The people were in bed, in another room, but a man looked out, and asked what I wanted. "I'm a nun," said I. "I've run away from the Grey Nunnery, and they're after me. Hide me, O hide me, and God will bless you!" As I spoke he put out his hand and opened the cellar door. "Here," said he, "run down cellar, I'll be with you in a moment." I obeyed, and he struck a light and followed. Pointing to a place where he kept ashes, he said hastily, "Crawl in there." There was not a moment to lose, for before he had covered up my hiding place, a loud knock was heard upon the front door. Having extinguished his light, he ran up stairs, and opened the door with the appearance of having just left his bed. "Who is here?" he asked, "and what do you want this time of night?" One of them replied, "We are in search of a nun, and are very sure she came in here?" "Well gentlemen," said he, "walk in, and see for yourselves. If she is here, you are at liberty to find her." Lighting a candle, he proceeded to guide them over the house, which they searched until they were satisfied. They then came down cellar, and I gave up all hope of escape. Still, I resolved never to be taken alive. I could strangle myself, and I would do it, rather than suffer as I did before. At that moment I could truly say with the inspired penman, with whose language I have since become familiar, "my soul chooseth strangling and death rather than life."
They looked all around me, and even into the place where I lay concealed, but they did not find me. At length I heard them depart, and so great was my joy, I could hardly restrain my feelings within the bounds of decorum. I felt as though I must dance and sing, shout aloud or leap for joy at my great deliverance. I am sure I should have committed some extravagant act had not the gentleman at that moment called me up, and told me that my danger was by no means past. This information so dashed my cup of bliss that I was able to drink it quietly.
He gave me some refreshment, and as soon as safety would permit, saddled his horse, and taking me on behind him, carried me six miles to another boat, put me on board, and paid the captain three dollars to carry me to Laprairie. On leaving me, he gave me twenty-five cents, and said, "you'll be caught if you go with the other passengers." The captain said he could hide me and no one know that I was on board, but himself. He led me to the end of the boat, and put me upon a board over the horses. He fixed a strong cord for me to hold on by, and said, "you must be careful and not fall down, for the horses would certainly kill you before you could be taken out." The captain was very kind to me and when I left him, gave me twenty-five cents, and some good advice. He said I must hurry along as fast as possible, for it was Jubilee, and the priests would all be in church at four o'clock. He also advised me not to stop in any place where a Romish priest resided, "for," said he, "the convent people have, undoubtedly, telegraphed all over the country giving a minute description of your person, and the priests will all be looking for you."
Two days I travelled as fast as my strength would allow, when I came to Sorel, which was on the other side of the river. Here I saw several priests on the road coming directly towards me. That they were after me, I had not a doubt. Whither should I flee? To escape by running, was out of the question, but just at that moment my eye fell upon a boat near the shore. I ran to the captain, and asked him to take me across the river. He consented, and, as I expected, the priests took another boat and followed us. Once more I gave myself up for lost, and prepared to spring into the water, if they were likely to overtake me. The man understood my feelings, and exerted all his strength to urge forward the boat. At last it reached the shore, and as he helped me out he whispered, "Now run." I did run, but though my own liberty was at stake I could not help thinking about the consequences to that man if I escaped, for I knew they would make him pay a heavy fine for his benevolent act. A large house stood in my way, and throwing open the door I exclaimed, "Are there any protestants here?" "O, yes," replied a man who sat there, "come with me." He led me to the kitchen, where a large company of Irish men were rolling little balls on a table. I saw the men were Irish and my first thought was, "I am betrayed."
But my fears were soon relieved, for the man exclaimed, "Here is a nun, inquiring for protestants." "Well," replied one who seemed to be a leader, "this is the right place to find them. We are all true Orange men." And then they all began to shout, "Down with the Catholics! Down with the Pope! Death to the Jesuits! etc." I was frightened at their violence, but their leader came to me, and with the kindness of a brother, said, "Do not fear us. If you are a run-away, we will protect you." He bade the men be still and asked if any one was after me. I told him about the priests, and he replied, "you have come to the right place for protection, for they dare not show themselves here. I am the leader of a band of Anti-Catholics, and this is their lodge. You have heard of us, I presume; we are called Orange men. Our object is, to overthrow the Roman Catholic religion, and we are bound by the most fearful oaths to stand by each other, and protect all who seek our aid. The priests dread our influence, for we have many members, and I hope ere long, the power of the Pope in this country will be at an end. I am sure people must see what a cruel, hypocritical set they are."
Before he had done speaking, a man came to the door and said, "The carriage is ready." Another of the men, on hearing this, said, "Come with me, and I'll take you out of the reach of the priests." He conducted me to a carriage, which was covered and the curtains all fastened down. He helped me into it, directing me to sit upon the back seat, where I could not be seen by any one unless they took particular pains. He drove to St. Oars that night, and, if I remember right, he said the distance was twelve miles. When, he left me he gave me twenty-five cents. I travelled all night, and about midnight passed through St. Dennis, But I did not stop until the next morning, when I called at a house and asked for something to eat. The lady gave me some bread and milk, and I again pursued my way.
CHAPTER XXV. — EVENTFUL JOURNEY.
Once more I had the good fortune to obtain a passage across the river in a ferry-boat, and was soon pressing onward upon the other side. Passing through two places called St. Mary's and St. John's, I followed the railroad to a village which I was informed was called Stotsville, [Footnote: I beg leave once more to remind the reader that it is by no means certain that I give these names correctly. Hearing them pronounced, with no idea of ever referring to them again, it is not strange that mistakes of this kind should occur.] a great part of the property being owned by a Mr. Stots, to whom I was at once directed. Here I stopped, and was kindly received by the gentleman and his wife. They offered me refreshments, gave me some articles of clothing, and then he carried me twelve miles, and left me at Rouse's Point, to take the cars for Albany. He gave me six dollars to pay my expenses, and a letter of introduction to a gentleman by the name of Williams, in which he stated all the facts he knew concerning me, and commended me to his care for protection. I think he said Mr. Williams lived on North Pearl street, but I may be mistaken in this and also in some other particulars. As I had no thought of relating these facts at the time of their occurrence, I did not fix them in my mind as I otherwise should have done.