Chapter 9

The American prisoners were huddled into an apartment with British convicts of various descriptions. Among these Alonzo observed one whose demeanor arrested his attention. A deep melancholy was impressed upon his features; his eye was wild and despairing; his figure was interesting, tall, elegant and handsome. He appeared to be about twenty-five years of age. He seldom conversed, but when he did, it was readily discovered that his education had been above the common cast, and he possessed an enlightened and discriminating mind. Alonzo sympathetically sought his acquaintance, and discovered therein a unison of woe.

One evening, when the prisoners were retired to rest, the stranger, upon Alonzo's request, rehearsed the following incidents of his life.

"You express, said he, some surprise at finding a man of my appearance in so degraded a situation; and you wish to learn the events which have plunged me in this abject state. These, when I briefly relate, your wonder will cease.

"My name is Henry Malcomb; my father was a clergyman in the west of England, and descended from one of the most respectable families in those parts. I received a classical education, and then entered the military school, as I was designed for the army, to which my earliest inclinations led. As soon as my education was considered complete, an ensign's commission was procured for me in one of the regiments destined for the West Indies. Previous to its departure for those islands, I became acquainted with a Miss Vernon, who was a few years younger than myself, and the daughter of a gentleman farmer, who had recently purchased and removed to an estate in my father's parish. Every thing that was graceful and lovely appeared centered in her person; every thing that was virtuous and excellent in her mind. I sought her hand. Our souls soon became united by the indissoluble bonds of sincerest love, and as there were no parental or other impediments to our union, it was agreed that as soon as I returned from the Indies, where it was expected that my stay would be short, the marriage solemnities should be performed. Solemn oaths of constancy passed between us, and I sailed, with my regiment, for the Indies.

"While there, I received from her, and returned letters filled with the tenderest expressions of anxiety and regret of absence. At length the time came when we were to embark for England, where we arrived after an absence of about eighteen months. The moment I got on land I hastened to the house of Mr. Vernon, to see the charmer of my soul. She received me with all the ardency of affection, and even shed tears of joy in my presence. I pressed her to name the day which was to perfect our union and happiness, and the next Sunday, four days only distant, was agreed upon for me to lead her to the altar. How did my heart bound at the prospect of making Miss Vernon my own!--of possessing in her all that could render life agreeable; I hastened home to my family and informed them of my approaching bliss, who all sympathized in the anticipated joy which swelled my bosom.

"I had a sister some years older than myself, who had been the friend and inmate of my angel in my absence. They were now almost every day together, so that I had frequent opportunities of her company. One day she had been with my sister at my father's, and I attended her home. On my return, my sister requested me to attend her in a private room. We therefore retired, and when we were seated she thus addressed me:

"Henry, you know that to promote your peace, your welfare, and your happiness, has ever been the pride of my heart. Nothing except this could extort the secret which I shall now disclose, and which has yet remained deposited in my own bosom: my duty to a brother whom I esteem dear as life, forbids me to remain silent. As an affectionate sister, I cannot tacitly see you thus imposed upon; I cannot see you the dupe and slave of an artful and insidious woman, who does not sincerely return your love; nor can I bear to see your marriage consummated with one whose soul and affections are placed upon another object."

"Here she hesitated--while I, with insufferable anguish of mind, begged her to proceed.

"About six or eight months after your departure, she continued, it was reported to Miss Vernon that she had a rival in the Indies; that you had there found an American beauty, on whom you lavished those endearments which belonged of right to her alone. This news made, at first, a deep impression on her mind, but it soon wore away; and whether from this cause, from fickleness of disposition, or that she never sincerely loved you, I know not; but this I do know, that a youth has been for some time past her almost constant companion. To convince you of this, you need only tomorrow evening, about sunset, conceal yourself near the long avenue by the side of the rivulet, back of Mr. Vernon's country-house, where you will undoubtedly surprise Miss Vernon and her companion in their usual evening's walk. If I should be mistaken I will submit to your censure; but should you find it as I have predicted, you have only to rush from your concealment, charge her with her perfidy, and renounce her forever."

"Of all the plagues, of all the torments, of all the curses which torture the soul, jealousy of a rival in love is the worst. Enraged, confounded and astonished, it seemed as if my bosom would have instantaneously burst. To conceal my emotions, I left my sister's apartment, after having thanked her for her information, and proceeded to obey her injunctions. I retired to my own room, and there poured out my execrations.

"Cursed woman! I exclaimed, is it thus you requite my tender love! Could a vague report of my inconstancy drive you to infidelity! Did not my continual letters breathe constant adoration? And did not yours portray the same sincerity of affection? No, it was not that which caused you to perjure your plighted vows. It was that damnable passion for novelty, which more or less holds a predominancy over your whole sex. To a new coat, a new face, a new lover, you will sacrifice honour, principle and virtue. And to those, backed by splendid power and splendid property, you will forfeit your most sacred engagements, though made in the presence of heaven."--Thus did I rave through a sleepless night.

