 | CHAPTER III. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
This period of tranquillity was short. Poverty
hovered at their threshold, and in a state precarious
as their's, could not be long excluded.
The lady was more accustomed to anticipate
good than evil, but she was not unconscious that
the winter, which was hastening, would bring it
with numerous inconveniences. Wants during
that season are multiplied, while the means of
supplying them either fail or are diminished.
Fuel is alone, a cause of expense equal to all
other articles of subsistence. Her dwelling was
old, crazy, and full of avenues to air. It was
evident that neither fire nor cloathing would, in
an habitation like that, attemper the chilling
blasts. Her scanty gains were equal to their
needs, during summer, but would probably fall
short during the prevalence of cold.
These reflections could not fail sometimes to
intrude. She indulged them as long as they served
merely to suggest expedients and provisions
for the future, but laboured to call away her attention
when they merely produced anxiety.
This she more easily effected, as some months of
summer were still to come, and her knowledge of
taught her to rely upon the occurrence of some
fortunate, though unforeseen event.
Accident suggested an expedient of this kind.
Passing through an alley, in the upper part of the
town, her eye was caught by a label on the door
of a small house, signifying that it was to be let.
It was smaller than that she at present occupied,
but it had an aspect of much greater comfort and
neatness. Its situation, near the centre of the
city, in a quiet, cleanly, and well paved alley,
was far preferable to that of her present habitation,
in the suburbs, scarcely accessible in winter
for pools and gullies, and in a neighbourhood
abounding with indigence and profligacy. She
likewise considered that the rent of this might be
less, and that the proprietor of this might have
more forbearance and benignity than she had hitherto
met with.
Unconversant as she was with the world, imbued
with the timidity of her sex and her youth,
many enterprizes were arduous to her, which
would, to age and experience, have been easy.
Her reluctances, however, when required by necessity,
were overcome, and all the measures
which her situation prescribed, executed with
address and dispatch. One, marking her deportment,
would have perceived nothing but dignity
and courage. He would have regarded these as
the fruits of habitual independence and exertion,
whereas they were merely the results of clear
perceptions and inflexible resolves.
The proprietor of this mansion was immediately
sought out, and a bargain, favorable as she
could reasonably desire, concluded. Possession
was to be taken in a week. For this end carters
and draymen were to be engaged, household implements
to be prepared for removal, and negligence
The duties of superintendence and execution
devolved upon her. Her father's blindness
rendered him powerless. His personal case
required no small portion of care. Household
and professional functions were not to be omitted.
She stood alone in the world. There was none
whose services or counsel she could claim. Tortured
by multiplicity of cares, shrinking from exposure
to rude eyes, and from contention with
refractory and insolent spirits, and overpowered
with fatigue and disgust, she was yet compelled
to retain a cheerful tone in her father's presence,
and to struggle with his regrets and his peevishness.
O my friend! Methinks I now see thee, encountering
the sneers and obstinacy of the meanest
of mankind, subjecting that frame of thine, so
exquisitely delicate, and therefore so feeble, to
the vilest drudgery. I see thee, leading thy unhappy
father to his new dwelling, and stifling the
sign produced by his fruitless repinings and unseasonable
seruples—Why was I not partaker of
thy cares and labours? Why was I severed from
thee by the ocean, and kept in ignorance of thy
state? I was not without motives to anxiety, for
I was friendless as thou, but how unlike to thine
was my condition! I reposed upon down and tissue,
never moved but with obsequious attendance
and pompous equipage, painting and music
were consolations ever at hand, and my cabinet
was stored with poetry and science. These,
indeed, were insufficient to exclude care, and
with regard to the past, I have no wish but that I
had shared with my friend her toilsome and humiliating
lot. However an erroneous world might
judge, thy life was full of dignity, and thy moments
only attendant on the performance of our duty.
A toilsome and sultry week was terminated by
a sabbath of repose. Her new dwelling possessed
indisputable advantages over her old. Not
the least of these benefits consisted in the vicinity
of people, peaceable and honest, though poor.
She was no longer shocked by the clamours of debauchery,
and exposed, by her situation, to the
danger of being mistaken by the profligate of either
sex, for one of their own class. It was reasonable
to consider this change of abode, as fortunate,
and yet, circumstances quickly occurred
which suggested a very different conclusion.
