الفصل الفصل 59 · 第59章
I had now a certainty of life indeed, but with the hard conditions of
being ordered for transportation, which indeed was hard condition in
itself, but not when comparatively considered; and therefore I shall
make no comments upon the sentence, nor upon the choice I was put to.
We shall all choose anything rather than death, especially when ’tis
attended with an uncomfortable prospect beyond it, which was my case.
The good minister, whose interest, though a stranger to me, had
obtained me the reprieve, mourned sincerely for this part. He was in
hopes, he said, that I should have ended my days under the influence of
good instruction, that I should not have been turned loose again among
such a wretched crew as they generally are, who are thus sent abroad,
where, as he said, I must have more than ordinary secret assistance
from the grace of God, if I did not turn as wicked again as ever.
I have not for a good while mentioned my governess, who had during
most, if not all, of this part been dangerously sick, and being in as
near a view of death by her disease as I was by my sentence, was a
great penitent—I say, I have not mentioned her, nor indeed did I see
her in all this time; but being now recovering, and just able to come
abroad, she came to see me.
I told her my condition, and what a different flux and reflux of tears
and hopes I had been agitated with; I told her what I had escaped, and
upon what terms; and she was present when the minister expressed his
fears of my relapsing into wickedness upon my falling into the wretched
companies that are generally transported. Indeed I had a melancholy
reflection upon it in my own mind, for I knew what a dreadful gang was
always sent away together, and I said to my governess that the good
minister’s fears were not without cause. “Well, well,” says she, “but I
hope you will not be tempted with such a horrid example as that.” And
as soon as the minister was gone, she told me she would not have me
discouraged, for perhaps ways and means might be found out to dispose
of me in a particular way, by myself, of which she would talk further
to me afterward.
I looked earnestly at her, and I thought she looked more cheerful than
she usually had done, and I entertained immediately a thousand notions
of being delivered, but could not for my life image the methods, or
think of one that was in the least feasible; but I was too much
concerned in it to let her go from me without explaining herself,
which, though she was very loth to do, yet my importunity prevailed,
and, while I was still pressing, she answered me in a few words, thus:
“Why, you have money, have you not? Did you ever know one in your life
that was transported and had a hundred pounds in his pocket, I’ll
warrant you, child?” says she.
I understood her presently, but told her I would leave all that to her,
but I saw no room to hope for anything but a strict execution of the
order, and as it was a severity that was esteemed a mercy, there was no
doubt but it would be strictly observed. She said no more but this: “We
will try what can be done,” and so we parted for that night.
I lay in the prison near fifteen weeks after this order for
transportation was signed. What the reason of it was, I know not, but
at the end of this time I was put on board of a ship in the Thames, and
with me a gang of thirteen as hardened vile creatures as ever Newgate
produced in my time; and it would really well take up a history longer
than mine to describe the degrees of impudence and audacious villainy
that those thirteen were arrived to, and the manner of their behaviour
in the voyage; of which I have a very diverting account by me, which
the captain of the ship who carried them over gave me the minutes of,
and which he caused his mate to write down at large.
It may perhaps be thought trifling to enter here into a relation of all
the little incidents which attended me in this interval of my
circumstances; I mean, between the final order of my transportation and
the time of my going on board the ship; and I am too near the end of my
story to allow room for it; but something relating to me and my
Lancashire husband I must not omit.
He had, as I have observed already, been carried from the master’s side
of the ordinary prison into the press-yard, with three of his comrades,
for they found another to add to them after some time; here, for what
reason I knew not, they were kept in custody without being brought to
trial almost three months. It seems they found means to bribe or buy
off some of those who were expected to come in against them, and they
wanted evidence for some time to convict them. After some puzzle on
this account, at first they made a shift to get proof enough against
two of them to carry them off; but the other two, of which my
Lancashire husband was one, lay still in suspense. They had, I think,
one positive evidence against each of them, but the law strictly
obliging them to have two witnesses, they could make nothing of it. Yet
it seems they were resolved not to part with the men neither, not
doubting but a further evidence would at last come in; and in order to
this, I think publication was made, that such prisoners being taken,
any one that had been robbed by them might come to the prison and see
them.
