They will think that Harry is with us, and that we are very safe.
Charles then suddenly started up, and I saw Harry struggle violently:—for heaven’s sake, Emilia, walk away a little, said he, Harry is in a fit. I did so, for I was terrified. I turned round a moment, after hearing Charles cry out, Gracious God, Harry is dead, sister.—I was going to speak, but he begged me to compose myself; and then stood silently five or six minutes till he was certain the poor man had breathed his last. Charles took his coat, which lay under Harry’s head, and spread it over the body. While he was doing it he trembled very much, for I held his arm, afraid to go from him, when I saw, for the first time, a corpse. At last a violent flood of tears relieved him, and he took my hand, saying, now it is time to go—we have nothing more to do, for he is indeed dead. He made me get up behind him, as I was afraid to leave him. Oh, Charlotte, it is a dreadful thing to see a fellow-creature die! I shall never forget that evening.
We rode forward with great speed; and I could scarcely believe that we had left Harry behind, it all appeared like a frightful dream. About two hundred yards from the house, we heard two horses in a full gallop, coming towards us. I trembled like a leaf, and dreaded lest some new misfortune awaited us; but how great was my joy when I saw my father himself with Robert. I found they had all been in great confusion on account of the return of my horse, which one of the servants saw quietly feeding on the lawn. I cannot describe to you, my dear, with what fond affection I flew into the arms of my tender mother, who had undergone so much uneasiness on our account; I scarcely thought myself in safety till she pressed me to her heart—how glad I was to see all the people alive round me.
While I related the event, Charles sent a servant to take care of the body. My father said it might have been better had we returned immediately for assistance; yet he believed that he should not have left him in such a situation had he been there himself. I know you will be glad to hear that we are not much the worse for our fright, and that I am sincerely yours.
EMILIA.
P. S. Charles is to set off for Holland next Thursday. He has promised to write to me very often, to make the time appear shorter. I told you before, that I hate these partings; but he will soon return, and bring our old friend William with him, and his mother and sister. Mean time I expect to have your company—do come, or I shall be quite dull.
LETTER XXII.
Charles to Emilia.
Drive away your fears with respect to a sea voyage, my dear sister, for mine has been a very speedy one, though we were overtaken in our passage by a dreadful storm. You know on shore I can talk very philosophically of a storm as highly necessary to purify the air; but on the sea, where the view is almost boundless, and one seems particularly exposed to its fury, I felt myself struck with a solemn kind of dread: it was as if the clouds were pouring with accumulated fury, from the four quarters of the heavens, to burst over our heads. Never did I observe the lightning with so much attention as in that wide extensive prospect. It really was a fearful, but at the same time a beautiful sight; I trembled while I gazed, I do not pretend to deny it; and the distress of some of my fellow-travellers almost infected me with fears that my reason condemned, until I began to think it was a kind of mistrust of the goodness of heaven, which I had so often experienced, when I gave myself up to unreasonable fears. I soon, then, grew more composed, but I was moved with indignation when I heard the foolish jests of two gay young fellows after the storm was over; for it appeared to me almost impious to mock at so awful an appearance, in which God made his almighty power very manifest.
When the waves began to subside, I viewed with reverence the wonders of the deep; and asked myself from whence came this lightning and rattling thunder? What causes the clouds, which consist of water, to produce such a tremendous clatter? You know that philosophers have discovered that thunder is only occasioned by the compression of the clouds, and that the lightning is the effect of this concussion. But let us change the subject.
There were amongst the passengers a respectable looking old man. I could not take my eyes off him. He had the appearance of a gentleman, but his clothes were thread-bare; and I found by his conversation that he was a Dutchman. He had laid up for himself but a slender stock of provision: my heart suggested that he must have been unfortunate; and I perceived him several times lost in thought. I endeavoured, without intruding on his sorrows, to engage him in conversation, as he spoke English very well for a foreigner. What he said was so sensible and interesting, that he prejudiced me in favour of the people I was going to visit; in short, none of the passengers pleased me so well as he did; perhaps, because I thought him unhappy; I could think of no one else. I at last drew him into conversation: we talked together during the storm; and I offered some of my provisions to the other passengers, that I might, without seeming to have observed his scanty stock, press him to partake of mine. He then enquired if my parents were living, and, wiping a tear from his eye, he softly said, Happy are they to have such a son! I read the thoughts of his heart, Emilia; I guessed the source of his uneasiness. And you, Sir, replied I, perhaps you have children? Alas! answered he, yes, I have children—I have a son, but he has not a heart like yours; I left him in London: heaven bless him! may he never feel the pangs he has made me endure. I wished to have said something more, but I was afraid he might think my curiosity impertinent, as I was so young; yet I sincerely felt for him. This circumstance threw a damp over my spirits—I cannot bear the idea of those children who are ungrateful to good parents, whom, next to God, they ought to honour. I desired Robert to enquire who he was, but the captain knew nothing more, than that he was an inhabitant of Amsterdam, and in distress, for he had not money sufficient to pay his passage, and offered to leave his small bundle of linen on board, as a security for the payment, while he went on shore to borrow it. No, thought I, that must not be; but how shall I manage the matter? I was in a dreadful dilemma—it would have been almost an affront, if I had offered to make a person of his appearance a present. I went down into the cabin without having taken any resolution. At last I determined, and folded ten guineas in a piece of paper, sealed it, and wrote his name on it, which I had heard accidentally. I then spoke to the captain, who appeared to be a humane man, and requested him to deliver that paper to the gentleman after I had gone on shore, but not to say who gave it to him. The captain seemed pleased, and added, that he carried him over to England some time ago, when he was in a better plight, but that he feared his wild son had distressed him in more ways than one.