
your lovely eyes.' 'If I have been silent, Sir,' said my poor girl,
'believe me, it is the horror which I feel at your proposal, which
struck me dumb. But, thus called upon, let me say, I bless Heaven, for
having allowed me to see your cloven-foot, while yet I can be out of its
reach. You may wound me to the soul, and (no longer able to conceal her
tears) you have most sorely wounded me through the side of William; but
I will never consent to enlarge him at the price of my honour. We are
poor people. He has not had the advantages of education as you have had;
but, lowly as his mind is, I am convinced he would first die, before I
should suffer for his sake. Permit me, Sir, to leave you, deeply
affected with the disappointments I have sustained; and more so, that
in part I have brought them on myself.' Luckily at this moment a servant
came in with a letter. 'You are now engaged, Sir,' she added, striving
to hide her distress from the man. 'Stay, young woman,' said the
Colonel, 'I have something more to say to you on this head.' 'I thank
you Sir,' said she, curtseying, 'but I will take the liberty of sending
my father to hear what further you may have to say on this subject.' He
endeavoured to detain her, but she took this opportunity of escaping. On
her return, she threw her arms round her mother's neck, unable to speak
for sobs. Good God! what were our feelings on seeing her distress! dying
to hear, yet dreading to enquire. My wife folded her speechless child to
her bosom, and in all the agony of despair besought her to explain this
mournful silence. Nancy slid from her mother's incircling arms, and sunk
upon her knees, hiding her face in her lap: at last she sobbed out, 'she
was undone for ever; her William would be hurried away, and the Colonel
was the basest of men.' These broken sentences served but to add to our
distraction. We urged a full account; but it was a long time before we
could learn the whole particulars. The poor girl now made a full recital
of all her folly, in having listened so long to the artful addresses of
Colonel Montague, and the no less artful persuasions of our perfidious
neighbour; and concluded, by imploring our forgiveness. It would have
been the height of cruelty, to have added to the already deeply wounded
Nancy. We assured her of our pardon, and spoke all the comfortable
things we could devise. She grew tolerably calm, and we talked
composedly of applying to some persons whom we hoped might assist us.
Just at this juncture, a confused noise made us run to the door, when we
beheld some soldiers marching, and dragging with them the unfortunate
William loaded with irons, and hand-cuffed. On my hastily demanding why
he was thus treated like a felon, the serjeant answered, he had been
detected in an attempt to desert; but that he would be tried to-morrow,
and might escape with five hundred lashes; but, if he did not mend his
manners for the future, he would be shot, as all such cowardly dogs
ought to be; and added, they were on the march the regiment. Figure to
yourself, Madam, what was now the situation of poor Nancy. Imagination
can hardly picture so distressed an object. A heavy stupor seemed to
take intire possession of all her faculties. Unless strongly urged, she
never opened her lips, and then only to breathe out the most
heart-piercing complaints. Towards the morning, she appeared inclinable
to doze; and her mother left her bed-side, and went to her own. When we
rose, my wife's first business was to go and see how her child fared;
but what was her grief and astonishment, to find the bed cold, and her
darling fled! A small scrap of paper, containing these few distracted
words, was all the information we could gain:
'My dearest father and mother, make no inquiry after the most forlorn of
all wretches. I am undeserving of your least _regard_. I fear, I have
forfeited _that_ of Heaven. Yet pray for me: I am myself unable, as I
shall prove myself unworthy. I am in despair; what that despair may lead
to, I dare not tell: I dare hardly think. Farewell. May my brothers and
sisters repay you the tenderness which has been thrown away on A.
