_Charles Duncan’s Narrative._
_London._
I will be calm. Is it fit for a wretch _like me_ to flinch at the sight
of inanimate objects? To tremble, and faint in a _street_, because once
trodden by my feet, when youth and health glowed in my cheek, and hope
in my bosom? Is it _for me_, familiar with misery, to droop at the view
of that abode in which I once for a moment grasped the fleeting form of
happiness, gazed on her image, and fixed her lineaments on my heart, and
then I saw her vanish? No: Duncan ought to have a soul braced, an arm
nerved for the work before him. His Maker has not forgotten the work of
his hand. He will triumph, _even in this world_! Oh memory, unfold thy
tablets! Show to my injured wife the man she loved, the man she has wept
as worthless!——and then!!—
Is it needful for me to recall to my Harriet’s recollection, our mutual
doubts of Flamall’s honour and principles; as these appeared in his
conduct to me, they were grounded on his evading every enquiry I made
relative to the deceased Mrs. Duncan’s effects and papers. But I had
still more convincing proofs of his real character than I discovered to
his sister. I saw, that in his professional line, he had few clients of
respectability, and that he was a rascal. Determined on _my_ conduct as
soon as I could legally call on him to account for his, I simply
declared to you my purpose of quitting his house the day I should come
of age; and you concurred in this plan. Is it necessary to remind you of
those tender fears and apprehensions which resulted from our union! Oh
no! you cannot have forgotten them, nor my arguments for your
immediately leaving a house, in which you were subjected to perpetual
alarms. You will also recollect, that we both believed our liberality to
the Keiths had bound them to our interest; particularly Mrs. Keith, who
had gratefully acknowledged my gift of Mrs. Duncan’s apparel, and the
little advantages which her slender purse derived from her being my
laundress.
Passing near her house one morning, just before you left London with
your friends, the Hatchways, a dray-man so completely bespattered me,
that, in order to shun the laughter of the diverted witnesses of this
mischance, I took refuge at Mrs. Keith’s: knowing that I could there
change my linen, &c. During her kind offices about me, I observed, that
she had been weeping; and, whilst waiting for my coat to dry, her
dejection led me to ask her what had disturbed her. “Only the old
story,” answered she, weeping anew, “I am weary of my life; my husband
was never good; but of late he is a brute, and beats me, because I
cannot go to market without money. God help me, I am too honest for
Patrick!” “He ought to husband his money better,” replied I, “he is in
constant employment with Mr. Flamall I find, and he is a good copier.”
“He will never find that any thing he gains from that quarter will
thrive,” answered she, colouring with resentment; “the good old proverb
is against him. What is got by the devil’s means will go as it came.”
“You ought not to blame Mr. Flamall,” observed I, prolonging my toilet,
“that he cannot teach your husband to take care of the money he earns:
Flamall is not a spendthrift.” “He is too cunning for you to
understand,” replied she, nodding her head significantly, “but he will
soon show the cloven foot; what is to become of you, when your wife
wants a cradle for her poor babe? Patrick swears that I shall not take
her in: the Lord help you both; there will be such doings, and no Mrs.
Duncan to stand by you with her purse!” “I defy Mr. Flamall,” answered
I, “and will soon let him know that I can protect my wife; in less than
four months I shall be master of my dear mother’s little provision, and
with that, and industry, my Harriet shall have a cradle for our infant.”
