Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
which, but by this one trial, I see no way of escaping. And oh!
whatever becomes of me, bless my dear parents, and protect poor Mr.
Williams from ruin! for he was happy before he knew me.
Just now, just now! I heard Mrs. Jewkes, who is in her cups, own to the
horrid Colbrand, that the robbing of poor Mr. Williams was a
contrivance of hers, and executed by the groom and a helper, in order
to seize my letters upon him, which they missed. They are now both
laughing at the dismal story, which they little think I overheard—O how
my heart aches! for what are not such wretches capable of! Can you
blame me for endeavouring, through any danger, to get out of such
clutches?
Past eleven o’clock.
Mrs. Jewkes is come up, and gone to bed; and bids me not stay long in
my closet, but come to bed. O for a dead sleep for the treacherous
brute! I never saw her so tipsy, and that gives me hopes. I have tried
again, and find I can get my head through the iron bars. I am now all
prepared, as soon as I hear her fast; and now I’ll seal up these, and
my other papers, my last work: and to thy providence, O my gracious
God! commit the rest.—Once more, God bless you both! and send us a
happy meeting; if not here, in his heavenly kingdom. Amen.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31st days
of my distress.
And distress indeed! For here I am still; and every thing has been
worse and worse! Oh! the poor unhappy Pamela!—Without any hope left,
and ruined in all my contrivances. But, oh! my dear parents, rejoice
with me, even in this low plunge of my distress; for your poor Pamela
has escaped from an enemy worse than any she ever met with; an enemy
she never thought of before, and was hardly able to stand against: I
mean, the weakness and presumption, both in one, of her own mind; which
had well nigh, had not the divine grace interposed, sunk her into the
lowest, last abyss of misery and perdition!
I will proceed, as I have opportunity, with my sad relation: for my pen
and ink (in my now doubly-secured closet) are all I have to employ
myself with: and indeed I have been so weak, that, till yesterday
evening, I have not been able to hold a pen.
I took with me but one shift, besides what I had on, and two
handkerchiefs, and two caps, which my pocket held, (for it was not for
me to encumber myself,) and all my stock of money, which was but five
or six shillings, to set out for I knew not where; and got out of the
window, not without some difficulty, sticking a little at my shoulders
and hips; but I was resolved to get out, if possible. And it was
farther from the leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had sprained
my ancle; and when I had dropt from the leads to the ground, it was
still farther off; but I did pretty well there, at least. I got no hurt
to hinder me from pursuing my intentions. So being now on the ground, I
hid my papers under a rose-bush, and covered them with mould, and there
they still lie, as I hope. Then I hied away to the pond: The clock
struck twelve, just as I got out; and it was a dark misty night, and
very cold; but I felt it not then.
When I came to the pond-side, I flung in my upper-coat, as I had
designed, and my neckhandkerchief, and a round-eared cap, with a knot;
and then with great speed ran to the door, and took the key out of my
pocket, my poor heart beating all the time against my bosom, as if it
would have forced its way through it: and beat it well might! for I
then, too late, found, that I was most miserably disappointed; for the
wicked woman had taken off that lock, and put another on; so that my
key would not open it. I tried, and tried, and feeling about, I found a
padlock besides, on another part of the door. O then how my heart
sunk!—I dropt down with grief and confusion, unable to stir or support
myself, for a while. But my fears awakening my resolution, and knowing
that my attempt would be as terrible for me as any other danger I could
then encounter, I clambered up upon the ledges of the door, and upon
the lock, which was a great wooden one; and reached the top of the door
with my hands; then, little thinking I could climb so well, I made
shift to lay hold on the top of the wall with my hands; but, alas for
me! nothing but ill luck!—no escape for poor Pamela! The wall being
old, the bricks I held by gave way, just as I was taking a spring to
get up; and down came I, and received such a blow upon my head, with
one of the bricks, that it quite stunned me; and I broke my shins and
my ancle besides, and beat off the heel of one of my shoes.
In this dreadful way, flat upon the ground, lay poor I, for I believe
five or six minutes; and then trying to get up, I sunk down again two
or three times; and my left hip and shoulder were very stiff, and full
of pain, with bruises; and, besides, my head bled, and ached grievously
with the blow I had with the brick. Yet these hurts I valued not; but
crept a good way upon my feet and hands, in search of a ladder, I just
recollected to have seen against the wall two days before, on which the
gardener was nailing a nectarine branch that was loosened from the
wall: but no ladder could I find, and the wall was very high. What now,
thought I, must become of the miserable Pamela!—Then I began to wish
myself most heartily again in my closet, and to repent of my attempt,
which I now censured as rash, because it did not succeed.
God forgive me! but a sad thought came just then into my head!—I
tremble to think of it! Indeed my apprehensions of the usage I should
meet with, had like to have made me miserable for ever! O my dear, dear
parents, forgive your poor child; but being then quite desperate, I
crept along, till I could raise myself on my staggering feet; and away
limped I!—What to do, but to throw myself into the pond, and so put a
period to all my griefs in this world!—But, O! to find them infinitely
aggravated (had I not, by the divine grace, been withheld) in a
miserable eternity! As I have escaped this temptation, (blessed be God
for it!) I will tell you my conflicts on this dreadful occasion, that
the divine mercies may be magnified in my deliverance, that I am yet on
this side the dreadful gulf, from which there could have been no
return.
