by Daniel Defoe
then quite outof sight, she let him easily know whereabouts he rode, only she couldnot name the captain. However, he gave her such directions afterwardsthat, in short, Amy, who was an indefatigable girl, found him out. Itseems he had not changed his name, not supposing any inquiry would bemade after him here; but, I say, Amy found him out, and went boldly tohis quarters, asked for him, and he came out to her immediately.
I believe I was not more confounded at my first seeing him at Meudonthan he was at seeing Amy. He started and turned pale as death. Amybelieved if he had seen her at first, in any convenient place for sovillainous a purpose, he would have murdered her.
But he started, as I say above, and asked in English, with anadmiration, "What are you?" "Sir," says she, "don't you know me?""Yes," says he, "I knew you when you were alive; but what are younow?--whether ghost or substance I know not." "Be not afraid, sir, ofthat," says Amy; "I am the same Amy that I was in your service, and donot speak to you now for any hurt, but that I saw you accidentallyyesterday ride among the soldiers; I thought you might be glad to hearfrom your friends at London." "Well, Amy," says he then (having a littlerecovered himself), "how does everybody do? What! is your mistresshere?" Thus they begun:--
_Amy._ My mistress, sir, alas! not the mistress you mean; poorgentlewoman, you left her in a sad condition.
_Gent._ Why, that's true, Amy; but it could not be helped; I was in asad condition myself.
_Amy._ I believe so, indeed, sir, or else you had not gone away as youdid; for it was a very terrible condition you left them all in, that Imust say.
_Gent._ What did they do after I was gone?
_Amy._ Do, sir! Very miserably, you may be sure. How could it beotherwise?
_Gent._ Well, that's true indeed; but you may tell me, Amy, what becameof them, if you please; for though I went so away, it was not because Idid not love them all very well, but because I could not bear to see thepoverty that was coming upon them, and which it was not in my power tohelp. What could I do?
_Amy._ Nay, I believe so indeed; and I have heard my mistress say manytimes she did not doubt but your affliction was as great as hers,almost, wherever you were.
_Gent._ Why, did she believe I was alive, then?
_Amy._ Yes, sir; she always said she believed you were alive, becauseshe thought she should have heard something of you if you had been dead.
_Gent._ Ay, ay; my perplexity was very great indeed, or else I had nevergone away.
_Amy._ It was very cruel, though, to the poor lady, sir, my mistress;she almost broke her heart for you at first, for fear of what mightbefall you, and at last because she could not hear from you.
_Gent._ Alas, Amy! what could I do? Things were driven to the lastextremity before I went. I could have done nothing but help starve themall if I had stayed; and, besides, I could not bear to see it.
_Amy._ You know, sir, I can say little to what passed before, but I am amelancholy witness to the sad distresses of my poor mistress as long asI stayed with her, and which would grieve your heart to hear them.
[Here she tells my whole story to the time that the parish took off oneof my children, and which she perceived very much affected him; and heshook his head, and said some things very bitter when he heard of thecruelty of his own relations to me.]
_Gent._ Well, Amy, I have heard enough so far. What did she doafterwards?
_Amy._ I can't give you any farther account, sir; my mistress would notlet me stay with her any longer. She said she could neither pay me orsubsist me. I told her I would serve her without any wages, but I couldnot live without victuals, you know; so I was forced to leave her, poorlady, sore against my will; and I heard afterwards that the landlordseized her goods, so she was, I suppose, turned out of doors; for as Iwent by the door, about a month after, I saw the house shut up; and,about a fortnight after that, I found there were workmen at work,fitting it up, as I suppose, for a new tenant. But none of theneighbours could tell me what was become of my poor mistress, only thatthey said she was so poor that it was next to begging; that some of theneighbouring gentlefolks had relieved her, or that else she must havestarved.
Then she went on, and told him that after that they never heard any moreof (me) her mistress, but that she had been seen once or twice in thecity very shabby and poor in clothes, and it was thought she worked withher needle for her bread.