Johnson!' My wife's shrieks reached my affrighted ears; I flew to her,
and felt a thousand conflicting passions, while I read the dreadful
scroll. We ran about the yard and little field, every moment terrified
with the idea of seeing our beloved child's corpse; for what other
interpretation could we put on the alarming notice we had received, but
that to destroy herself was her intention? All our inquiry failed. I
then formed the resolution of going up to London, as I heard the
regiment was ordered to quarters near town, and _hoped_ there. After a
fruitless search of some days, our strength, and what little money we
had collected, nearly exhausted, it pleased the mercy of heaven to raise
us up a friend; one, who, like an angel, bestowed every comfort upon us;
in short, all comforts in one--our dear wanderer: restored her to us
pure and undefiled, and obtained us the felicity of looking forward to
better days. But I will pursue my long detail with some method, and
follow my poor distressed daughter thro' all the sad variety of woe she
was doomed to encounter. She told us, that, as soon as her mother had
left her room, she rose and dressed herself, wrote the little melancholy
note, then stole softly out of the house, resolving to follow the
regiment, and to preserve her lover by resigning herself to the base
wishes of the Colonel; that she had taken the gloomy resolution of
destroying herself, as soon as his discharge was signed, as she could
not support the idea of living in infamy. Without money, she followed
them, at a painful distance, on foot, and sustained herself from the
springs and a few berries; she arrived at the market-town where they
were to take up their quarters; and the first news that struck her ear
was, that a fine young fellow was just then receiving part of five
hundred lashes for desertion; her trembling limbs just bore her to the
dreadful scene; she saw the back of her William streaming with blood;
she heard his agonizing groans! she saw--she heard no more! She sunk
insensible on the ground. The compassion of the crowd around her, soon,
too soon, restored her to a sense of her distress. The object of it was,
at this moment, taken from the halberts, and was conveying away, to
have such applications to his lacerated back as should preserve his life
to a renewal of his torture. He was led by the spot where my child was
supported; he instantly knew her. 'Oh! Nancy,' he cried, 'what do I
see?' 'A wretch,' she exclaimed, 'but one who will do you justice.
Should my death have prevented this, freely would I have submitted to
the most painful. Yes, my William, I would have died to have released
you from those bonds, and the exquisite torture I have been witness to;
but the cruel Colonel is deaf to intreaty; nothing but my everlasting
ruin can preserve you. Yet you shall be preserved; and heaven will, I
hope, have that mercy on my poor soul, which, this basest of men will
not shew.' The wretches, who had the care of poor William, hurried him
away, nor would suffer him to speak. Nancy strove to run after them, but
fell a second time, through weakness and distress of mind. Heaven sent
amongst the spectators that best of men, the noble-minded Baron. Averse
to such scenes of cruel discipline, he came that way by accident; struck
with the appearance of my frantic daughter, he stopped to make some
inquiry. He stayed till the crowd had dispersed, and then addressed
himself to this forlorn victim of woe. Despair had rendered her wholly
unreserved; and she related, in few words, the unhappy resolution she
was obliged to take, to secure her lover from a repetition of his
sufferings. 'If I will devote myself to infamy to Colonel Montague,'
said she, 'my dear William will be released. Hard as the terms are, I
cannot refuse. See, see!' she screamed out, 'how the blood runs! Oh!
stop thy barbarous hand!' She raved, and then fell into a fit again. The
good Baron intreated some people, who were near, to take care of her.
They removed the distracted creature to a house in the town, where some
comfortable things were given her by an apothecary, which the care of
the Baron provided.
'By his indefatigable industry, the Baron discovered the basest
collusion between the Colonel and serjeant; that, by the instigation of
the former, the latter had been tampering with the young recruit, about
procuring his discharge for a sum of money, which he being at that time
unable to advance, the serjeant was to connive at his escape, and
receive the stipulated reward by instalments. This infamous league was
contrived to have a plea for tormenting poor William, hoping, by that
means, to effect the ruin of Nancy. The whole of this black transaction
being unravelled, the Baron went to Colonel Montague, to whom he talked
in pretty severe terms. The Colonel, at first, was very warm, and wanted
much to decide the affair, as he said, in an honourable way. The Baron
replied, 'it was too _dishonourable_ a piece of business to be thus
decided; that he went on sure grounds; that he would prosecute the
serjeant for wilful and corrupt perjury; and how honourably it would
sound, that the Colonel of the regiment had conspired with such a fellow
to procure an innocent man so ignominious a punishment.' As this was not
an affair of common gallantry, the Colonel was fearful of the exposure
of it; therefore, to hush it up, signed the discharge, remitted the
remaining infliction of discipline, and gave a note of two hundred
pounds for the young people to begin the world with. The Baron
generously added the same sum. I had heard my daughter was near town;
the circumstances of her distress were aggravated in the accounts I had
received. Providence, in pity to my age and infirmities, at last brought
us together. I advertised her in the papers: and our guardian angel used
such means to discover my lodgings, as had the desired effect. My
children are now happy; they were married last week. Our generous
protector gave Nancy to her faithful William. We propose leaving this
place soon; and shall finish our days in praying for the happiness of
our benefactor.'