Reception at the Almshouse--Message from Mr. Conroy, a Roman priest in
New York--His invitations to a private interview--His claims,
propositions, and threats--Mr. Kelly's message--Effects of reading the
Bible.
I was now at once made comfortable, and attended with kindness and
care. It is not to be expected in such a place, where so many poor and
suffering people are collected and duties of a difficult nature are to
be daily performed by those engaged in the care of the institution,
that petty vexations should not occur to individuals of all
descriptions.
But in spite of all, I received kindness and sympathy from several
persons around me, to whom I feel thankful.
I was standing one day at the window of the room number twenty-six,
which is at the end of the hospital building, when I saw a spot I once
visited in a little walk I took from my hiding-place. My feelings were
different now in some respects, from what they had been; for, though I
suffered much from my fears of future punishment, for the sin of
breaking my Convent vows, I had given up the intention of destroying my
life.
After I had been some time in the Institution, I found it was reported
by some about me, that I was a fugitive nun; and it was not long after,
that an Irish woman, belonging to the Institution, brought me a secret
message, which caused me some agitation.
I was sitting in the room of Mrs. Johnson, the matron, engaged in
sewing, when that Irish woman, employed in the Institution, came in and
told me that Mr. Conroy was below, and had sent to see me. I was
informed that he was a Roman priest, who often visited the house, and
he had a particular wish to see me at that time; having come, as I
believe, expressly for that purpose, I showed unwillingness to comply
with such an invitation, and did not go. The woman told me further,
that he sent me word that I need not think to avoid him, for it would
be impossible for me to do so. I might conceal myself as well as I
could, but I should be found and taken. No matter where I went, or what
hiding-place I might choose, I should be known; and I had better come
at once. He knew who I was; and he was authorized to take me to the
Sisters of Charity, if I should prefer to join them. He would promise
that I might stay with them if I chose, and be permitted to remain in
New York. He sent me word farther, that he had received full power and
authority over me from the Superior of the Hotel Dieu Nunnery of
Montreal, and was able to do all that she could do; as her right to
dispose of me at her will had been imparted to him by a regular writing
received from Canada. This was alarming information for me, in the
weakness in which I was at that time. The woman added, that the same
authority had been given to all the priests; so that, go where I might,
I should meet men informed about me and my escape, and fully empowered
to seize me wherever they could, and convey me back to the Convent,
from which I had escaped.
Under these circumstances, it seemed to me that the offer to place me
among the Sisters of Charity, with permission to remain in New York,
was mild and favourable. However, I had resolution enough to refuse to
see the priest Conroy.
Not long afterward, I was informed by the same messenger, that the
priest was again in the building, and repeated his request. I desired
one of the gentlemen connected with the Institution, that a stop might
be put to such messages, as I wished to receive no more of them. A
short time after, however, the woman told me that Mr. Conroy wished to
inquire of me whether my name was not St. Eustace while a nun, and if I
had not confessed to Priest Kelly in Montreal. I answered, that it was
all true; for I had confessed to him a short time while in the nunnery.
I was then told again that the priest wanted to see me, and I sent back
word that I would see him in the presence of Mr. Tappan, or Mr.
Stevens; which, however, was not agreed to; and I was afterwards
informed, that Mr. Conroy, the Roman priest, spent an hour in a room
and a passage where I had frequently been; but through the mercy of
God; I was employed in another place at that time, and had no occasion
to go where I should have met him. I afterwards repeatedly heard, that
Mr. Conroy continued to visit the house, and to ask for me; but I never
saw him. I once had determined to leave the Institution, and go to the
Sisters of Charity; but circumstances occurred which gave me time for
further reflection; and I _was saved from the destruction to which I
should have been exposed_.
As the period of my accouchment approached, I sometimes thought that I
should not survive it; and then the recollection of the dreadful crimes
I had witnessed in the nunnery would come upon me very powerfully, and
I would think it a solemn duty to disclose them before I died. To have
a knowledge of those things, and leave the world without making them
known, appeared to me like a great sin: whenever I could divest myself
of the impression made upon me, by the declarations and arguments of
the Superior, nuns, and priests, of the duty of submitting to every
thing, and the necessary holiness of whatever the latter did or
required.
The evening but one before the period which I anticipated with so much
anxiety, I was sitting alone, and began to indulge in reflections of
this kind. It seemed to me that I must be near the close of my life,
and I determined to make a disclosure at once. I spoke to Mrs. Ford, a
woman whose character I respected, a nurse in the hospital, in number
twenty-three. I informed her that I had no expectation of living long,
and had some things on my mind which I wished to communicate before it
should be too late. I added, that I should prefer to tell them to Mr.