She shook her head despondingly, “Poor soul!” said she; “it is perhaps
happy for her that she is removed, she loved you better than many _real_
mothers do their children; it would have grieved her to see you set fast
so young.” “How came you to know this secret?” asked I, without
betraying my emotions. “Because I heard Mrs. Duncan say, that she was
not your mother,” answered she, “when she gave her dying instructions to
your _honest guardian_ with the pocket book for you, in case you
outlived her: besides this, I could say more if I pleased; but I do not
wish to bring Patrick to the gallows, he will find the road without my
help! see his tender marks,” added she, weeping, and uncovering her
bosom. It was bruised. My compassion soothed her; but she became more
guarded; and only confessed that I had not been well used, adding, “I
have said enough to you, and should my husband know it, he would murder
me. But the time may come, when you will be able to take care of me. I
have not forgotten the black pocket book, nor the letters on it, studded
with silver, nor what is more, the bank notes it contained. I know that
_ten hundred make a thousand_, as well as the lawyer. Betty Keith is
neither deaf nor blind.” In vain did I urge her to be more explicit. “So
I will, when I am upon oath,” answered she; “but you can do nothing at
present, and you must be gone. My husband may return, and he will
suspect I have been _prating_, as he calls it, when I do but turn the
tongue in my head.” I took the hint, and giving her a guinea, left the
room. You were on the eve of your little voyage, ill and dejected, and I
forbore to add to your inquietude. Your departure followed, and Duncan’s
fate advanced to the crisis which terminated his hopes and prospects _in
this world_. A few days passed. My bosom was relieved of its fears for
your safety; you wrote in spirits; and you concurred in your second
letter, in my plan of removing you from Y——th to the north; and from
thence declaring your marriage to your brother. At this juncture I
received an anonymous letter; it was dated from Helvoetsluys, the
language English, with foreign idioms. The writer signified that he was
deputed by my parents to inform me, that the mystery in which my birth
had been involved was removed; but for many cogent reasons, which should
be explained, he was commissioned to meet me at Harwich; that he should
perhaps be there as soon as his letter; but at all hazards in a few
days, and should wait my arrival at the Ship inn. “Be only anxious,”
added he, “to be punctual to this rendezvous. Measures for your future
destination in the world will result from this interview. Be on the
reserve with those about you, and above all, trust not the man who calls
himself your guardian; he has an eye over him which he little suspects,
and he will have an account to settle, not with the _obscure_ and
_friendless Charles Duncan_, but with an arm of power, which shall crush
him, as the spoiler of the widow and the orphan.”
You will imagine that my whole soul was fixed on accomplishing the
journey to Harwich. It so entirely engaged my thoughts, that I spoke of
my intention to Simons, saying I should ask Mr. Flamall for a week or
ten days holiday, in order to meet a friend at Harwich. “He will refuse
you,” replied he, “for he wants you in the office to supply his own
absence. He can find leisure for his own jaunts, but he thinks not of
us.” “I will not be refused,” replied I eagerly, “then do as I do in
such cases,” said he; “Send your trunk off before you, and take a French
leave when you can, in order to bring home your portmanteau: there will
be no end of his objections!”
I availed myself of Simons’s counsel, and sent a small portmanteau to
the Harwich coach that evening. On the following morning I civilly
requested your brother to spare me ten days or a fortnight, explaining
to him my wishes in part, by saying, that I expected to meet a friend at
Harwich, and we should probably make a little excursion together. Good
God, how delightful were my prospects! for these were bounded by seeing
you and announcing my parents to you! Some questions, for which I was
prepared, followed: reluctance gradually yielded. “He thought it but an
idle expence; but I had been frugal, and therefore he should not refuse
me;” and, opening his desk, he paid me my quarterly stipend of twenty
guineas, which had been due nearly a month. He soon after told Simons,
that he was going with a party of friends to Windsor, and should not
return for a day or two; then carelessly asking me, when and how I
intended to journey, he left us; shaking me by the hand, and with a
Judas’s smile, he bade me “remember that my purse had not the virtue of
Fortunatus’s.” Simons boasted much of a horse which a friend of his let
out; and so strongly pointed out to me the advantages of travelling in
this mode, that I went with him to the livery stable, in order to see
the animal thus recommended. It had been a fine one; but had been ridden
down, and I should have given up my project of riding on horseback but
for his persuasions. He was certain the beast would travel well with me,
and return better than when he set out; the terms were easy, and to
please Simons, I consented to please his friend, the proprietor of the
horse. Amongst the various arguments he used was one, which had probably
turned the scale. I could run down to Rumford that night; the horse had
been at the manger the whole day, and the remainder of the road to
Harwich was light work. This project was adopted; but a heavy rain
stopped me for some hours; and it was nine o’clock in the evening when I
mounted and parted with my officious friend at the livery stable. The
clouds were dispersed, and the moon, though not in her zenith, favouring
me, I proceeded on gently. The horse was stiff with fatigue, and I found
that Simons had “taken me in,” to use his own quaint language, I was
within half a mile of Woodford, a village on the Epping road, when I was
accosted by name, by a man whom I recollected having seen once or twice
in your brother’s office. He checked the bridle, and civility obliged me
to stop. Enquiries after Mr. Flamall’s health, were followed by
wondering to meet me so late on such a road. “I may wonder in my turn,”
answered I, “for you have more to apprehend from this damp evening than
I have. But you will excuse me, I am hastening to Stretham, still some
miles from hence.” I spurred my horse and bowing, wished him a good
night. He shouting after me, “Look to your pistols, young man.” I had
pistols with me, but I needed them not. I proceeded unmolested in my
journey till within a mile of Rumford; when the miserable beast I rode
making a trip, fell; and I received a contusion on my knee, that, for a
time, prevented my rising, and totally disabled me from mounting again.
