9. CHAPTER IX.
The day that succeeded Wilson's departure was to
me the most melancholy of any I had spent during my
captivity. I sat the whole day musing upon his last
words and revolved a thousand plans in my mind, as favourable
to his designs, and as often rejected them as futile.
I could think of no plan he could fall on without
endangering his own safety—he cannot force the doors
without assistance, and that he will not get, for these
Spaniards though cruel have a high sense of honour.[1]
No alteration distinguished my treatment after Wilson
left me. I was attended in the same manner and furnished
as heretofore.
I now lamented more than ever the absence of my
friend Dennis, of whose company we had been deprived
for several months; he had been superceded by another
keeper—in fact, he never attended us regularly after we
regained our health, but generally called to see us once
or twice a week. We often enquired of our keeper what
had become of him but he could give us no information
on the subject. The Intendant had called a few times to
see us, but I never saw Leanora after the night on which
she brought us the papers.
On the fourth night after Wilson's release, about midnight
my door began to rattle and shook frightfully and
finally flew open and Wilson entered in disguise: “follow
me, quick,” said he. I flew after him as quick as
lightning, and in a few minutes we gained the street.
Wilson ran with great swiftness, so that it was with difficulty
I kept up with him for about two hundred yards,
when we met with an obstacle which at once blasted all
our hopes. The patrole was going the rounds immediately
before us and a light blazing near them; running
at the rate we did, we were almost upon them before we
made the discovery. We had no possibility of passing
them, and all the chance left us was to scale a high wall
to our left, which we attempted.
Wilson proved successful, but I was discovered and
seized just as I had gained the top of the wall. The patrole
calling in assistance, I was immediately bound and put
under guard until morning. I was questioned by these
people as to my name, country, and business; but although
I understood them perfectly, (having learned the
language) I made them no answer.
In the morning it was discovered who I was, and the
whole city was in an uproar, the police officers were enraged,
I was carried before the audiance and interrogated
respecting my escape out of prison. To their questions
I made no answer. I was then put to the torture
to extort confession, and suffered as much as I ever expect
to suffer this side of the grave, without betraying
my friend. I was now conveyed to my old dungeon,
which was dark and dismal enough.
Seneca says, “a wise man stands upright under any
weight,” but Seneca himself would have yielded to anguish
like mine. I lay on a damp cold floor, bruised
and mangled, friendless, cheerless, and comfortless,
without light or sustenance, or even a drop of water!
All this, added to my fears for Wilson's safety—distraction
harrowed my soul! How welcome would death have
been to me at that moment! But I draw a veil over this
appalling picture, which even at this distance of time
chills my heart. I passed that and the succeeding day
without food or water.
At night I was visited by a man not quite so savage
looking as his fellow-tormentors, one whom I had never
seen before, he brought me some coarse bread and some
water, and setting it near where I lay, was going off
without saying a word.—“And can you leave me thus:”
said I, addressing him in the Spanish language. “You
are a man, can you not feel for the distress of a fellowman?”
Finding him disposed to listen I appealed to his sympathy
with all the eloquence I could summon to my aid.
I pulled out my watch and purse, “here friend,” said I,
“take these, it is all my wealth. I have, no use for them,
you are welcome to them, and leave me the lamp.” He
stood some time and viewed me in silence, and at length
replied that be could not, and was turning to go out.—
“Oh!” said I, “if you do nothing else, stay with me
awhile and cheer me with your company.” He stopped,
and after musing some moments set the lamp down. I
offered him the watch, but he put it from him and withdrew.
I was now comparatively happy, for on looking round
my old apartment I discovered the books I received from
Leanora, also the ink, pens, and paper: and there stood
the bottle of oil too, in the very same place I left it two
years before! The books were covered with mould, and
were rotten, but the leaves were fresh and sound.
It may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, that
time reconciles us to all things, and yet in the first moments
of calamity nothing appears more impossible. Seneca
and the new testament by turns contributed, in a
great measure, to reconcile me to my fate. Had it not
been for my fears on Wilson's account, I might have
spent my time tolerably, but my liberty and perhaps
my life depended upon his safety.
I continued in this dungeon about sixteen weeks without
any alteration in my treatment, being visited once
every day by the same keeper, who was by no means sociable
or disposed to conversation. In all this time I
never once heard or saw any thing of my friends, Leanora
and Dennis. I was, for their sakes, afraid to make
any enquiries after them lest it might awaken suspicion.
At the end of this time, as near as I calculated, my
keeper brought a bottle of wine and a cold fowl, he sat
them down and retired as usual. After he left me I
drank part of the wine and proceeded to tear the fowl
to pieces—when lo! a letter was concealed on the inside!
—It ran thus:
“Your friend is still here, he has been with me often.
He is disguised in the habit of an Indian, and has two
fleet horses ready, and now the nights being dark, you
may expect him. Heaven grant you may get safe to
your country, where you will sometimes deign to think
of
I did not venture to indulge in that joy which this circumstance
might reasonably be supposed to produce, for
though I had something to hope I had much to fear. But
the letter threw me into such an agitation of conflicting
ideas, that I found it impossible to confine them to any
one object, and I passed the day in great perturbation.
When night came I never attempted to sleep, but with my
eyes on the watch. I counted the tardy minutes.
I scarcely allowed myself to breathe that I might catch
the first sound of Wilson's approach. The next night
was passed still more unpleasant; but on the following,
about midnight, I heard the keys turning, and Wilson,
though I hardly knew him, entered my prison! I was
ready, and without speaking a word followed him out;
we wound our way through a narrow alley until we
came to a large house: Wilson tapped gently at the door,
it was opened by Leanora, who without waiting to salute
us turned bastily round and stepped into another room.
Dennis followed her out, “Don't delay a moment,' said
she, `Dennis will conduct you,” and giving each of us
her hand, beckoned us to proceed.
We crossed a garden and came to a small gate. Dennis
opened the gate: it led into a narrow alley which turned
to the left. Pursuing this some distance, we passed several
gates and windings, through which Dennis conducted
us, and finally led to a house in a remote part of the
city. Dennis knocked at the door, which was opened
by an Indian, who was equipped for riding.
“Come on:” said he, and leading the way, we soon
arrived at an enclosure where stood three horses well
caparisoned. He mounted one and directed us to do the
same. After squeezing the offered hand of Dennis, and
sending a grateful message to his mistress, we followed
our conductor.
