Moll Flanders (41 page)

These she put on board in her own name, took his bills of loading for them, and endorsed those bills of loading to my husband, insuring the cargo afterwards in her own name; so that we were provided for all events and for all disasters.

I should have told you that my husband gave her all his own stock of £108, which, as I have said, he had about him in gold, to lay out thus, and I gave her a good sum besides; so that I did not break into the stock which I had left in her hands at all, but after all we had near £200 in money, which was more than enough for our purpose.

In this condition, very cheerful and indeed joyful at being so happily accommodated, we set sail from Bugby’s Hole to Gravesend, where the ship lay about ten days more and where the captain came on board for good and all. Here the captain offered us a civility which indeed we had no reason to expect, namely, to let us go on shore and refresh ourselves upon giving our words that we would not go from him and that we would return peaceably on board again. This was such an evidence of his confidence in us that it overcome my husband, who in a mere principle of gratitude told him as he could not be in any capacity to make a suitable return for such a favour, so he could not think of accepting it, nor could he be easy that the captain should run such a risk. After some mutual civilities I gave my husband a purse, in which was eighty guineas, and he put it into the captain’s hand. “There, Captain,” says he, “there’s part of a pledge for our fidelity; if we deal dishonestly with you on any account, ’tis your own.” And on this we went on shore.

Indeed, the captain had assurance enough of our resolutions to go, for that having made such provision to settle there, it did not seem rational that we would choose to remain here at the peril of life, for such it must have been. In a word, we went all on shore with the captain and supped together in Gravesend, where we were very merry, stayed all night, lay at the house where we supped, and came all very honestly on board again with him in the morning. Here we bought ten dozen bottles of good beer, some wine, some fowls, and such things as we thought might be acceptable on board.

My governess was with us all this while and went round with us into the Downs, as did also the captain’s wife, with whom she went back. I was never so sorrowful at parting with my own mother as I was at parting with her, and I never saw her more. We had a fair easterly wind the third day after we came to the Downs, and we sailed from thence the 10th of April. Nor did we touch any more at any place till, being driven on the coast of Ireland by a very hard gale of wind, the ship came to an anchor in a little bay near a river whose name I remember not, but they said the river came down from Limerick and that it was the largest river in Ireland.

Here, being detained by bad weather for some time, the captain, who continued the same kind, good-humoured man as at first, took us two on shore with him again. He did it now in kindness to my husband indeed, who bore the sea very ill, especially when it blew so hard. Here we bought again store of fresh provisions, beef, pork, mutton, and fowls, and the captain stayed to pickle up five or six barrels of beef to lengthen out the ship’s store. We were here not above five days when, the weather turning mild, and a fair wind, we set sail again and in two-and-forty days came safe to the coast of Virginia.

When we drew near to the shore, the captain called me to him and told me that he found by my discourse I had some relations in the place and that I had been there before, and so he supposed I understood the custom in their disposing the convict prisoners when they arrived. I told him I did not; and that as to what relations I had in the place, he might be sure I would make myself known to none of them while in the circumstances of a prisoner, and that as to the rest, we left ourselves entirely to him to assist us, as he was pleased to promise us he would do. He told me I must get somebody in the place to come and buy me as a servant, and who must answer for me to the governor of the country if he demanded me. I told him we should do as he should direct; so he brought a planter to treat with him, as it were, for the purchase of me for a servant, my husband not being ordered to be sold, and there I was formally sold to him, and went ashore with him. The captain went with us and carried us to a certain house, whether it was to be called a tavern or not I know not, but we had a bowl of punch there made of rum, etc., and were very merry. After some time the planter gave us a certificate of discharge and an acknowledgement of having served him faithfully, and I was free from him the next morning to go whither I would.

For this piece of service the captain demanded of me 6000 weight of tobacco, which he said he was accountable for to his freighter, and we bought for him, and made him a present of twenty guineas besides, which he was abundantly satisfied with.

