At liberty--Doubtful what to do--Found refuge for the
night--Disappointment--My first day opt of the
Convent--Solitude--Recollections, fears, and plans.
I have but a confused idea of the manner in which I got through some of
the doors; several of them, I am confident, were fastened, and one or
two I fastened behind me. [Footnote: Before leaving the nunnery
grounds, I ran round the end of the building, stood a moment in
hesitation whether I had not better return, then hastening back to the
other side, ran to the gate, opened it, and went out.] But I was now in
the street, and what was to be done next? I had got my liberty; but
where should I go? It was dark, I was in great danger, go which way I
would: and for a moment, I thought I had been unwise to leave the
Convent. If I could return unobserved, would it not be better? But
summoning resolution, I turned to the left, and ran some distance up
the street; then reflecting that I had better take the opposite
direction, I returned under the same Convent walls, and ran as fast
down to St. Paul's street, and turning up towards the north, exerted
all my strength, and fled for my life. It was a cold evening, but I
stopped for nothing, having recollected the house where I had been put
to board for a short time, by the priest Roque, when prepared to enter
the Convent as a novice, and resolved to seek a lodging there for the
night. Thither I went. It seemed as if I flew rather than ran. It was
by that time so dark, that I was able to see distinctly through the low
windows by the light within; and had the pleasure to find that she was
alone with her children. I therefore went boldly to the door, was
received with readiness, and entered to take up my lodging there once
more.
Here I changed my nun's dress for one less likely to excite
observation; and having received a few dollars in addition to make up
the difference, I retired to rest, determined to rise early and take
the morning steamboat for Quebec. I knew that my hostess was a friend
of the Superior, as I have mentioned before, and presumed that it would
not be long before she would give information against me. I knew,
however, that she could not gain admittance to the Convent very early,
and felt safe in remaining in the house through the night.
But after I had retired I found it impossible to sleep, and the night
appeared very long. In the morning early, I requested that a son of the
woman might accompany me to the steamboat, but learnt to my regret that
it would not go before night. Fearing that I might fall into the hands
of the priests, and be carried back to the nunnery, and not knowing
where to go, I turned away, and determined to seek some retired spot
immediately. I walked through a part of the city, and some distance on
the Lachine road, when finding a solitary place, I seated myself in
much distress of mind, fearful and anxious, beyond my power, of
description. I could not think myself safe anywhere in the
neighbourhood of Montreal; for the priests were numerous, and almost
all the people were entirely devoted to them. They would be very
desirous of finding me, and, as I believed, would make great exertions
to get me again in their hands.
It was a pleasant spot where I now found myself; and as the weather was
not uncomfortable in the daytime, I had nothing to trouble me except my
recollections and fears. As for the want of food, that gave me not the
slightest uneasiness, as I felt no inclination whatever to eat. The
uncertainty and doubts I continually felt, kept me in a state of
irresolution the whole day. What should I do? Where should I go? I had
not a friend in the world to whom I could go with confidence; while my
enemies were numerous, and, it seemed to me, all around me, and ready
to seize me. I thought of my uncle, who lived at the distance of five
miles; and sometimes I almost determined to set off immediately for his
house. I had visited it often when a child, and had been received with
the utmost kindness. I remembered that I had been a great favourite of
his; but some considerations would arise which discouraged me from
looking for safety in that direction. The steamboat was to depart in a
few hours. I could venture to pass through the city once more by
twilight; and if once arrived at Quebec, I should be at a great
distance from the nunnery, in a large city, and among a larger
proportion of Protestant inhabitants. Among them I might find friends,
or, at least, some sort of protection; and I had no doubt that I could
support myself by labor.
Then I thought again of the place I had left; the kindness and
sympathy, small though they were, which I had found in some of my late
companions in the Convent; the awful mortal sin I had committed in
breaking my vows; and the terrible punishment I should receive if taken
as a fugitive and carried back. If I should return voluntarily, and ask
to be admitted again: what would the Superior say, how would she treat
me? Should I be condemned to any very severe penance? Might I not, at
least, escape death? But then there was one consideration that would
now and then occur to me, which excited the strongest determination
never to return. I was to become a mother, and the thought of
witnessing the murder of my own child was more than I could bear.
Purgatory was doubtless my portion; and perhaps hell for ever--such a
purgatory and hell as are painted in the Convent: but there was one
hope for me yet.
I might confess all my deadly sins sometime before I died, and a Bishop
could pardon the worst of them.
This was good Catholic doctrine, and I rested upon it with so much
hope, that I was not quite driven to despair.
In reflections like these, I spent the whole day, afraid to stray from
the secluded spot to which I had retreated, though at different times
forming momentary plans to leave it, and go in various directions. I
ate not a morsel of food, and yet felt no hunger. Had I been well
provided, I could have tasted nothing in such a state of mind. The
afternoon wasted away, the sun set, and darkness began to come on: I
rose and set off again for the city. I passed along the streets
unmolested by any one; and reached it a short time before the boat was
ready to start.