"The next day I walked into the fields, and before the time my sister appointed had arrived, I had worked up my feelings almost to the frenzy of distraction. I repaired, however, to the spot, and concealed myself in the place she had named, which was a tuft of laurels by the side of the walk. I soon perceived Miss Vernon strolling down the avenue, arm in arm with a young man elegantly dressed, and of singular, delicate appearance. They were earnestly conversing in a low tone of voice; the hand of my false fair one was gently pressed in the hand of the stranger. As soon as they had passed the place of my concealment, they turned aside and seated themselves in a little arbour, a few yards distant from where I sat. The stranger clasped Miss Vernon in his arms: "Dearest angel! he exclaimed, what an interruption to our bliss by the return of my hated rival!" With fond caresses and endearing blandishments, "fear nothing, she replied; I have promised and must yield him my hand, but you shall never be excluded from my heart; we shall find sufficient opportunities for private conference." I could contain myself no longer--my brain was on fire. Quick as lightning I sprang from my covert, and presenting a pistol which I had concealed under my robe,--"Die! said I, thou false and perjured wretch, by the hand thou hast dishonoured, a death too mild for so foul a crime!" and immediately shot Miss Vernon through the head, who fell lifeless at my feet! Then suddenly drawing my sword, "And thou, perfidious contaminator and destroyer of my bliss! cried I--go! attend thy companion in iniquity to the black regions of everlasting torment!" So saying, I plunged my sword into his bosom. A screech of agony, attended by the exclamation, "_Henry, your wife! your sister!_" awoke me, too late, to terrors unutterable, to anguish unspeakable, to woes irretrievable, and insupportable despair! It was indeed my betrothed wife, it was indeed my affectionate sister, arrayed in man's habit. The one lay dead before me, the other weltering in her blood! With a feeble and expiring voice, my sister informed me, that in a gay and inconsiderate moment they had concerted this plan, to try my jealousy, determining to discover themselves as soon as they had made the experiment. "I forgive you, Henry, she said, forgive your mistake," and closed her eyes for ever in death! What a scene for sensibilities like mine! To paint or describe it, exceeds the power of language or imagination. I instantly turned the sword against my own bosom; an unknown hand arrested it, and prevented its entering my heart. The report of the pistol, and the dying screech of my sister, had alarmed Mr. Vernon's family, who arrived at that moment, one of whom had seized my arm, and thus hindered me from destroying my own life. I submitted to be bound and conveyed to prison. My trial came on at the last assizes. I made no defence; and was condemned to death. My execution will take place in eight weeks from to-morrow. I shall cheerfully meet my fate; for who would endure life when rendered so peculiarly miserable!"

The wretched Malcomb here ended his tale of woe. No tear moistened his eye--his grief was too despairing for tears; it preyed upon his heart, drank the vital streams of life, and burst in convulsive sighs from his burning bosom.

Alonzo seriously contemplated on the incidents and events of this tragical story. Conscience whispered him, are not Malcomb's miseries superior to thine? Candour and correct reason must have answered yes. "Melissa perished, said Alonzo, but not by the hand of her lover: she expired, but not through the mistaken frenzy of him who adored her. She died, conscious of the unfeigned love I bore her."

Alonzo and his fellow prisoners had been robbed, when they were captured, of every thing except the clothes they wore. Their allowance of provisions was scanty and poor. They were confined in the third story of a lofty prison. Time rolled away; no prospects appeared of their liberation, either by exchange or parole. Some of the prisoners were removed, as new ones were introduced, to other places of confinement, until not one American was left except Alonzo.

Meantime the day appointed for the execution of Malcomb drew near. His past and approaching fate filled the breast of Alonzo with sympathetic sorrow. He saw his venerable father, his mother, his friends and acquaintance, with several pious clergymen, frequently enter the prison to console and comfort him, and to prepare him for the unchangeable state on which he was soon to enter. He saw his mind softened by their advice and counsel;--frequently would he burst into tears;--often in the solitary hours of night was he heard addressing the throne of grace for mercy and forgiveness. But the grief that preyed at his heart had wasted him to a mere skeleton; a slow but deleterious fever had consequently implanted itself in his constitution. Exhausted nature could make but a weak struggle against disease and affliction like his, and about a week previous to the day appointed for his execution, he expired in peace and penitence, trusting in the mercy of his Creator through the sufferings of a Redeemer.