With much difficulty I reached an inn at Rumford, leading the horse, and
in my wish to find shelter, I became indifferent to accommodations. I
took the first house that was open, and found, with civility, a bed, to
which I instantly repaired. The next morning I found the injury I had
received too serious to allow me to prosecute my journey, without
hazard, on Simons’s vaunted horse. I therefore sent the beast home, with
a note to Simons, mentioning my accident, and the necessity I was under
of pursuing my journey in a post chaise, as it was absolutely my purpose
to be at Harwich on the Saturday. My hostess, had, in the mean time,
with much humanity applied her infallible nostrum to my knee; and, on my
quitting her the following day, she generously insisted on my taking
some of the ointment with me, assuring me, that by being repeated, it
would relieve not only the tumour, but the pain. In this point, she was
however mistaken, and, on reaching the appointed inn at Harwich, I could
not stand on my legs. The waiter, who assisted me into the house, asked
me, whether my name was Duncan; and being answered in the affirmative,
he proceeded to tell me, that a person had called twice, within the
hour, to enquire for me. Not doubting but this was my incognito friend,
and that he would return to the house, I ordered him to be conducted to
me, and dismissed the man for some coffee. During this interval of
suspense and curiosity my knee solicited my attention; it was extremely
painful, and I had recourse to my Rumford landlady’s specific for a
bruise. Whilst employed in applying most assuredly what most assuredly
augmented the evil, the door of the apartment was suddenly opened; and
to my inconceivable surprise Simons hastily entered. “You are come at
last,” said he with an oath, “I have been on the rack these two hours.”
“And _I_ for near four and twenty,” replied I, interrupting him, and
directing his attention to my employment; “but what brings you hither?”
He grasped my hand with eagerness, and in a low voice told me, that he
came to save my life. I laughed, I believe, for he swore most horridly,
and concluded by saying, that he had not time to see me play the fool.
“The person,” added he, “commissioned by your father to meet you here,
is no stranger to me. Let it suffice, I am in his secret. He is, it may
be, at this instant dying at Helvoetsluys of a fever, and I am ordered
to conduct you there to him; all is prepared; and you must go this
instant on board the packet. There is not a moment to lose.” I
hesitated, for I thought of my Harriet; but he urged me with a vehemence
that confounded my deliberations; and concluded by saying, that my
honour, and even my life, depended on my following him. With his help
and a porter’s I was conveyed to the water-side, and there found the
boat, in which we reached the packet, then, getting under sail, I threw
myself on the bed reserved for me, subdued by the pain in my knee, and
soon after was seized with the sea sickness. I saw no more of my
companion that night: and learned that, fearing to share in the common
malady, he preferred being on deck. It was with difficulty that I
supported myself to the public house at the Sluys; but overcome, as I
was, with pain, I failed not to remark, that Simons spoke the Dutch
language fluently. “It is well I can,” answered he roughly to my
observation, “for your friend is not here; we must proceed to Rotterdam;
and you must bear up as well as you can; the passage-boat is an easy
conveyance for you. This boat was shared by others as well as ourselves;
and with an irritation of mind, as great as my bodily sufferings, we
proceeded to Rotterdam; and on reaching the hotel, I fainted. On
recovering my senses, which had been suspended for some time, I saw a
well dressed man engaged in giving me succour, and I concluded that this
was the person I was to meet. On asking Simons whether he was the dying
man I had been led to expect, he answered, that he was a surgeon, and
that my knee required some better remedy than I had applied. I submitted
to his orders, and was carried to bed. At length Simons was at leisure
to satisfy my curiosity. He began the subject himself, by observing with
some ill-humour that it was unlucky—I omit the epithets, my Harriet,
with which he interlarded even his expressions of kindness, that, what
with the indisposition of my friend, and my accident, which he found
from the surgeon would unavoidably detain me some days in my bed, he
should be forced to prolong his stay. I have written to Amsterdam,”
continued he, “where I find the sick man was advised to remain;
to-morrow or the next day, we shall have letters.” Need, I say, in what
manner this interval was filled up by me! I wrote you a circumstantial
account of these various events; and the fond wish of making my Harriet
easy under a separation so unexpected, imparted to my bosom a portion of
those hopes which were necessary for her support as well as mine. This
letter I intrusted to the surgeon’s care, not chusing to employ Simons.
