University of Virginia Library

THE
BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL CONVICT.

[It may be thought that the following story conveys a
bad moral: but it is actually true; and since vice and
folly are sometimes triumphant in this world, and goodness
is sometimes depressed, we should learn to look for
reward where alone it is always certain to be found; i. e.
within our own hearts.]

Rose Mac Orne was a rare sample of
Scottish beauty. Her eyes deeply blue, as
Loch Lomond; glowing cheeks; hair light
and glossy, parted over her broad forehead,
like folds of flax-coloured satin; features,
which a shrewd and active mind had strongly
developed; a tall, muscular frame, of stately
proportions; and a firm, elastic, rapid tread,
which she had acquired in early days, when

Her youth was unfortunate; for her mother
had died during her infancy, and her

profligate and selfish father had abandoned
her before she reached the dangerous age of
fifteen.

Many were anxious to take Rose into their
service; for she was neat and thrifty as a
brownie, and had the obsequious manner of
her countrymen, united with their proverbial
knowledge of the most direct road to favour
and to fortune. Her greatest misfortune was
her beauty. Often, after the most unremitting
efforts to please, poor Rose was accused
of a thousand faults, and dismissed by prudent
wives and mothers, lest she should become
too dear a servant. Scotch discrimination
soon discovered the source of the
difficulty, and Scotch ambition resolved to
make the most of it. To lovers of her own
rank, she was alternately winning and disdainful—determined
that none should break her
chains, yet dealing out her scorn to each, as
their characters would bear. With her superiors,
she played a deep and insidious game.
Trusting to her own strength of pride, she
resisted their arts, while she almost invariably
made them the victims of her own. In all

this, Rose was actuated by something more
than a mere girlish love of flirtation and triumph:
she was ambitious, and had formed
high hopes of an opulent marriage. Many a
Cantab and Oxonian, many a testy bachelor
and gouty widower, had got entangled in her
toils, and been extricated only by the early
interference of proud or prudent relations.
At length, notwithstanding her modest manners
and apparent artlessness, the intrigues
of Rose Mac Orne became as proverbial as
her beauty; and she could obtain no service
in any family where there was youth to be
fascinated, or wealthy old age to be cajoled.

Hearing an East-Indiaman was about to
sail, with many ladies on board, Rose resolved
to seek employment among them; and
succeeded in being appointed dressing-maid
to an elderly lady, who was going out to Calcutta
to reside with an invalid son. India!
match-making India! opened glorious prospects
to Scotch ambition. Rose took unexampled
pains to please her new mistress;
and in two days she was a decided favourite.
No wonder the gipsey began to be proud of

her power; for she never attempted to please
without decidedly effecting her purpose. But
when was inordinate ambition known to be a
safeguard either to talent or to beauty? In
two days Rose was to leave England, and
her mistress having granted her permission
to attend the races, she, as a last act of kindness
to one of her earliest and most favoured
lovers, consented to accompany him. Rose
was very fond of ornaments; and it chanced
that her heart was particularly set on a large
pearl pin, which her mistress had said she
seldom wore, on account of its antique fashion.
Rose had more than once signified how very
pretty she thought it; and wondered, if she
were rich enough to buy pearls, whether they
would become her full and snowy neck.
She dared not ask for it outright; and she
never in her lifetime had thought of taking
any thing dishonestly. But vanity, vanity,—
that foolish and contemptible passion which
has “slain its tens of thousands,” and that,
too, among the fairest and the brightest of
God's works, prevailed over the better feelings
of Rose Mac Orne. She took the envied
pin,—wore it to the races,—heard James
Mac Lotyre praise it,—told him her new
mistress had given it to her,—and then,
dreading the discovery of the fact, began to
devise schemes for exchanging the bauble.
The path of sin is steep, and every step
presses us forward with accumulated power.
Rose had already committed a second crime
to conceal the first; and now the hope of
secresy urged her to commit others. She
sold the breast-pin, and bought a ring with
the money, in hopes the pearl would never
be inquired for this side of India. But in
this she was mistaken; that very day her
lady missed the jewel; and Rose went even
deeper in falsehood than was necessary to
keep up appearances.

I will not follow her through every step of
this shameful struggle. It is sufficient to say
the theft was discovered; and Rose, instead
of sailing for glorious match-making India,
was in a few weeks hurried on board a vessel,
in which sixty-two other convicts were
destined for Botany Bay. This was a painful
reverse for one so young, so beautiful, so

inordinately ambitious. She looked back
upon England with mingled feelings of grief
and burning indignation—contempt of herself,
and hatred of the laws by which she suffered.
And for what had she endured this terrible
conflict, which, first and last, had given her
more unhappiness than had been crowded
into the whole of her previous existence!
Why nothing but the foolish vanity of wearing
a cast-off pearl!

But Rose Mac Orne had a mind elastic
and vigorous: it soon rebounded from depression,
and began to think of new schemes
of conquest. She looked around among her
companions—most of them were tall and robust—some
of them very handsome women.
She counted them, and counted the crew.
There were sixty-two convicts, and fifteen
men. Before they were half across the Atlantic,
Rose Mac Orne had laid a plan, daring
enough for the helmeted Joan of Arc in the
full tide of her inspiration. She communicated
the plan to the women, which they
entered into heartily and warmly. Rose
might have found lovers enough on board,

notwithstanding the strict orders of the
officers; but she chose to inveigle but one—
and that was to be the Pilot! Glances and
tender notes soon passed between them, unperceived
by others; for the artful Rose was
like a glacier, when the eye of the officers
was upon her; and her lover was capable of
playing as deep game as she.

At length the important hour arrived—
every precaution had been taken—all things
were in readiness. The vessel stood for the
La Plata, to exchange cargoes and take in
refreshments. They entered the huge arms
of that silvery river, and cut its waters with
the arrowy flight of a bird. At length
Buenos Ayres lay before them in the distance,
with the broad clear moonlight, spread
over it like a heavenly robe. The wind died
away—and the vessel lay gently moving on
the bosom of that majestic river, like a child
playing itself into slumber. Midnight came
—Rose had an eye like a burning glass—the
crisis was at hand—and all looked to her for
direction. Her lover, according to promise,
had taken his turn to be pilot; and all slept,

save him and the convicts. He sat at the
helm looking out upon the waters, and listening
to the “silent audible.” There was a
slight motion of the sails, announced by a
low whistle from the pilot. In twenty minutes
every man was bound fast and gagged,
—the convicts were armed,—and the vessel
was in full sweep for the port of Buenos
Ayres! There it arrived—a prize to the
prisoners! Great noise was made about the
vessel seized by women, and brought triumphantly
into port. The “Lady Shore”
(for that was the vessel's name) was crowded
with South Americans. The bravery of the
women was loudly applauded; and in three
days the richest young Spaniard in the city
offered himself to the bold and beautiful
Rose Mac Orne. Her promise to the pilot
was forgotten. The ambitious Scotchwoman
now wears pearls and diamonds in plenty.
Of her sister convicts, some retained their
early vices, and died miserable vagabonds;
others repented and reformed, and became
respectable women.