Soon after this event, orders came for removing some of the prisoners to a most loathsome place of confinement in the suburbs of the city. It fell to Alonzo's lot to be one. He therefore formed a project for escaping. He had observed that the gratings in one of the windows of the apartment were loose and could be easily removed. One night when the prisoners were asleep, he stripped off his clothes, every article of which he cut into narrow strips, tied them together, fastened one end to one of the strongest gratings, removed the others until he had made an opening large enough to get out, and then, by the rope he had made of his clothes, let himself down into the yard of the prison. There he found a long piece of timber, which he dragged to the wall, clambered up thereon, and sprang over into the street. His shoes and hat he had left in the prison, as a useless encumbrance without his clothes, all which he had converted into the means of escape, so that he was now literally stark naked. He stood a moment to reflect:--"Here am I, said he, freed from my local prison indeed, but in the midst of an enemy's country, without a friend, without the means of obtaining one day's subsistence, surrounded by the darkness of night, destitute of a single article of clothing, and even unable to form a resolution what step next to take. The ways of heaven are marvellous--may I silently bow to its dispensations!"

* * * * *

Alonzo passed along the street in this forlorn condition, not knowing where to proceed, or what course to take. It was about three o'clock in the morning; the street was illuminated by lamps, and he feared falling into the hands of the watch. For some time he saw no person; at length a voice from the other side of the street called out,----"Hallo, messmate! what, scudding under bare poles? You must have experienced a severe gale indeed thus to have carried away every rag of sail!"

Alonzo turned, and saw the person who spoke. He was a decent looking man, of middle age, dressed in a sailor's habit. Alonzo had often heard of the generosity and honourable conduct of the British tars: he therefore approached him and told him his real case, not even concealing his being taken in actual hostility to the British government, and his escape from prison. The sailor mused a few minutes. "Thy case, said he, is a little critical, but do not despair. Had I met thee as an enemy, I should have fought thee; but as it is, compassion is the first consideration. Perhaps I may be in as bad a situation before the war is ended." Then slipping off his coat and giving it to Alonzo, "follow me," he said, and turning, walked hastily along the street, followed by Alonzo; he passed into a bye-lane, entered a small house, and taking Alonzo into a back room, opened a trunk, and handed out a shirt: "there, said he, pointing to a bed, you can sleep till morning, when we will see what can be done."

The next morning the sailor brought in a very decent suit of clothes and presented them to Alonzo. "You will make this place your home, said he, until more favorable prospects appear. In this great city you will be safe, for even your late gaoler would not recognize you in this dress. And perhaps some opportunity may offer by which you may return to your own country." He told Alonzo that his name was Jack Brown; that he was a midshipman on board the Severn; that he had a wife and four children, and owned the house in which they then were. "In order to prevent suspicion or discovery, said he, I shall consider you as a relation from the country until you are better provided for." Alonzo was then introduced to the sailor's wife, an amiable woman, and here he remained for several weeks.

One day Alonzo was informed that a number of American prisoners were brought in. He went to the place where they were landed, and saw several led away to prison, and some who were sick or disabled, carried to the hospital. As the hospital was near at hand, Alonzo entered it to see how the sick and disabled prisoners were treated.

He found that they received as much attention as could reasonably be expected.[A] As he passed along the different apartments he was surprised at hearing his name called by a faint voice. He turned to the place from whence it proceeded, and saw stretched on a mattress, a person who appeared on the point of expiring. His visage was pale and emaciated, his countenance haggard and ghastly, his eyes inexpressive and glazy. He held out his withered hand, and feebly beckoned to Alonzo, who immediately approached him. His features appeared not unfamiliar to Alonzo, but for a moment he could not recollect him. "You do not know me," said the apparently dying stranger. "Beauman!" exclaimed Alonzo, in surprise. "Yes, replied the sick man, it is Beauman; you behold me on the verge of eternity; I have but a short time to continue in this world." Alonzo enquired how he came in the power of the enemy. "By the fate of war, he replied; I was taken in an action on York Island, carried on board a prison-ship in New-York, and sent with a number of others for England. I had received a wound in my thigh, from a musket ball, during the action; the wound mortified, and my thigh was amputated on the voyage; since which I have been rapidly wasting away, and I now feel that the cold hand of death is laid upon me." Here he became exhausted, and for some time remained silent. Alonzo had not before discovered that he had lost his leg: he now found that it had been taken off close to his body, and that he was worn to a skeleton. When Beauman revived, he enquired into Alonzo's affairs. Alonzo related all that had happened to him after leaving New London.

[Footnote A: The Americans who were imprisoned in England, in the time of war, were treated with much more humanity than those who were imprisoned in America.]

"You are unhappy, Alonzo, said Beauman, in the death of your Melissa, to which it is possible I have been undesignedly accessory. I could say much on the subject, would my strength permit; but it is needless. She is gone, and I must soon go also. She was sent to her uncle's at Charleston, by her father, where I was soon to follow her. It was supposed that thus widely removed from all access to your company, she would yield to the persuasion of her friends to renounce you: her unexpected death, however, frustrated every design of this nature, and overwhelmed her father and family in inexpressible woe."

