RESOLVES TO ESCAPE.
As summer approached, I expected to be sent to the farm again, but for
some reason I was still employed in the kitchen. Yet I could not keep
my mind upon my work. The one great object of my life; the subject that
continually pressed upon my mind was the momentous question, how shall
I escape? The dreaded December was rapidly approaching. To some it
would bring a joyous festival, but to me, the black veil and a life long
imprisonment. Once within those dreary walls, and I might as well hope
to escape from the grave. Such are the arrangements, there is no chance
for a nun to escape unless she is promoted to the office of Abbess or
Superior. Of course, but few of them can hope for this, especially,
if they are not contented; and certainly, in my case there was not the
least reason to expect anything of the kind. Knowing these facts, with
the horrors of the Secret Cloister ever before me, I felt some days as
though on the verge of madness. Before the nuns take the black veil, and
enter this tomb for the living, they are put into a room by themselves,
called the forbidden closet, where they spend six months in studying the
Black Book. Perchance, the reader will remember that when I first
came to this nunnery, I was taken by the door-tender to this forbidden
closet, and permitted to look in upon the wretched inmates. From that
time I always had the greatest horror of that room. I was never allowed
to enter it, and in fact never wished to do so, but I have heard the
most agonizing groans from those within, and sometimes I have heard them
laugh. Not a natural, hearty laugh, however, such as we hear from the
gay and happy, but a strange, terrible, sound which I cannot describe,
and which sent a thrill of terror through my frame, and seemed to chill
the very blood in my veins.
I have heard the priests say, when conversing with each other, while I
was tidying their room, that many of these nuns lose their reason while
studying the Black Book. I can well believe this, for never in my
life did I ever witness an expression of such unspeakable, unmitigated
anguish, such helpless and utter despair as I saw upon the faces of
those nuns. And well they may despair. Kept under lock and key, their
windows barred, and no air admitted to the room except what comes
through the iron grate of their windows from other apartments; compelled
to study, I know not what; with no hope of the least mitigation of their
sufferings, or relaxation of the stringent rules that bind them; no
prospect before them but a life-long imprisonment; what have they to
hope for? Surely, death and the grave are the only things to which they
can look forward with the least degree of satisfaction.
Those nuns selected for this Secret Cloister are generally the fairest,
the most beautiful of the whole number. I used to see them in the
chapel, and some of them were very handsome. They dressed like the other
nuns, and always looked sad and broken hearted, but were not pale
and thin like the rest of us. I am sure they were not kept upon short
allowance as the others were, and starvation was not one of their
punishments, whatever else they might endure. The plain looking girls
were always selected to work in the kitchen, and do the drudgery about
the house. How often have I thanked God for my plain face! But for that,
I might not have been kept in the kitchen so long, and thus found means
to escape which I certainly could not have found elsewhere.
With all my watching, and planning I did not find an opportunity to get
away till June. I then, succeeded in getting outside the convent yard
one evening between eight and nine o'clock. How I got there, is a secret
I shall never reveal. A few yards from the gate I was stopped by one of
the guard at the Barrack, who asked where I was going. "To visit a sick
woman," I promptly replied, and he let me pass. Soon after this, before
my heart ceased to flutter, I thought I heard some one running after
me. My resolution was at once taken. I would never be caught and carried
back alive. My fate was at last, I thought, in my own hands. Better die
at once than to be chained like a guilty criminal, and suffer as I had
done before. Blame me not gentle reader, when I tell you that I stood
upon the bank of the river with exultant joy; and, as I pursued my
way along the tow-path, ready to spring into the water on the first
indication of danger, I rejoiced over the disappointment of my pursuers
in losing a servant who had done them so good service. At a little
distance I saw a ferry boat, but when I asked the captain to carry me
over the river, he refused. He was, probably, afraid of the police and
a fine, for no one can assist a run-away nun with impunity, if caught in
the act. He directed me, however, to the owner of the boat, who said I
could go if the captain was willing to carry me. I knew very well that
he would not, and I took my place in the boat as though I had a perfect
right to it.
We were almost across the river, when the captain saw me, and gave
orders to turn back the boat, and leave me on the shore from whence we
started. From his appearance I thought we were pursued, and I was not
mistaken. Five priests were following us in another boat, and they too,
turned back, and reached the shore almost as soon as we did. I left the
boat and ran for my life. I was now sure that I was pursued; there could
be no doubt of that, for the sound of footsteps behind me came distinct
to my ear. At a little distance stood a small, white house. Could I not
reach it? Would not the people protect me? The thought gave me courage,
and I renewed my efforts. Nearer came the footsteps, but I reached the
house, and without knocking, or asking permission, I sprang through the
door.
