University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXIX.

This letter is written in extreme pain; yet
no pain that I ever felt, no external pain possible
for me to feel, is equal to the torment I derive
from suspense. Good heaven! what an untoward
accident! to be forcibly immured in a tavern
chamber; when the distance is so small between
me and that certainty after which my soul
pants!

I ought not thus to alarm my beloved friends,
but I know not what I write—my head is in confusion;
my heart in tumults; a delirium more
the effect of a mind stretched upon the rack of
impatience, than of limbs shattered and broken,
whirls me out of myself.

Not a moment of undisturbed repose have I
enjoyed for the last two months. If awake,
omens and conjectures, menacing fears, and
half-formed hopes have haunted and harassed

me. If asleep, dreams of agonizing forms
and ever varying hues, have thronged my fancy
and driven away peace.

In less than an hour after landing at
Boston, I placed myself in the swiftest stage
and have travelled night and day, till within a
mile of this town, when the carriage was overturned
and my left arm terribly shattered. I
was drawn with difficulty hither, and my only
hope of being once more well is founded on
my continuance, for I know not how long, in
one spot and one posture.

By this time, the well known hand has told
you who it is that writes this—the exile; the
fugitive; whom four long years of absence and
silence have not, I hope, erased from your
remembrance, banished from your love, or
even totally excluded from the hope of being
seen again.

Yet that hope, surely, must have been long
ago dismissed. Acquainted as you are with
some part of my destiny; of my being left on
the desert shore of Japan; on the borders of a
new world; a world, civilized, indeed, and peopled
by men, but existing in almost total separation
from the other families of mankind;
with language, manners and policy almost incompatible
with the existence of a stranger among
them: all entrance, or egress from which,
being commonly supposed to be prohibited by
iron laws and inflexible despotism: that I, a
stranger; naked; forlorn; cast upon a sandy
beach; frequented, but at rare intervals, and
by savage fishermen, should find my way into
the heart of this wonderful empire, and finally

explore my way back to my native shore, are
surely most strange and incredible atchievements—yet
all this, my friend, has been endured
and performed by your Colden.

Finding it impossible to move immediately
from this place, and this days post having gone
out before my arrival, I employed a man to
carry you these assurances of my existence and
return, and to bring me back intelligence of
your welfare; and some news concerning—
may I perish if I can, at this moment, write her
name. Every moment, every mile that has
brought me nearer to her, or rather nearer to
certainty of her life or death, her happiness or
misery, has increased my trepidation: added
new tremors to my heart.

I have some time to spare. In spite of my
impatience, my messenger cannot start within
a few hours. I am little fitted, in my present
state of pain and suspense, to write intelligibly.
Yet what else can I do but write, and will you not,
in your turn, be impatient to know by what means
I have once more set my foot in my native land.

I will fill up the interval, till my messenger
is ready, by writing. I will give you some
hints of my adventures. All particulars must
be deferred till I see you. Heaven grant that
I may once more see you and my sister. Four
months ago you were well, but that interval is
large enough to breed ten thousand disasters.
Expect not a distinct or regular story. That, I
repeat, must be deferred till we meet. Many
a long day would be consumed in the telling, and
that which was hazard or hardship in the encounter

and the sufferance, will be pleasant to
remembrance, and delightful in narration.

You know by what accident, and in what remote
and inhospitable region, Stephen and I
were separated. How did I know, you will, perhaps,
ask, the extent of your knowledge? By
strange and unexpected means; but have patience,
and, in due time, I will tell you.

What a scene did I pass through! what uncouth
forms, strange accents, and ferocious
demeanour presented themselves in the fishermen
that found me, half famished, on a sand
bank! My fate, whether death or servitude, depended
on the momentary impulse of untutored
hearts: perhaps, on some adroitness and dexterity
in myself.

They carried me from the solitary shore, into
the heart of a cultivated island. Rumour became
instantly busy, and at length reached the
ears of a sort of feudal or territorial lord. By his
orders, I was brought into his rustic palace.
I found humanity and curiosity in this man. I
passed several months in his house, acquiring
gradually a smattering of the language, and
some insight into the policy and manners of the
people.

I endeavoured to better my condition, and
gain respect to my person by the display of all
the accomplishments of which I was master.
These, alas, were but few: yet some of them
were not altogether useless; and the humane
temper of one whom I may call my patron, se
cured me gentle and even respectful treatment.

After some months this lord, whose name
was Tekehatsin, left his island, and set out on

a journey to the metropolis. He left me with
promises of the continuance of his favor and protection,
and urged his regard for my safety as
a reason for not taking me along with him. I
heard nothing of him for six weeks after his departure.
Then a messenger arrived, with orders
to bring me up to his master.

The incidents of this journey; the aspects of
the country; of the cities, of the villages thro'
which I passed, will afford an inexhaustible
theme for future conversations—I reached, at
length, the residence of Tekehatsin, in the
chief city of the kingdom, the name of which
is Fedho. Shortly after I was introduced to one
in whom I recognized a native of Europe; and
therefore, in some respects, a countryman.

This person's name was Holtz. He was the
agent of the Dutch East-India company in Japan.
He was then at court in a sort of diplomatic
character. He was likewise a physician and
man of science. He had even been in America,
and found no difficulty in conversing with me
in my native language.

You will easily imagine the surprise and pleasure
which such a meeting afforded me. It likewise
opened a door to my return to Europe, as
a large trade is regularly maintained between
Java and Japan.

Many obstacles, however, in the views which
Tekehastin had formed, of profit and amusement,
from my remaining in his service; and
in the personal interests and wishes of my friend
Holtz, opposed this design, nor was I able to
accomplish it, but on condition of returning.

I confess to you, my friend my heart was not
extremely averse to this condition.

I left America with very faint hopes, and no
expectation of ever returning. The longer I
resided among this race of men, the melancho
ly and forlornness of my feelings declined.
Prospects of satisfaction from the novelty and
grandeur of the scene into which I had entered,
began to open upon me: Sentiments of affection
and gratitude for Holtz, and even for
the Japanese lord, took root in my heart.
Still however happiness was bound to scenes
and to persons very distant from my new country,
and a restlessness forever haunted me,
which nothing could appease but some direct
intelligence from you and from Jane Talbot.
By returning to Europe I could likewise be of
essential service to Holtz, whose family were
Saxons, and whose commercial interests required
the presence of a trusty agent for a few
months at Hamburg.

Let me carry you, in few words through the
difficulties of my embarkation: and the incidents
of a short stay at Batavia and a long voyage
over half the world to Hamburg.

Shortly after my return to Hamburg, from
an excursion into Saxony to see Holtz's friends,
I met with Mr. Cartwright, an American. After
much fluctuation I had previously resolved to
content myself with writing to you of whom I received
such verbal information from several of our
countrymen, as removed my anxiety on your
account. A very plausible tale, told me by some
one that pretended to know, of Mrs. Talbot's
marriage with a Mr. Cartwright, extinguished

every new-born wish to revisit my native land,
and I expected to set sail on my return to India,
before it could be possible to hear from you.

I was on the eve of my departure, when the
name of Cartwright, an American, then at
Hamburg, reached my ears. The similarity of
his name to that of the happy man who had supplanted
the poor wanderer in the affections of
Jane, and a suspicion that they might possibly
be a kin, and consequently, that this, might afford
me some information, as to the character
or merits of that Cartwright, made me throw
myself in his way.

You may easily imagine, what I shall defer
relating, the steps which led us to a knowledge
of each other, and by which I discovered that
this Cartwright was the one mentioned to me,
and that, instead of being already the husband
of my Jane, his hopes of her favour depended
on the certain proof of my death.

Cartwright's behaviour was, in the highest
degree, disinterested. He might easily have
left me in my original error, and a very few
days would have sent me on a voyage, which
would have been equivalent to my death. On
the contrary his voluntary information and a
letter which he shewed me, written in Jane's
hand, created a new soul in my breast. Every
foreign object vanished, and every ancient sentiment,
connected with our unfortunate loves,
was instantly revived. Ineffable tenderness,
and an impatience, next to rage, to see her, reigned
in my heart.

Yet, my friend, with all my confidence of a favourable
reception from Jane; her conduct now

exempt from the irresistible controul of her
mother and her tenderness for me as fervent as
ever; yet, since so excellent a man as Cartwright
existed; since his claims were, in truth
antecedent to mine; since my death or everlasting
absence would finally insure success to these
claims; since his character were blemished by
none of those momentous errors with which
mine was loaded; since that harmony of opinions
on religious subjects, without which marriage
can never be a source of happiness to
hearts touched by a true and immortal passion,
was perfect in his case; never should mere passion
have seduced me to her feet. If my reflections
and experience had not changed my character;
if all her views, as to the final destiny
and present obligations of human beings, had not
become mine, I should have deliberately ratified
the act of my eternal banishment—

Yes, my friend; this weather-beaten form
and sunburnt face, are not more unlike what
you once knew, than my habits and opinions
now and formerly. The incidents of a long
voyage, the vicissitudes through which I have
passed have given strength to my frame, while
the opportunities and occasions for wisdom
which these have afforded me, have made my
mind whole. I have awakened from my dreams of
doubt and misery, not to the cold and vague
belief, but to the living and delightful consciousness
of every tie that can bind man to his divine
parent and judge.

Again I must refer you to our future interviews.
A broken and obscure tale it would be;
which I could now relate. I am hurried, by my

fears and suspenses—Yet it would give you pleasure
to know every thing as soon as possible—
sometime likewise must elapse—You and my sister
have always been wise. The lessons of true
piety it is the business of your lives to exemplify
and to teach. Henceforth, if that principle,
which has been my stay and my comfort in all
the slippery paths and unlooked for perils from
which I have just been delivered, desert not my
future steps, I hope to be no mean example and
no feeble teacher of the same lessons. Indefatigable
zeal and strenuous efforts are indeed incumbent
on me in proportion to the extent of
my past misconduct, the depth of my former
degeneracy.

By what process of reflection I became thus,
you shall speedily know: Yet can you be at
a loss to imagine it? You, who have passed
thro' somewhat similar changes; who always
made allowances for the temerity of youth; the
fascinations of novelty: Who always predicted
that a few more years; the events of my peculiar
destiny; the leisure of my long voyage;
and that goodness of intention to which you
were ever kind enough to admit my claims,
would ultimately provide the remedy for all errors
and evils, and make me worthy of the undivided
love of all good men;—You, who have
had this experience, and who have always regarded
me in this light, will not wonder that reflection
has, at length, raised me to the tranquil
and stedfast height of simple and true piety.

Such my friend, were my inducements to return:
but first, it was necessary te explain, by

letter, to Holtz—but my messenger is at the
door: eager to be gone. Take this my
friend. Bring yourself or send back by the
same messenger, without a moments delay,
tidings of her, and of your safety. As to me,
be not much concerned on my account. I am
solemnly assured by my Surgeon, that nothing
but time, and a tranquil mind are necessary to
restore me to health. The last boon no hand but
yours can confer on your