I made him comprehend, that it was of importance to me; and, with a
good-natured smile, he satisfied me, that he would faithfully discharge
his trust. It was under cover to Mrs. Keith. Too fatally certain is it,
that you never saw this letter! In the mean time, my soul was on the
rack, from having no intelligence of you. Again, and again, I wrote to
Mrs. Keith, and to you. I had no letters, and I began to suspect the
surgeon had given Simons my letters, instead of putting them into the
post-office. In the mean time his attention to my accommodations and
health had nothing in them to surprise me; for he constantly talked of
his being commissioned by the gentleman at Amsterdam, to be careful of
his “_precious charge_,” and sometimes he translated passages from his
letters expressive of the importance of my person, and his anxiety in
not being in a state to attend me himself. I was now on crutches, and
free from pain; and I was told that it was proper for me to proceed to
Amsterdam. I decidedly refused, saying that I was determined to return
to England; and he might inform his correspondent of my resolution, it
being indispensibly necessary for my peace, to have news from thence. “I
will furnish you with a newspaper,” said he gravely; “that will, I
trust, make you change your mind; but it may not be amiss to prepare you
for _news_ that will surprise you more than you are aware.” He began his
narrative of the highway robbery charged on me, and finished by placing
before me the article in the day’s paper, which, with a detail of the
particulars, included a description of my person, situation, and even
the initials of my name, and of the master with whom I served as clerk.
You will judge, my Harriet, of the effect which this intelligence
produced. I solemnly swore that no power on earth should prevent my
immediately appearing and confronting the base and false accuser. “You
know best,” replied Simons, “the proofs with which you can invalidate
this man’s positive oath.” But I would advise you rather to secure such
a condition of fortune, as will of itself, with nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of a thousand, prove that you are slandered. “In a
word,” continued he, with a serious air, “I have had my instructions
from those, who will take care of your honour better than you are able
to do yourself. Your parents are rich and powerful, and, trust me, more
than _one_ will be called to a strict account for their conduct in
regard to you.” I was still resolved on my measures; for my wife’s
deplorable condition solely engaged me. “It is well, Sir,” observed he,
with a tone of authority, “I shall proceed without you, and even if it
be necessary to Cadiz, and inform your noble parents, that you preferred
a _gibbet_ to them. But you are a simpleton, Duncan,” added he, with
more kindness, “I know your motive for this headstrong folly. Will your
appearance, and the charge which will be brought against you, lessen the
distress of the girl you love?” I started. “I know more than you think
of that business also,” continued he; “and I advise you to write to her,
and instantly make your way to your parents. You will then be able to
offer her the protection she needs.” I burst into tears, and reproached
him with having stopped my letters. He vehemently denied the charge;
adding, “that he pitied Miss Flamall, and was better pleased to serve
her than to injure her.”
Unable to extract more from a man who hourly assumed with me more of
_respect_ as well as of _authority_, I yielded to his control. I was
still lame and helpless; and except the diminished sum with which your
brother had furnished me, I had no resources for my premeditated plan.
Simons soothed me, by conducting me to the post-office, where I
deposited a letter for you, and his orders taken, to forward all letters
to our address at Cadiz, to a house of business sufficiently ostensible
to gain him attention with the people at the office. We prepared
immediately for our departure for Amsterdam, when he entered the
apartment with an opened letter in his hand. “I thought how it would
be,” said he, “your cursed accident, and the delay it has occasioned
will oblige me to go the whole voyage with you. Your father’s agent is
too ill for the voyage; he has sent me bills of “exchange;” he displayed
the notes, and urged me to lose no time. He is, I find, in the country;
and dangerously ill. However, I am embarked, and will not desert you. At
Amsterdam I was again surprised. This _Proteus_ spoke the Spanish tongue
well, and in his conversation with the captain of a Spanish ship bound
for Cadiz, I perceived that he assumed the gravity and stateliness of a
Spanish grandee. On the man’s leaving us, after having settled the terms
for our accommodation, I mentioned my surprise, on finding him so
qualified for a traveller.” “I lived on the continent some time in my
young days,” answered he. “I was private secretary to an ambassador, who
in his lack of brains, forgot to pay me for the five years use he made
of mine; he taught me a lesson however which I wanted,” continued he
with a malicious grin, “namely, to live by my own wit; and to regard
every man either as a fool or a knave.” It required very little
judgment, my dear Harriet, to determine the class to which Simons
belonged; yet in spite of his habitual vulgarity, and coarse language, I
hourly perceived that he had moved in a different sphere, and could at
his pleasure assume the gentleman. He spoke of me as a Spaniard by
birth, and by the respect he showed me, taught those about me to
consider me as of importance; performing the part of my governor; and
making no secret of my having been a stranger to my rank, parents, and
country, from nearly the hour I was born. These hints were needless, to
stimulate a curiosity constantly on the fullest stretch. To my questions
I received only one answer: “I am bound to secresy, and it is for _my
interest_ to be faithful. Have patience, time will discover all to you.”
