University of Virginia Library

LETTER LXIX.

To Mr. Montford.

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
achievements—yet all this, my friend, has been endured
and performed by your Colden.

Finding it impossible to move immediately from this
place, and this day's 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 demeanor 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. Rumor 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 endeavored 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; und the humane temper
of one whom I may call my patron, secured 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 through 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 Jedho.
Shortly after I was introduced to one in whom I recognised
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 Tekehatsin
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 melancholy 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 akin, 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 favor depended on the certain
proof of my death.

Cartwright's behavior 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 favorable reception
from Jane; her conduct now exempt from the irresistible
control 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 was
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—some time 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 through 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 steadfast height of
simple and true piety.

Such, my friend, were my inducements to return; but
first, it was necessary to 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 moment's 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