All this the jade said with so much cunning, and managed and humoured itso well, and wiped her eyes and cried so artificially, that he took itall as it was intended he should, and once or twice she saw tears in hiseyes too. He told her it was a moving, melancholy story, and it hadalmost broke his heart at first, but that he was driven to the lastextremity, and could do nothing but stay and see them all starve, whichhe could not bear the thoughts of, but should have pistolled himself ifany such thing had happened while he was there; that he left (me) hiswife all the money he had in the world but L25, which was as little ashe could take with him to seek his fortune in the world. He could notdoubt but that his relations, seeing they were all rich, would havetaken the poor children off, and not let them come to the parish; andthat his wife was young and handsome, and, he thought, might marryagain, perhaps, to her advantage, and for that very reason he neverwrote to her or let her know he was alive, that she might in areasonable term of years marry, and perhaps mend her fortunes; that heresolved never to claim her, because he should rejoice to hear that shehad settled to her mind; and that he wished there had been a law made toempower a woman to marry if her husband was not heard of in so long atime, which time, he thought, should not be above four years, which waslong enough to send word in to a wife or family from any part of theworld.
Amy said she could say nothing to that but this, that she was satisfiedher mistress would marry nobody unless she had certain intelligence thathe had been dead from somebody that saw him buried. "But, alas!" saysAmy, "my mistress was reduced to such dismal circumstances that nobodywould be so foolish to think of her, unless it had been somebody to goa-begging with her."
Amy then, seeing him so perfectly deluded, made a long and lamentableoutcry how she had been deluded away to marry a poor footman. "For he isno worse or better," says she, "though he calls himself a lord'sgentleman. And here," says Amy, "he has dragged me over into a strangecountry to make a beggar of me;" and then she falls a-howling again, andsnivelling, which, by the way, was all hypocrisy, but acted so to thelife as perfectly deceived him, and he gave entire credit to every wordof it.
"Why, Amy," says he, "you are very well dressed; you don't look as ifyou were in danger of being a beggar." "Ay, hang 'em!" says Amy, "theylove to have fine clothes here, if they have never a smock under them.But I love to have money in cash, rather than a chestful of fineclothes. Besides, sir," says she, "most of the clothes I have were givenme in the last place I had, when I went away from my mistress."
Upon the whole of the discourse, Amy got out of him what condition hewas in and how he lived, upon her promise to him that if ever she cameto England, and should see her old mistress, she should not let her knowthat he was alive. "Alas, sir!" says Amy, "I may never come to seeEngland again as long as I live; and if I should, it would be tenthousand to one whether I shall see my old mistress, for how should Iknow which way to look for her, or what part of England she may bein?--not I," says she. "I don't so much as know how to inquire for her;and if I should," says Amy, "ever be so happy as to see her, I would notdo her so much mischief as to tell her where you were, sir, unless shewas in a condition to help herself and you too." This farther deludedhim, and made him entirely open in his conversing with her. As to hisown circumstances, he told her she saw him in the highest preferment hehad arrived to, or was ever like to arrive to; for, having no friends oracquaintance in France, and, which was worse, no money, he neverexpected to rise; that he could have been made a lieutenant to a troopof light horse but the week before, by the favour of an officer in the_gens d'armes_ who was his friend, but that he must have found eightthousand livres to have paid for it to the gentle
man who possessed it,and had leave given him to sell. "But where could I get eight thousandlivres," says he, "that have never been master of five hundred livresready money at a time since I came into France?"
"Oh dear, sir!" says Amy, "I am very sorry to hear you say so. I fancyif you once got up to some preferment, you would think of my oldmistress again, and do something for her. Poor lady," says Amy, "shewants it, to be sure;" and then she falls a-crying again. "It is a sadthing indeed," says she, "that you should be so hard put to it formoney, when you had got a friend to recommend you, and should lose itfor want of money." "Ay, so it was, Amy, indeed," says he; "but what cana stranger do that has neither money or friends?" Here Amy puts in againon my