She had no intercourse, which necessity did
not prescribe, with the rest of the world. She
screened herself as much as possible from intercourse
with prying and loquacious neighbours.
Her father's inclinations in this respect coincided
with her own, though their love of seclusion was
prompted by different motives. Visitants were
hated by the father, because his dignity was hurt
by communication with the vulgar. The danghter
set too much value upon time willingly to
waste it upon trifles and triflers. She had no
pride to subdue, and therefore never escaped
from well meant importunity at the expense of
politeness and good humour. In her moments of
leisure, she betook herself to the poet and the
moralist for relief.
She could not at all times, suppress the consciousness
of the evils which surrounded and threatened
her. She could not but rightly estimate
the absorbing and brutifying nature of that toil to
which she was condemned. Literature had hitherto
been regarded as her solace. She knew
that meditation and converse as well as books and
the pen, are instruments of knowledge, but her
own condition. Her father's soaring moods and
luminous intervals grew less frequent. Conversation
was too rarely abstracted from personal
considerations, and strayed less often than before
into the wilds of fancy or the mazes of analysis.
These circumstances led her to reflect whether
subsistence might not be obtained by occupations
purely intellectual. Instruction was needed by
the young of both sexes. Females frequently
performed the office of teachers. Was there no
branch of her present knowledge which she might
claim wages for imparting to others? Was there
no art within her reach to acquire, convertible
into means of gain? Women are generally limited
to what is sensual and ornamental: Music and
painting, and the Italian and French languages,
are bounds which they seldom pass. In these
pursuits it is not possible, nor is it expected, that
they should arrive at the skill of adepts. The
education of Constance had been regulated by the
peculiar views of her father, who sought to make
her, not alluring and voluptuous, but eloquent
and wise. He therefore limited her studies to
Latin and English. Instead of familiarizing her
with the amorous effusions of Petrarcha and Racine,
he made her thoroughly conversant with
Tacitus and Milton. Instead of making her a
practical musician or pencilist, he conducted her
to the school of Newton and Hartley, unveiled
to her the mathematical properties of light and
sound, taught her as a metaphysician and anatomist,
the structure and power of the senses, and
discussed with her the principles and progress of
human society.
These accomplishments tended to render her
superior to the rest of women, but in no degree
qualified her for the post of a female instructor.
formed the resolution of supplying them.
Her knowledge of the Latin tongue and of grammatical
principles, rendered easy the acquisition
of Italian and French, these being merely Scions
from the Roman stock.
Having had occasion, previous to her change
of dwelling, to purchase paper at a bookseller's,
the man had offered her at a very low price, a
second-hand copy of Veneroni's grammar. The
offer had been declined, her views at that time
being otherwise directed. Now, however, this
incident was remembered, and a resolution instantly
formed to purchase the book. As soon as
the light declined, and her daily task at the needle
had drawn to a close, she set out to execute
this purpose. Arriving at the house of the book-seller,
she perceived that the doors and windows
were closed. Night having not yet arrived, the
conjecture easily occurred, that some one had
died in the house. She had always dealt with
this man for books and paper, and had always
been treated with civility. Her heart readily admitted
some sympathy with his distress, and to
remove her doubts, she turned to a person who
stood at the entrance of the next house, and who
held a cloth steeped in vinegar to his nostrils.
In reply to her question, the stranger said in a
tone of the deepest consternation—Mr. Watson
do you mean? He is dead: He died last night of
the yellow fever.
The name of this disease was not absolutely new
to her ears. She had been apprized of its rapid
and destructive progress in one quarter of the
city, but, hitherto, it had existed, with regard to
her, chiefly in the form of rumour. She had not
realized the nature or probable extent of the evil.
She lived at no great distance from the seat of the
exempt. So wholly unused was she to contemplate
pestilence except at a distance, that its actual
existence in the bosom of this city was incredible.
Contagious diseases, she well knew, periodically
visited and laid waste the Greek and Egyptian
cities. It constituted no small part of that
mass of evil, political and physical, by which that
portion of the world has been so long afflicted.
That a pest equally malignant had assailed the
metropolis of her own country, a town famous for
the salubrity of its airs and the perfection of its
police, had something in it so wild and uncouth
that she could not reconcile herself to the possibility
of such an event.
The death of Watson, however, filled her
mind with awful reflections. The purpose of her
walk was forgotten amidst more momentous considerations.