The people were in bed, in another room, but a man looked out, and
asked what I wanted. "I'm a nun," said I. "I've run away from the Grey
Nunnery, and they're after me. Hide me, O hide me, and God will bless
you!" As I spoke he put out his hand and opened the cellar door. "Here,"
said he, "run down cellar, I'll be with you in a moment." I obeyed, and
he struck a light and followed. Pointing to a place where he kept ashes,
he said hastily, "Crawl in there." There was not a moment to lose, for
before he had covered up my hiding place, a loud knock was heard upon
the front door. Having extinguished his light, he ran up stairs, and
opened the door with the appearance of having just left his bed. "Who is
here?" he asked, "and what do you want this time of night?" One of
them replied, "We are in search of a nun, and are very sure she came in
here?" "Well gentlemen," said he, "walk in, and see for yourselves.
If she is here, you are at liberty to find her." Lighting a candle, he
proceeded to guide them over the house, which they searched until they
were satisfied. They then came down cellar, and I gave up all hope of
escape. Still, I resolved never to be taken alive. I could strangle
myself, and I would do it, rather than suffer as I did before. At that
moment I could truly say with the inspired penman, with whose language
I have since become familiar, "my soul chooseth strangling and death
rather than life."
They looked all around me, and even into the place where I lay
concealed, but they did not find me. At length I heard them depart,
and so great was my joy, I could hardly restrain my feelings within the
bounds of decorum. I felt as though I must dance and sing, shout
aloud or leap for joy at my great deliverance. I am sure I should have
committed some extravagant act had not the gentleman at that moment
called me up, and told me that my danger was by no means past. This
information so dashed my cup of bliss that I was able to drink it
quietly.
He gave me some refreshment, and as soon as safety would permit, saddled
his horse, and taking me on behind him, carried me six miles to another
boat, put me on board, and paid the captain three dollars to carry me
to Laprairie. On leaving me, he gave me twenty-five cents, and said,
"you'll be caught if you go with the other passengers." The captain said
he could hide me and no one know that I was on board, but himself. He
led me to the end of the boat, and put me upon a board over the horses.
He fixed a strong cord for me to hold on by, and said, "you must be
careful and not fall down, for the horses would certainly kill you
before you could be taken out." The captain was very kind to me and when
I left him, gave me twenty-five cents, and some good advice. He said
I must hurry along as fast as possible, for it was Jubilee, and the
priests would all be in church at four o'clock. He also advised me not
to stop in any place where a Romish priest resided, "for," said he,
"the convent people have, undoubtedly, telegraphed all over the country
giving a minute description of your person, and the priests will all be
looking for you."
Two days I travelled as fast as my strength would allow, when I came
to Sorel, which was on the other side of the river. Here I saw several
priests on the road coming directly towards me. That they were after me,
I had not a doubt. Whither should I flee? To escape by running, was out
of the question, but just at that moment my eye fell upon a boat near
the shore. I ran to the captain, and asked him to take me across the
river. He consented, and, as I expected, the priests took another boat
and followed us. Once more I gave myself up for lost, and prepared
to spring into the water, if they were likely to overtake me. The man
understood my feelings, and exerted all his strength to urge forward
the boat. At last it reached the shore, and as he helped me out he
whispered, "Now run." I did run, but though my own liberty was at
stake I could not help thinking about the consequences to that man if
I escaped, for I knew they would make him pay a heavy fine for his
benevolent act. A large house stood in my way, and throwing open the
door I exclaimed, "Are there any protestants here?" "O, yes," replied
a man who sat there, "come with me." He led me to the kitchen, where a
large company of Irish men were rolling little balls on a table. I saw
the men were Irish and my first thought was, "I am betrayed."
But my fears were soon relieved, for the man exclaimed, "Here is a
nun, inquiring for protestants." "Well," replied one who seemed to be
a leader, "this is the right place to find them. We are all true Orange
men." And then they all began to shout, "Down with the Catholics! Down
with the Pope! Death to the Jesuits! etc." I was frightened at their
violence, but their leader came to me, and with the kindness of a
brother, said, "Do not fear us. If you are a run-away, we will protect
you." He bade the men be still and asked if any one was after me. I told
him about the priests, and he replied, "you have come to the right place
for protection, for they dare not show themselves here. I am the leader
of a band of Anti-Catholics, and this is their lodge. You have heard of
us, I presume; we are called Orange men. Our object is, to overthrow the
Roman Catholic religion, and we are bound by the most fearful oaths to
stand by each other, and protect all who seek our aid. The priests dread
our influence, for we have many members, and I hope ere long, the power
of the Pope in this country will be at an end. I am sure people must see
what a cruel, hypocritical set they are."
Before he had done speaking, a man came to the door and said, "The
carriage is ready." Another of the men, on hearing this, said, "Come
with me, and I'll take you out of the reach of the priests." He
conducted me to a carriage, which was covered and the curtains all
fastened down. He helped me into it, directing me to sit upon the back
seat, where I could not be seen by any one unless they took particular
pains. He drove to St. Oars that night, and, if I remember right,
he said the distance was twelve miles. When, he left me he gave me
twenty-five cents. I travelled all night, and about midnight passed
through St. Dennis, But I did not stop until the next morning, when I
called at a house and asked for something to eat. The lady gave me some
bread and milk, and I again pursued my way.