Here Beauman ceased. Alonzo found he wanted rest: he enquired whether he was in want of any thing to render him more comfortable. Beauman replied that he was not: "For the comforts of this life, said he, I have no relish; medical aid is applied, but without effect." Alonzo then left him, promising to call again in the morning.

When Alonzo called the next morning, he perceived an alarming alteration in Beauman. His extremities were cold, a chilling, clammy sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short and interrupted, his pulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of Alonzo, and feebly pressing it,--"I am dying, said he in a faint voice. If ever you return to America, inform my friends of my fate." This Alonzo readily engaged to do, and told him also that he would not leave him.

Beauman soon fell into a stupor; sensation became suspended; his eyes rolled up and fixed. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he would fall into incoherent muttering, calling on the names of his deceased father, his mother and Melissa; his voice dying away in imperfect moanings, till his lips continued to move without sound. Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with difficulty, till a slight convulsion gave the freed spirit to the unknown regions of immaterial existence. Alonzo followed his remains to the grave: a natural stone was placed at its head, on which Alonzo, unobserved, carved the initials of the deceased's name, with the date of his death, and left him to moulder with his native dust.

A few days after this event, Jack Brown informed Alonzo that he had procured the means of his escape. "A person with whom I am acquainted, said he, and whom I suppose to be a smuggler, has agreed to carry you to France. There, by application to the American minister, you will be enabled to get to your own country, if that is your object. About midnight I will pilot you on board, and by to-morrow's sun you may be in France."

At the time appointed, Jack set out bearing a large trunk on his shoulder, and directed Alonzo to follow him. They proceeded down to a quay, and went on board a small skiff. "Here, said Jack to the captain, is the gentleman I spoke to you about," and delivered him the trunk. Then taking Alonzo aside, "in that trunk, said he, are a few changes of linen, and here is something to help you till you can help yourself." So saying, he slipped ten guineas into his hand. Alonzo expressed his gratitude with tears. "Say nothing, said Jack, we were born to help each other in distress, and may Jack never weather a storm or splice a rope, if he permits a fellow creature to suffer with want while he has a luncheon on board." He then shook Alonzo by the hand, wishing him a good voyage, and went whistling away. The skiff soon sailed, and the next morning Alonzo was landed in France. Alonzo proceeded immediately to Paris, not with a view of returning to America; he had yet no relish for revisiting the land of his sorrows, the scenes where at every step his heart must bleed afresh, though to bleed it had never ceased. But he was friendless in a strange land: perhaps, through the aid of the American minister, Dr. Franklin, to whose fame Alonzo was no stranger, he might be placed in a situation to procure bread, which was all he at present hoped or wished.

He therefore presented himself before the doctor, whom he found in his study.--To be informed that he was an American and unfortunate, was sufficient to arouse the feelings of Franklin. He desired Alonzo to be seated, and to recite his history. This he readily complied with, not concealing his attachment to Melissa, her father's barbarity, her death in consequence, his own father's failure, with all the particulars of his leaving America, his capture, escape from prison, and arrival in France; as also the town of his nativity, the name of his father, and the particular circumstances of his family; concluding by expressing his unconquerable reluctance to return to his native country, which now would be to him only a gloomy wilderness, and that his present object was only some means of support.

The doctor enquired of Alonzo the particular circumstances and time of his father's failure. Of this Alonzo gave him a minute account. Franklin then sat in deep contemplation for the space of fifteen minutes, without speaking a word. He then took his pen, wrote a short note, directed it, and gave it to Alonzo: "Deliver this, said he, to the person to whom it is directed; he will find you employment, until something more favourable may offer."

Alonzo took the note, thanked the doctor, and went in search of the person to whom it was addressed. He soon found the house, which was situated in one of the most popular streets in Paris. He knocked at the door, which was opened by an elderly looking man: Alonzo enquired for the name to whom the note was addressed. The gentleman informed him that he was the man. Alonzo presented him the note, which having read, he desired him to walk in, and ordered supper. After supper he informed Alonzo that he was an English bookseller; that he should employ him as a clerk, and desired to know what wages he demanded. Alonzo replied that he should submit that to him, being unacquainted with the customary salary of clerks in that line of business. The gentleman told him that the matter should be arranged the next day. His name was Grafton.

The next morning Mr. Grafton took Alonzo into his bookstore, and gave him his instructions. His business was to sell the books to customers, and a list of prices was given him for that purpose. Mr. Grafton counted out twenty crowns and gave them to Alonzo: "You may want some necessaries, said he; and as you have set no price on your services, we shall not differ about the wages if you are attentive and faithful."