She bent her steps pensively homeward.
She had now leisure to remark the symptoms
of terror with which all ranks appeared to
have been seized. The streets were as much
frequented as ever, but there were few passengers
whose countenances did not betray alarm,
and who did not employ the imaginary antidote
to infection, vinegar.
Having reached home, she quickly discovered
in her father, an unusual solemnity and thoughtfulness.
He had no power to conceal his emotions
from his daughter, when her efforts to discover
them were earnestly exerted. She learned
that, during her absence he had been visited
by his next neighbour, a thrifty, sober and well
meaning, but ignorant and meddling person, by
name Whiston. This person, being equally inquisitive
into other men's affairs, and communicative
of his own, was always an unwelcome visitant.
on Mr. Dudley his fears of disease and
death. His tale of the origin and progress of the
epidemic, of the number and suddenness of recent
deaths was delivered with endless prolixity.
With this account he mingled prognostics of the
future, counselled Mr. Dudley to fly from the
scene of danger, and stated his own schemes and
resolutions. After having thoroughly affrighted
and wearied his companion he took his leave.
Constance endeavoured to remove the impression
which had been thus needlessly made. She
urged her doubts as to the truth of Whiston's representations,
and endeavoured, in various ways,
to extenuate the danger.
Nay, my child, said her father, thou needest
not reason on the subject. I am not affraid. At
least, on my own account I fear nothing. What
is life to me that I should dread to lose it? If on
any account I should tremble it is on thine, my
angelic girl. Thou dost not deserve thus early to
perish: And yet if my love for thee were rational,
perhaps, I ought to wish it. An evil destiny
will pursue thee to the close of thy life, be it never
so long.
I know that ignorance and folly breed the phantoms
by which themselves are peplexed and terrified,
and that Whiston is a fool, but here the
truth is too plain to be disguised. This malady
is pestilential. Havock and despair will accompany
its progress and its progress will be rapid.
The tragedies of Marseilles and Messina will be
reacted on this stage.
For a time, we in this quarter will be exempt,
but it will surely reach us at last, and then, whither
shall we fly? For the rich, the whole world
is a safe asylum, but for us, indigent and
perish? If the disease spare us, we must perish by
neglect and famine. Alarm will be far and wide
diffused. Fear will hinder those who supply the
market, from entering the city. The price of
food will become exorbitant. Our present source
of subsistence, ignominious and scanty as it is,
will be cut off. Traffic and labour of every kind
will be at an end. We shall die, but not until
we have witnessed and endured horrors that surpass
thy powers of conception.
I know full well the enormity of this evil. I
have been at Messina, and talked with many who
witnessed the state of that city in 1743. I will
not freeze thy blood with the recital. Anticipation
has a tendency to lessen or prevent some
evils, but pestilence is not of that number.
Strange untowardness of destiny! That thou and
I should be cast upon a scene like this!
Mr. Dudley joined with uncommon powers of
discernment, a species of perverseness not easily
accounted for. He acted as if the inevitable evils
of her lot was not sufficient for the trial of his daughter's
patience. Instend of comforter and counsellor,
he fostered impatience in himself, and endeavoured,
with the utmost diligence, to undermine her
fortitude and disconcert her schemes. The task
was assigned to her, not only of subduing her
own fears, but of maintaining the contest with his
disastrous eloquence. In most cases she had not
failed of success. Hitherto their causes of anxiety,
her own observation had, in some degree, enabled
her to estimate at their just value. The
rueful pictures which his imagination was wont to
pourtray, affected her for a moment; but deliberate
scrutiny commonly enabled her to detect and
demonstrate their falacy. Now, however, the
theme was new. Panick and foreboding found
She had no experience by which to counteract
this impulse. All that remained was to
beguile her own and her father's cares by counterfeiting
cheerfulness and introducing new topics.
This panic, stifled for a time, renewed its sway
when she retired to her chamber. Never did futurity
wear, to her fancy, so dark an hue. Never
did her condition appear to her in a light so
dreary and forlorn. To fly from the danger was
impossible. How should accommodation at a
distance, be procured? The means of subsistence
were indissolubly connected with her present
residence, but the progress of this disease
would cut off these means, and leave her to be
beset not only with pestilence but famine.
What provision could she make against an evil
like this?
| CHAPTER III. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |