_Charles Duncan’s Narrative continued._
I will not, my dear Harriet, attempt to give you, in the language of a
reprobate, the confession of one; let it suffice, that I faithfully
communicate to you, the information which he, in the course of our three
days journey, poured into my appalled ear; and when his recital is
cleared from his oaths, it will be as follows: “You may date your ruin,”
said he, “from the hour you were at Grantham, in your way to London with
Mrs. Duncan, your supposed mother.” I started. “Let me at once tell
you,” observed he, “that I know more of your history than you do
yourself; therefore do not interrupt me. You met there a very handsome
courteous lady, who took the coach with you from thence; she called
herself Mrs. Peachley; she is Flamall’s wife, and sister to Keith. You
know her kindness in recommending your mother to Keith’s lodgings. Your
indisposition on the journey was declared the following day. You could
not rise, and Mrs. Duncan, with much alarm, recommended you to Mrs.
Keith’s care, and lamented the necessity which forced her from your bed
side, for an hour or two, having an appointment which could not be
delayed. At her return, she found you much worse, and a physician was
summoned. For several days and nights this good mother of yours never
left you. You were every hour nearer the grave; and overcome by her
fatigue and terror, she got the start of you; for she was dead and
buried before your eight and twenty days fever had fairly left you.
During this time, when you were, for the greater part, more fit for
Bedlam, or for your coffin, Mrs. Duncan was kindly visited by Mrs.
Peachley, who, having called to see her relations, discovered that she
had found a prey worth pursuing; and finding that her brother had
inmates not likely to cavil at the price of his lodgings, she redoubled
her attentions, by several times calling on Mrs. Duncan, to enquire
after you, and, as she said, to see that the Keiths were assiduous in
their attendance. Your poor mother, who knew not a being in London; but
the person she had met the day of her arrival, and who was out of town,
mentioned, with extreme distress, that in an hour of such difficulty,
she had the additional misfortune of finding, that her only friend had
left London and was gone abroad. This confidence became more enlarged,
in proportion as your danger was more imminent. She incessantly lamented
the absence of this Mr. Joseph Jago; and in her illness, she consulted
Mrs. Peachley, on the means she should take to secure to you the little
property which her death would give you in case you survived her. Mr.
Flamall’s good offices were employed; and she made her will, which was
witnessed by her two doctors. You were left to Mr. Flamall’s care, and
your money into the bargain, until such time as his trust should be set
aside by your natural guardians, who lived abroad; or until you were of
age, in case these relations did not appear. Hitherto all went well, but
Keith’s wife, either from hatred of her sister, or the spirit of
contradiction common to her, thought it a good opportunity of acting
like an honest woman; she was careful of you during your delirium; and
also attentive to your poor mother. Your generosity when you left her
house for Mr. Flamall’s, confirmed her good dispositions towards you. I
had not been without my suspicions, that the cautions which kept me in
_the back ground_ all this time, were not used without solid reasons;
Flamall, however, in the executive trust, which had thus devolved on
him; brought home with him on the night of the funeral, some papers
which belonged to the deceased Mrs. Duncan, in order for their better
security as he said, and he then mentioned you and your condition,
adding, that he did not think you could survive your mother; and that he
had no clue to any of your connexions. He spoke of your little property
in the funds; and the suspicion he entertained, that Mrs. Duncan was not
your real mother.” “Why do you not examine her letters?” asked I. “I
have,” answered he; “but they are written in Spanish; and I do not wish
to have this young man’s story published unnecessarily; if he live, he
may be able to give an account of himself, and if he die they must be
translated.” “I am able to do that,” replied I; “and it may be prudent
to know the ground you tread.” Flamall understood the tone with which
this observation was made, and he gave me three or four letters from a
pocket book, which he said, the defunct had in her trunk, and which
constituted all the papers, that could lead to an explanation of a
secret, which she had too long deferred to communicate. “I shall only
notice to you,” continued Simons, “those passages which struck me the
most. Two or three of the letters contained little more than most tender
expressions of maternal affection; and the most pathetic description of
the writer’s hopes and fears, as these related to you. One of a later
date informed Mrs. Duncan that Jachimo de Castros had been summoned by
the Duke to ——, his agency being more important there, than in England;
that his services were supplied by the orders he had left with a _tried
friend_, Joseph Jago, a merchant in the Minories, to whom she was to
apply in every exigency, and who would forward her letters. Another, of
a later and recent date, was still more important, but it was like the
oracles of old to me. Joy dictated the broken sentences. Much was said
of a picture which heaven in its mercy had placed in Mrs. Duncan’s
hands. Joseph Jago would supply her with a thousand pounds.” “Her
_Henrico_” was to be cautiously introduced to a knowledge of a mother,
whose miseries were forgotten, in the hopes of clasping her son, her
long lost blessing, to her bosom. “Spare no expence for the masters he
may yet need,” adds the writer, “it must be yet some months before all
is ready for his appearance here; when, with an exultation, the thoughts
of which transports me to extasy, his mother will be proclaimed
innocent, and he, my Margaret, his father’s heir.” No signature was
added to these letters; but it was now my turn to be _cautious_. I gave
Mr. Flamall, not the most exact translation of their contents; and he
observed, that they would do you more harm than good; for it was clear
you were a bastard; and had lost your best friend, who had happily left
you enough for bread, assisted by your industry. I was soon the friend
of Keith; from him I only got hints, that quickened my curiosity. His
wife was more pliant. She informed me, that Mrs. Duncan had written a
long letter to Joseph Jago four days before she died; and had, in her
hearing, desired that Mr. Flamall should send it to his house. Her
husband was entrusted with it, and the gentleman was told, that his
partner had received it, and had promised to forward it without delay.
Now, added she, I know this was a lie, for it was in Mr. Flamall’s
pocket at the time, and this is nothing to what I could say if I chose.
“I was, as yet,” continued Simons, “only on the threshold;” and I
forbore to press my questions. Flamall was _close_; and yet I found he
was in cash. Keith had also money; and it was my business to diminish
his stock. This was soon effected; and one night he said, that he had
been a cursed fool; for he might have made a man of himself had he
insisted on his due. I urged him, however, by reminding him, that he
ought to have known Flamall and the jade his sister. Yes, replied he,
but they are always too cunning for me; though I know what was in the
pocket case; and so does my wife; one, of ten, only of the notes, came
to my share for all my trouble. I could not get more from him; but I
knew then my next step was to the Minories. Your mother’s Joseph Jago
was a rich Jew merchant, and I found his house without difficulty. I was
received into an office of business, where several clerks were at the
desk, and one who appeared to take the lead, civilly asked me my
business. My enquiries led to his answers. “Mr. Jago’s absence was
undetermined; but any letters or commissions I might have, would be
punctually sent him _to Cadiz_ with his own letters.” “Could I be
favoured with his address?” “Certainly, but he had reason to believe his
friend was then at Madrid; however, any letters directed for him to the
house of Jachimo de Castros would reach him.” He courteously desired one
of the young men to write the address, and presenting it to me, I
withdrew.
So far all went well for my purpose; and I was doing you no mischief;
but I will at once tell you, that I had motives for my conduct, in which
you had not the least concern. Flamall had not only kept this whole
transaction from me; but had refused to assist me in a difficulty of my
own; and it behoved me to have him in my power. Had he known your
chances in life, he would not have sworn to be your ruin, when he
discovered, that you made love to his sister, nor would he have effected
it, but for his wife. Your marriage was no secret to them; and I saw
there was a plot brewing to ruin your poor wife, as well as yourself;
for that “she devil” hated her, because she was virtuous. I was
consulted by Flamall on this occasion, whose rage was checked by my
arguments. Let it be noted by you here also, that he saw as well as I,
that you were not a _fool_, nor would be his _tool_. At this juncture I
was one day with him in his office, when casually opening a drawer in
his private desk for a mislaid paper, I saw a Morocco picture case
appear. I took my time, and on examining it, found it not only the
representation of the most beautiful woman I ever beheld, but also
enriched with costly diamonds. I was at no loss from what quarter it
came; nor who had a right to it. My plan was now completed; for I had
the means in my hands of saving my own head from the pillory _at least_,
and by serving you, should gain friends who would better recompense my
services than Flamall had done. “It is d—d hard when rogues are not
honest to one another,” added he, “for they have no one in that case on
whom to depend: but let that pass. You had swallowed the bait I had sent
you, the anonymous letter answered, and you requested permission to go
to Harwich. All that followed you know; but it is for me to inform you,
that the honourable gentleman who saluted you on the road to Rumford,
was Mr. Peachley, the uncle of Mr. Flamall’s wife, who was at that time
in his house, which you passed, and moreover, I was in this secret, and
what is more, received my fee in gold: Little did they suspect, that,
villain as I was, I could not, nor would not, have been in this infernal
business, had I not been certain of saving you as well as myself. But
you were no sooner departed, and the coast clear, than I took the
picture, and disposing of the frame for our joint convenience, I secured
the angel face, which I will now give you.”