It was well for me, as I have since thought, that I was so maimed, as
made me the longer before I got to the water; for this gave me time to
consider, and abated the impetuousness of my passions, which possibly
might otherwise have hurried me, in my first transport of grief, (on my
seeing no way to escape, and the hard usage I had reason to expect from
my dreadful keepers,) to throw myself in. But my weakness of body made
me move so slowly, that it gave time, as I said, for a little
reflection, a ray of grace, to dart in upon my benighted mind; and so,
when I came to the pond-side, I sat myself down on the sloping bank,
and began to ponder my wretched condition; and thus I reasoned with
myself.
Pause here a little, Pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takest
the dreadful leap; and consider whether there be no way yet left, no
hope, if not to escape from this wicked house, yet from the mischiefs
threatened thee in it.
I then considered; and, after I had cast about in my mind every thing
that could make me hope, and saw no probability; a wicked woman, devoid
of all compassion! a horrid helper, just arrived, in this dreadful
Colbrand! an angry and resenting master, who now hated me, and
threatened the most afflicting evils! and that I should, in all
probability, be deprived even of the opportunity, I now had before me,
to free myself from all their persecutions!—What hast thou to do,
distressed creature, said I to myself, but throw thyself upon a
merciful God, (who knows how innocently I suffer,) to avoid the
merciless wickedness of those who are determined on my ruin?
And then, thought I, (and oh! that thought was surely of the devil’s
instigation; for it was very soothing, and powerful with me,) these
wicked wretches, who now have no remorse, no pity on me, will then be
moved to lament their misdoings; and when they see the dead corpse of
the unhappy Pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying
breathless at their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their
obdurate heart, which, now, has no place there!—And my master, my angry
master, will then forget his resentments, and say, O, this is the
unhappy Pamela! that I have so causelessly persecuted and destroyed!
Now do I see she preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is
no hypocrite, nor deceiver; but really was the innocent creature she
pretended to be! Then, thought I, will he, perhaps, shed a few tears
over the poor corpse of his persecuted servant; and though he may give
out, it was love and disappointment; and that, perhaps, (in order to
hide his own guilt,) for the unfortunate Mr. Williams, yet will he be
inwardly grieved, and order me a decent funeral, and save me, or rather
this part of me, from the dreadful stake, and the highway interment;
and the young men and maidens all around my dear father’s will pity
poor Pamela! But, O! I hope I shall not be the subject of their ballads
and elegies; but that my memory, for the sake of my dear father and
mother, may quickly slide into oblivion.
I was once rising, so indulgent was I to this sad way of thinking, to
throw myself in: But, again, my bruises made me slow; and I thought,
What art thou about to do, wretched Pamela? How knowest thou, though
the prospect be all dark to thy short-sighted eye, what God may do for
thee, even when all human means fail? God Almighty would not lay me
under these sore afflictions, if he had not given me strength to
grapple with them, if I will exert it as I ought: And who knows, but
that the very presence I so much dread of my angry and designing
master, (for he has had me in his power before, and yet I have
escaped;) may be better for me, than these persecuting emissaries of
his, who, for his money, are true to their wicked trust, and are
hardened by that, and a long habit of wickedness, against compunction
of heart? God can touch his heart in an instant; and if this should not
be done, I can then but put an end to my life by some other means, if I
am so resolved.
But how do I know, thought I, that even these bruises and maims that I
have gotten, while I pursued only the laudable escape I had meditated,
may not kindly have furnished me with the opportunity I am now tempted
with to precipitate myself, and of surrendering up my life, spotless
and unguilty, to that merciful Being who gave it!
Then, thought I, who gave thee, presumptuous as thou art, a power over
thy life? Who authorised thee to put an end to it, when the weakness of
thy mind suggests not to thee a way to preserve it with honour? How
knowest thou what purposes God may have to serve, by the trials with
which thou art now exercised? Art thou to put a bound to the divine
will, and to say, Thus much will I bear, and no more? And wilt thou
dare to say, That if the trial be augmented and continued, thou wilt
sooner die than bear it?
This act of despondency, thought I, is a sin, that, if I pursue it,
admits of no repentance, and can therefore hope no forgiveness.—And
wilt thou, to shorten thy transitory griefs, heavy as they are, and
weak as thou fanciest thyself, plunge both body and soul into
everlasting misery! Hitherto, Pamela, thought I, thou art the innocent,
the suffering Pamela; and wilt thou, to avoid thy sufferings, be the
guilty aggressor? And, because wicked men persecute thee, wilt thou fly
in the face of the Almighty, and distrust his grace and goodness, who
can still turn all these sufferings to benefits? And how do I know, but
that God, who sees all the lurking vileness of my heart, may have