It is not proper to enter here into the particulars of what part of the colony of Virginia we settled in for divers reasons; it may suffice to mention that we went into the great river of Potomac, the ship being bound thither; and there we intended to have settled at first, though afterwards we altered our minds.

The first thing I did of moment after having gotten all our goods on shore and placed them in a storehouse, which with a lodging we hired at the small place or village where we landed; I say, the first thing was to inquire after my mother and after my brother (that fatal person who I married as a husband, as I have related at large). A little inquiry furnished me with information that Mrs. ——, that is, my mother, was dead; that my brother, or husband, was alive, and which was worse, I found he was removed from the plantation where I lived, and lived with one of his sons in a plantation just by the place where we landed and had hired a warehouse.

I was a little surprised at first, but as I ventured to satisfy myself that he could not know me, I was not only perfectly easy but had a great mind to see him if it was possible without his seeing me. In order to that, I found out by inquiry the plantation where he lived, and with a woman of the place who I got to help me, like what we call a charwoman, I rambled about towards the place as if I had only a mind to see the country and look about me. At last I came so near that I saw the dwelling-house. I asked the woman whose plantation that was; she said it belonged to such a man, and looking out a little to our right hands, “There,” says she, “is the gentleman that owns the plantation, and his father with him.” “What are their Christian names?” said I. “I know not,” said she, “what the old gentleman’s name is, but his son’s name is Humphry; and I believe,” says she, “the father’s is so too.” You may guess, if you can, what a confused mixture of joy and fright possessed my thoughts upon this occasion, for I immediately knew that this was nobody else but my own son by that father she showed me, who was my own brother. I had no mask, but I ruffled my hoods so about my face that I depended upon it that after above twenty years’ absence, and withal not expecting anything of me in that part of the world, he would not be able to know me. But I need not have used all that caution, for he was grown dim-sighted by some distemper which had fallen upon his eyes, and could but just see well enough to walk about and not run against a tree or into a ditch. As they drew near to us I said, “Does he know you, Mrs. Owen?” (So they called the woman.) “Yes,” she said, “if he hears me speak, he will know me; but he can’t see well enough to know me or anybody else”; and so she told me the story of his sight, as I have related. This made me secure, and so I threw open my hoods again and let them pass by me. It was a wretched thing for a mother thus to see her own son, a handsome, comely young gentleman in flourishing circumstances, and durst not make herself known to him and durst not take any notice of him. Let any mother of children that reads this consider it and but think with what anguish of mind I restrained myself; what yearnings of soul I had in me to embrace him and weep over him; and how I thought all my entrails turned within me, that my very bowels moved, and I knew not what to do, as I now know not how to express those agonies! When he went from me, I stood gazing and trembling and looking after him as long as I could see him; then, sitting down on the grass just at a place I had marked, I made as if I lay down to rest me, but turned from her and, lying on my face, wept and kissed the ground that he had set his foot on.

I could not conceal my disorder so much from the woman but that she perceived it and thought I was not well, which I was obliged to pretend was true; upon which she pressed me to rise, the ground being damp and dangerous, which I did, and walked away.

As I was going back again, and still talking of this gentleman and his son, a new occasion of melancholy offered itself thus. The woman began, as if she would tell me a story to divert me: “There goes,” says she, “a very odd tale among the neighbours where this gentleman formerly lived.” “What was that?” said I. “Why,” says she, “that old gentleman, going to England when he was a young man, fell in love with a young lady there, one of the finest women that ever was seen here, and married her and brought her over hither to his mother, who was then living. He lived here several years with her,” continued she, “and had several children by her, of which the young gentleman that was with him now was one; but after some time the old gentlewoman, his mother, talking to her of something relating to herself and of her circumstances in England, which were bad enough, the daughter-in-law began to be very much surprised and uneasy; and in short, in examining further into things, it appeared past all contradiction that she, the old gentlewoman, was her own mother and that consequently that son was her own brother, which struck the family with horror and put them into such confusion that it had almost ruined them all. The young woman would not live with him, he for a time went distracted, and at last the young woman went away for England and has never been heard of since.”