You may judge, my Harriet, of the sensations which assailed me, when he
produced from its concealment, this evidence of my birth, and
irreparable ruin. It was indeed the countenance of an angel which met my
eyes! She was in a Spanish habit, the painting exquisitely finished and
enamelled. My expressions of grief and despair touched Simons. “I am
cursed,” said he, grasping my hand, “you recant, you cannot forgive me!
but believe me, or not, I wished to serve you. I was fully convinced
that I should succeed in tracing these men, whom I have mentioned; and
by this means your father and mother. They are noble and rich, the
picture frame was finished by a ducal coronet; it grieved me to break
it; but it was unavoidable. I could have proved your identity, and given
such evidences of Mrs. Duncan’s death, and the circumstances which had
thrown you into the hands of villains as would have been unanswerable.
But I am taken in my own toils,” added he, with vehement and dreadful
imprecations; “and not allowed to be honest when I wished to be so.” I
again soothed him, and by dwelling on my hopes of procuring my liberty,
I solemnly engaged to take care of him to the utmost of my power. “I
believe you on your word,” replied he with more composure. “You have
convinced me that virtue is not a convention of interest, nor religion a
lie. There was a time, when my conduct disgraced neither; but I was
young, and had passions to gratify which your creed did not suit. I was
gulled by a hypocrite, robbed by rascals, and defrauded of six or eight
years labour by the neglect and ingratitude of the man whom I served by
my _talents_, as much as _by my hand_. Your compassion may save me, from
worse bonds than even these,” added he wringing my hand. “I am old, but
I have yet a heart; and humanity may make me faithful.”
Misery, my Harriet, does not harden the heart. It produced in mine an
interest for this unhappy creature’s _recovery_ and comfort; and
insensibly he became my consolation, for, with a fertility of invention,
he suggested so many ways of reaching Gibraltar, and from thence the
object of my wishes, that hope was renewed. His communications from time
to time gratified my curiosity; although the subject of it was diverted
to a less interesting concern than you, my beloved wife. Simons spoke of
you, in terms of kindness and pity. “Then again,” said he, “I was a
rascal; for I knew that her worthy father died in good circumstances,
though without having secured to her a provision; yet I held my tongue;
and was continued in my office with an advanced stipend. Flamall was
certain, as he told me, that her beauty would be her fortune, and his
advantage; and with this scheme in his head, she was treated with
kindness under his roof, to the great disappointment of his wife, who
had hoped to see herself acknowledged as Mrs. Flamall.” “And wherefore
does he keep his marriage a secret, even from his sister?” asked I. “He
has solid reasons,” replied he, “for keeping the lady in the back
ground; her alliance is not the most honourable. Some business in which
she and her uncle were useful to Mr. Flamall, obliged him to purchase
her uncle’s evidence, and to silence hers as being his wife; but in
return Flamall can any day he pleases hang old Peachley.” I was now, my
Harriet, circumstantially informed of a transaction which I shall spare
my pen the task of going over with you. But it opened such a scene of
wickedness as to leave no doubts on my mind, that your brother was fully
qualified to impose upon your innocence; and my soul sickened in
reflecting that you were in the power of a man, who, to use Simons’s
words, “wrote more hands than any man in the profession; and with an
exactness so unrivalled, that he could impose on the Devil himself.”