Thus goaded on, and convinced of my inability of securing him in my
interest; having exhausted my own little stock of money, and depending,
in a strange country upon Simons for pecuniary assistance, I left
Amsterdam without having received letters from you; and in the anguish
of my soul I sought relief from the hope of meeting with protection, and
being placed in a situation to succour you; for I made no doubt of your
brother’s interference with your wishes to write to me. Our navigation
was for a time pleasant. The gentle breezes which filled our sails soon
exempted me from sea sickness; rest restored my knee, and my hours were
beguiled by my assiduously studying the Spanish language; for which,
Simons having proposed it for my amusement, I had purchased a few
needful books.
At this period, however, one incidental cause of sorrow was added to my
oppressive burden. Two or three days after your departure from town, I
had began to bathe, trusting to its relieving me from a portion, at
least, of that languor which I experienced; and, cautiously guarded in
all that related to my Harriet, had taken your picture from my bosom,
and placed it in my port-folio with your letters, which I carefully kept
locked in a large trunk, with articles that were not of every day’s use.
I had seen on reaching Helvoetsluys that this trunk made the greatest
part of our baggage; and on noticing it to Simons, he replied, that he
expected my thanks for his zeal in my service in bringing it, as he
supposed it was kept as lumber in my room, and that I should have no
objection to a change of linen. To this necessity I had been hitherto a
stranger, and the trunk remained corded till I was settled in my cabin
on board the Spanish ship. The treasure it contained was too precious to
be forgotten. I searched for it in vain. Neither your letters nor your
portrait were to be found. I did not conceal my suspicions, nor my
distress from Simons, who as usual, with the most horrid imprecations
affirmed that he had not opened the trunk; nor had any other motive in
removing it, but that of contributing to my comforts and amusement,
knowing that I had some books in it. To contest with Simons was a vain
attempt. I was silenced, and bore this trial, to use my master’s words
like a “whining puppy.” Yet in spite of himself I perceived that he had
an interest in preserving my health and tranquillity, and that he never
ceased to recommend to me patience; hinting continually that I should
soon be in a condition to take ample vengeance on those who had injured
me, and to protect you, who had been so unjustly dealt with. These
conversations with his avowed good will for you, and pity for me had
their effect.
We were within thirty or forty leagues of our post when we were boarded
by a large, well-armed Algerine corsair, and taken without resistance;
for such was the inferiority of our force, that it was not possible for
us to escape. Surprised and confounded by an event for which I was
altogether unprepared, my compassion was notwithstanding exerted in
comforting my terrified companion. I strove to encourage him by the same
hopes which had calmed my own spirits; and with confidence I assured
him, that as subjects of Great Britain we should be enlarged at Algiers;
and that we had only to apply to the British consul resident there, in
order to be protected. In this expectation we were cruelly disappointed,
by the measures which the pirate pursued; who from motives we could not
fathom, after having treated me with extraordinary lenity, and Simons
without rigour, landed us with great circumspection during the night at
some distance from the harbour; and to our amazement and consternation
we were, with our chests, placed in a covered vehicle not unlike a
waggon, and without loss of time conducted up the country. We were
manacled and vigilantly concealed from every eye by those who were
charged with us; who still maintained their claims to our gratitude, by
offering us no violence or harshness. I had not been much surprised at
seeing Simons relapsing into the pusillanimity he had betrayed in the
first moments of our capture; but I was astonished to find that, with
his grief for himself and the most bitter execrations on his folly, he
bemoaned my hard fate in terms which I little expected from him. “Take
courage,” said I, willing to relieve his sorrow, “you have nothing to
reproach yourself with in this misfortune, and I am sorry, that your
good intentions and zeal for my service have led you into this
difficulty; but we may yet find the means of applying to the consul, or
purchasing our freedom. Do not despair.” “I must,” replied he with a
look of horror. “I have been a d——d rascal, and your destruction, my
poor boy. If you were to forgive me, God never will; and this is only
the beginning of my punishment.” He wept in agonies, and I was alarmed.
“I can neither be useful to you, nor yet forgive you,” observed I,
desisting from my ineffectual attempts to soothe his agitations, “’till
I am more in your confidence. Tell me what have you done to injure me,
and trust to my principles, which command me to forgive an offending
brother.” “By G—d,” exclaimed he, “this is too much! I cannot bear it,
villain as I am! But you shall know all; and you shall see that at least
I never intended to harm you, though it is but too true that my business
in your concerns was to serve myself.”