It is easy to believe that I was strangely affected with this story, but ’tis impossible to describe the nature of my disturbance. I seemed astonished at the story and asked her a thousand questions about the particulars, which I found she was thoroughly acquainted with. At last I began to inquire into the circumstances of the family, how the old gentlewoman, I mean my mother, died, and how she left what she had; for my mother had promised me very solemnly that when she died, she would do something for me and leave it so as that if I was living, I should, one way or other, come at it without its being in the power of her son, my brother and husband, to prevent it. She told me she did not know exactly how it was ordered, but she had been told that my mother had left a sum of money, and had tied her plantation for the payment of it, to be made good to the daughter if ever she could be heard of, either in England or elsewhere; and that the trust was left with this son, who we saw with his father.

This was news too good for me to make light of, and you may be sure filled my heart with a thousand thoughts, what course I should take, and in what manner I should make myself known, or whether I should ever make myself known or no.

Here was a perplexity that I had not indeed skill to manage myself in, neither knew I what course to take. It lay heavy upon my mind night and day. I could neither sleep or converse, so that my husband perceived it, wondered what ailed me, and strove to divert me, but it was all to no purpose. He pressed me to tell him what it was troubled me, but I put it off till at last, importuning me continually, I was forced to form a story which yet had a plain truth to lay it upon too. I told him I was troubled because I found we must shift our quarters and alter our scheme of settling, for that I found I should be known if I stayed in that part of the country; for that my mother being dead, several of my relations were come into that part where we then was, and that I must either discover myself to them, which in our present circumstances was not proper on many accounts, or remove; and which to do I knew not, and that this it was that made me melancholy.

He joined with me in this, that it was by no means proper for me to make myself known to anybody in the circumstances in which we then were; and therefore he told me he would be willing to remove to any part of the country or even to any other country if I thought fit. But now I had another difficulty, which was that if I removed to another colony, I put myself out of the way of ever making a due search after those things which my mother had left; again, I could never so much as think of breaking the secret of my former marriage to my new husband; it was not a story would bear telling, nor could I tell what might be the consequences of it; it was impossible, too, without making it public all over the country as well who I was as what I now was also.

This perplexity continued a great while and made my spouse very uneasy; for he thought I was not open with him and did not let him into every part of my grievance; and he would often say he wondered what he had done that I would not trust him, whatever it was, especially if it was grievous and afflicting. The truth is, he ought to have been trusted with everything, for no man could deserve better of a wife; but this was a thing I knew not how to open to him, and yet having nobody to disclose any part of it to, the burthen was too heavy for my mind; for, let them say what they please of our sex not being able to keep a secret, my life is a plain conviction to me of the contrary; but be it our sex or the men’s sex, a secret of moment should always have a confidant, a bosom friend to whom we may communicate the joy of it, or the grief of it, be it which it will, or it will be a double weight upon the spirits and perhaps become even insupportable in itself; and this I appeal to human testimony for the truth of.

And this is the cause why many times men as well as women, and men of the greatest and best qualities other ways, yet have found themselves weak in this part, and have not been able to bear the weight of a secret joy or of a secret sorrow, but have been obliged to disclose it, even for the mere giving vent to themselves and to unbend the mind oppressed with the weights which attended it. Nor was this any token of folly at all, but a natural consequence of the thing; and such people, had they struggled longer with the oppression, would certainly have told it in their sleep and disclosed the secret, let it have been of what fatal nature soever, without regard to the person to whom it might be exposed. This necessity of nature is a thing which works sometimes with such vehemency in the minds of those who are guilty of any atrocious villainy, such as a secret murder in particular, that they have been obliged to discover it though the consequence has been their own destruction. Now, though it may be true that the divine justice ought to have the glory of all those discoveries and confessions, yet ’tis as certain that Providence, which ordinarily works by the hands of nature, makes use here of the same natural causes to produce those extraordinary effects.