On the evening of our fourth day’s tedious journey we reached the abode
of our new master. He was a man of about forty, could speak a few words
of English, and as many of Spanish. He examined me with attention. My
youth and appearance pleased him, but unfortunately the people who had
conducted us from the ship, had received an impression which they gave
to him, and poor Simons was judged to be my domestic. You know that his
person is not conciliating, and it was in vain that I discovered the
interest I took in his fate. We were separated; my master taking me with
him the next morning to a house and garden, several leagues from the
town, in which he was ruler. Here my philosophy was checked. I was
seized by an ardent fever, and for many days they thought me dying.
Nature resisted the attack, I was treated humanely, and till I had
strength to crawl into the garden, and to seek the shade, they
assiduously carried me to the fountain, which they perceived I liked.
But my grief was beyond their kind offices; I had lost my mother’s
picture, and I understood that my patron had it. He at length
condescended to visit me; for I believe he thought me a man above the
common sort. My tears and intreaties produced nothing. He replied, that
the lady pleased him, “it was pretty,” and by Mohammed he would keep the
painting. To soften this obduracy he sent me my books and linen; and I
was given to understand that I was to teach him English when I was well.
I next implored him to send my friend to me. He evaded my request; and I
conceived from the signs made me, that he was removed too far from me to
render it easy to accomplish. The gentleness of my bondage in the mean
time kept hope alive; for although I had the habit, and the badge of
slavery, I had no cause for complaint. As my strength recruited, I was
employed in light labour in the garden, and my mind was engaged by
assiduously learning the Moorish language. Again, and again, I pleaded
for the society of my friend, but in vain. At length I was told that he
was dead; and the first use I made of my more familiar knowledge of the
language, gave me the detailed circumstances of his miserable end. His
grief and impatience on being separated from me was shown in a manner
which the people about him neither understood, nor pitied. He refused
food, and they chastised his obstinacy. He became more determined, and
he was left to himself and time for the remedy. Nature at length
conquered; he asked for food by signs expressive of his wants and
submission; and they incautiously placed before him some boiled rice and
water, of which he ate and drank so voraciously, that he died in great
agonies, a few hours after.
I found in this relation, my Harriet, my last human tie dissolved; and I
deplored the loss of a man, whom in happier circumstances of fortune, I
should, it is probable, have scorned for his vices, and condemned as a
being, lost to every virtuous feeling; but isolated as I stood, Simons
was a prop, and I could not think of him as a man who had outlived
humanity. But to return to my more immediate purpose. My patron, pleased
with my rapid progress in his language, now became a pupil for mine, and
with much curiosity he would listen to my reading and imperfect
translations of the English authors; but he soon relaxed from his
ardour, the labour discouraged him, and he contented himself with
occasionally conversing with me in his native tongue. My story produced
no compassion, he had long desired to have an Englishman in his house,
and as such I should by any application at Algiers have brought him into
trouble with the Dey; he therefore chose to believe that I was of
Spanish origin. My mother’s picture was an evidence of this, for he had
seen Spanish ladies, although none so beautiful. Judge of the torments I
endured, when in saying this he would produce the picture, and comment
on its superlative beauties. Thus passed the first three years of my
captivity, and my incessant and defeated projects of escaping to
Algiers. At this period my patron removed to a more distant province;
and I was further removed from every hope. Two years more were passed in
that languor of mind, which the annihilation of hope occasioned. My
master discovered, that he had gained no advantage from having an
English slave. I was too feeble for labour, and too pensive for his
amusement; and without a scruple of conscience, or a mark of regret, he
exchanged me for a fine Arabian horse which pleased him; and with the
most unpitying indifference refused to restore to me my mother’s
picture, saying, that I had been a costly bargain.