I took this opportunity to satisfy my curiosity, pretending that I had
been robbed in the Dunstable coach, and that I would go to see the two
highwaymen. But when I came into the press-yard, I so disguised myself,
and muffled my face up so, that he could see little of me, and
consequently knew nothing of who I was; and when I came back, I said
publicly that I knew them very well.
Immediately it was rumoured all over the prison that Moll Flanders
would turn evidence against one of the highwaymen, and that I was to
come off by it from the sentence of transportation.
They heard of it, and immediately my husband desired to see this Mrs.
Flanders that knew him so well, and was to be an evidence against him;
and accordingly I had leave given to go to him. I dressed myself up as
well as the best clothes that I suffered myself ever to appear in there
would allow me, and went to the press-yard, but had for some time a
hood over my face. He said little to me at first, but asked me if I
knew him. I told him, Yes, very well; but as I concealed my face, so I
counterfeited my voice, that he had not the least guess at who I was.
He asked me where I had seen him. I told him between Dunstable and
Brickhill; but turning to the keeper that stood by, I asked if I might
not be admitted to talk with him alone. He said Yes, yes, as much as I
pleased, and so very civilly withdrew.
As soon as he was gone, I had shut the door, I threw off my hood, and
bursting out into tears, “My dear,” says I, “do you not know me?” He
turned pale, and stood speechless, like one thunderstruck, and, not
able to conquer the surprise, said no more but this, “Let me sit down”;
and sitting down by a table, he laid his elbow upon the table, and
leaning his head on his hand, fixed his eyes on the ground as one
stupid. I cried so vehemently, on the other hand, that it was a good
while ere I could speak any more; but after I had given some vent to my
passion by tears, I repeated the same words, “My dear, do you not know
me?” At which he answered, Yes, and said no more a good while.
After some time continuing in the surprise, as above, he cast up his
eyes towards me and said, “How could you be so cruel?” I did not
readily understand what he meant; and I answered, “How can you call me
cruel? What have I been cruel to you in?” “To come to me,” says he, “in
such a place as this, is it not to insult me? I have not robbed you, at
least not on the highway.”
I perceived by this that he knew nothing of the miserable circumstances
I was in, and thought that, having got some intelligence of his being
there, I had come to upbraid him with his leaving me. But I had too
much to say to him to be affronted, and told him in few words, that I
was far from coming to insult him, but at best I came to condole
mutually; that he would be easily satisfied that I had no such view,
when I should tell him that my condition was worse than his, and that
many ways. He looked a little concerned at the general expression of my
condition being worse than his, but, with a kind smile, looked a little
wildly, and said, “How can that be? When you see me fettered, and in
Newgate, and two of my companions executed already, how can your your
condition be worse than mine?”
“Come, my dear,” says I, “we have a long piece of work to do, if I
should be to relate, or you to hear, my unfortunate history; but if you
are disposed to hear it, you will soon conclude with me that my
condition is worse than yours.” “How is that possible,” says he again,
“when I expect to be cast for my life the very next sessions?” “Yes,”
says I, “’tis very possible, when I shall tell you that I have been
cast for my life three sessions ago, and am under sentence of death; is
not my case worse than yours?”
Then indeed, he stood silent again, like one struck dumb, and after a
while he starts up. “Unhappy couple!” says he. “How can this be
possible?” I took him by the hand. “Come, my dear,” said I, “sit down,
and let us compare our sorrows. I am a prisoner in this very house, and
in much worse circumstances than you, and you will be satisfied I do
not come to insult you, when I tell you the particulars.” And with this
we sat down together, and I told him so much of my story as I thought
was convenient, bringing it at last to my being reduced to great
poverty, and representing myself as fallen into some company that led
me to relieve my distresses by way that I had been utterly unacquainted
with, and that they making an attempt at a tradesman’s house, I was
seized upon for having been but just at the door, the maid-servant
pulling me in; that I neither had broke any lock nor taken anything
away, and that notwithstanding that, I was brought in guilty and
sentenced to die; but that the judges, having been made sensible of the
hardship of my circumstances, had obtained leave to remit the sentence
upon my consenting to be transported.