Tappan, the chaplain, of which she approved, as she considered it a
duty to do so under those circumstances. I had no opportunity, however,
to converse with Mr. T. at that time, and probably my purpose, of
disclosing the facts already given in this book, would never have been
executed but for what subsequently took place. It was alarm which had
led me to form such a determination; and when the period of trial had
been safely passed, and I had a prospect of recovery, anything appeared
to me more likely than that I should make this exposure.
I was then a Roman Catholic, at least a great part of my time; and my
conduct, in a great measure, was according to the faith and motives of
a Roman Catholic. Notwithstanding what I knew of the conduct of so many
of the priests and nuns, I thought that it had no effect on the
sanctity of the Church, or the authority or effects of the acts
performed by the former at the mass, confession, &c. I had such a
regard for my vows as a nun, that I considered my hand as well as my
heart irrevocably given to Jesus Christ, and could never have allowed
any person to take it. Indeed, to this day, I feel an instinctive
aversion to offering my hand, or taking the hand of another person,
even as an expression of friendship. I also thought that I might soon
return to the Catholics, although fear and disgust held me back. I had
now that infant to think for, whose life I had happily saved by my
timely escape from the nunnery; and what its fate might be, in case it
should ever fall into the power of the priests I could not tell.
I had, however, reason for alarm. Would a child destined to
destruction, like the infants I had seen baptized and smothered, be
allowed to go through the world unmolested, a living memorial of the
truth of crimes long practised in security, because never exposed? What
pledges could I get to satisfy me, that I, on whom her dependence must
be, would be spared by those who I had reason to think were then
wishing to sacrifice me? How could I trust the helpless infant in hands
which had hastened the baptism of many such, in order to hurry them to
the secret pit in the cellar? Could I suppose that _Father Phelan,
Priest of the Parish Church of Montreal_, would see _his own child_
growing up in the world, and feel willing to run the rink of having the
truth exposed? What could I expect, especially from him, but the utmost
rancor, and the most determined enmity against the innocent child and
its abased and defenceless mother?
Yet, my mind would sometimes still incline in the opposite direction,
and indulge the thought, that perhaps the only way to secure heaven to
as both, was to throw ourselves back into the hands of the Church, to
be treated as she pleased. When, therefore, the fear of immediate death
was removed, I renounced all thoughts of communicating the substance of
the facts in this volume. It happened, however, that my danger was not
passed. I was soon seized with very alarming symptoms; then my desire
to disclose my story revived.
I had before had an opportunity to speak in private with the chaplain;
but, as it was at a time when I supposed myself out of danger, I had
deferred for three days my proposed communication, thinking that I
might yet avoid it altogether. When my symptoms, however, became more
alarming, I was anxious for Saturday to arrive, the day which I had
appointed; and when I had not the opportunity on that day, which I
desired, I thought it might be too late. I did not see him till Monday,
when my prospects of surviving were very gloomy; and I then informed
him that I wished to communicate to him a few secrets, which were
likely otherwise to die with me. I then told him, that while a nun, in
the convent of Montreal, I had witnessed the murder of a nun, called
Saint Francis, and of at least one of the infants which I have spoken
of in this book. I added some few circumstances, and I believe
disclosed, in general terms, some of the other crimes I knew of in that
nunnery.
My anticipations of death proved to be unfounded; for my health
afterward improved, and had I not made the confessions on that
occasion, it is very possible I never might have made them. I, however,
afterward, felt more willing to listen to instruction, and experienced
friendly attentions from some of the benevolent persons around me, who,
taking an interest in me on account of my darkened understanding,
furnished me with the Bible, and were ever ready to counsel me when I
desired it.
I soon began to believe that God might have intended that his creatures
should learn his will by reading his word, and taking upon them the
free exercise of their reason, and acting under responsibility to him.
It is difficult for one who has never given way to such arguments and
influences as those to which I had been exposed, to realize how hard it
is to think aright after thinking wrong. The Scriptures always affect
me powerfully when I read them; but I feel that I have but just begun
to learn the great truths, in which I ought to have been early and
thoroughly instructed. I realize, in some degree, how it is, that the
Scriptures render the people of the United States so strongly opposed
to such doctrines as are taught in the Black and the Congregational
Nunneries of Montreal. The priests and nuns used often to declare, that
of all heretics, the children from the United States were the most
difficult to be converted; and it was thought a great triumph when one
of them was brought over to "the true faith." The first passage of
Scripture that made any serious impression upon my mind, was the text
on which the chaplain preached on the Sabbath after my introduction
into the house--"Search the Scriptures."
I made some hasty notes of the thoughts to which it gave rise in my
mind, and often recurred to the subject. Yet I sometimes questioned the
justice of the views I began to entertain, and was ready to condemn
myself for giving my mind any liberty to seek for information
concerning the foundations of my former faith.