With my new master, my toils were incessant; but to what purpose should
I detail these years of misery to my Harriet? Wherefore should I attempt
to delineate chaos, in which nothing of my former train of thought
appeared, but the remembrance of the wife whom I had left in the power
of a demon? It would be a fruitless attempt to give language to
feelings, which at times overpowered my reason. But man, my Harriet, is
no less incomprehensible, than the power which has endued him with the
force to resist suffering. In the days of ease and enjoyment, the
principles of his soul lie dormant; he shrinks from the slightest blast,
which annoys his enervated body and mind; given up to adversity, to
hardship, and labour, all his powers exert their energy to preserve an
existence, of which he is weary. Like the animals, it was my office to
watch and serve; I slept after my allotted toil; and in the morning
awoke to the privileges of the man, and the prospects of _the
Christian_. How often did I bless my Maker, for the hopes of the Gospel.
How often recall to my mind the lessons of my tender and pious Mrs.
Duncan! My mind was soothed by the hope that you were _dead_, my
Harriet; and I exulted in the thought of meeting with you in a world of
bliss. My master, at this period, sold me to another; he was on the eve
of a long and fatiguing journey, and he had the wisdom to perceive, that
my strength was unequal to the duties it would unavoidably impose. I
was, in consequence, sold to another Arabian merchant; but one much more
wealthy than the master I had so laboriously served, during his
wandering desultory journeys, in his traffic of buying female slaves. To
my unspeakable relief, I found that I was, with others in my master’s
suite, furnished with a horse for our journey, of which each rider had
the care, and my good fortune for once appeared. One of the most
valuable of these beautiful animals was suddenly seized with an
indisposition, which must, in a few hours, have proved fatal from the
means used to preserve his life. My master despaired of his recovery;
and I ventured to propose copious bleeding. My advice was taken, and I
was the operator; the horse recovered, and my favour was established.
Our journey terminated at my master’s home, and we became stationary.
His only son, a youth of about sixteen, became attached to me, and, for
a time, I entertained the romantic hope, of cultivating a mind, not
deficient in natural endowments; but the moment my pupil found that
amusement led to application, he lost his relish for Ibrahim’s
instructions. His father, a quiet indolent man, had, in the first
instance of the son’s preference of me, formally given me to him, not
displeased by the modes of instruction I had adopted; nor was he without
hope, that my example and precepts might restrain the impetuosity of his
son’s temper. I still hope, that I contributed to the amelioration of
the soil, though I was unable to sow the seed I wished to see spring up.
He exchanged me with perfect indifference for a young female slave; but
with generosity he recommended me to my new patron as something more
than a common man, adding, that I knew all things. Whether this
character, or my reserved, although resigned behaviour, produced the
effect, is not a question of any importance here; but it is certain,
that he treated me with kindness, and conceived that I should repay him
by the price he had affixed to my talents. He was by birth an American,
his traffic had conducted him into many remote regions; and I found in
his conversation both improvement and amazement. Time had blunted the
keen anguish of my wounded bosom; bondage was familiar to my dejected
spirits; I was a non-entity to all, but my Maker; and in contemplating
his arms of mercy, I could smile at my chains. In the course of two
years I had, with my patron, journied by sea and land, until we at
length reached Grand Cairo; where, induced by the profit accruing from
my sale, he parted with me to a Turk of some estimation in the eyes of
his countrymen, for he was opulent and well protected. He was advanced
in years, had a noble countenance, and spoke to me with a dignified and
placid courteousness, bidding me look upon him with confidence. I
obeyed, and our eyes met. Good God! when I perceived the tremulous signs
of humanity, the sympathetic greeting of his still expressive
lineaments, my soul melted within me; I was unable to resist the sweet
invitation of pity, and I burst into tears, instead of paying him the
exacted homage of a slave to his master. He turned aside, and I saw,
yes, my Harriet! I saw the tear roll down his venerable face. Here, for
a time, was my harbour of repose. My benefactor and my friend listened
to my tale of woe, and whether it arose from the suggestion of an
enlightened reason, or from the benevolence of his heart, he neither
blamed me for adhering to my religion, nor recommended to me his own.
Once, and once only, he said with a smile, “be discreet Ibrahim, and be
true to Allah in thy services; and whether thou art a follower of Jesus
or of Mohammed, he will acknowledge thee.” I bowed in silence, and I
gave no offence by being steadfast in my faith in the Gospel.