[Continued from [page 104].]
We have related the bitter disappointment experienced by Colonel Joinly, at being deprived of the means of release from his captivity, and of even obtaining a short respite for the purpose of visiting his family; nor was his sorrow mitigated by any propitious event. Time rolled on, and the evils of his condition seemed rather to increase. The number of the prisoners had accumulated, and their miseries were aggravated by all the possible horrors of the prison house;—unhealthy provisions, foul apartments, and loathsome atmosphere, attended by disease and death.
His own elastic constitution was also rapidly bending beneath his various cares, his incessant labors, the impurities which he breathed, the scenes he witnessed, and gnawing anxieties for his family and his home. At last, in one of his fits of depression, he poured out his whole soul in a letter to his wife. When she received it, it sank into her inmost soul. Accustomed, however, to confine her cares and anxieties to her own breast, she did not impart the substance of her letter to her already depressed and anxious children.
She revolved the subject, however, deeply in her own mind; yet what could she, a woman, do? Even could she devise the means of escape for her husband, she knew him too well to believe that he would take advantage of it. She knew his chivalrous pride; his deep sense of duty; his devotion to the cause of his country and of humanity; and she believed that these mingled feelings would unite to keep him at his post until some arrangement could be made to supply his place, and provide for the miserable sufferers whose only comfort he seemed to be.
We may not say that there was no momentary repining, no rebel suggestions of the heart against the ways of Providence, in these stern events. There were moments when she felt it impossible to be passive. Again and again, in the solitude of her chamber, with clenched hand and flashing eye, she said, “I must do something—I must do something.” It is often easier to rush into some headlong enterprise than to submit with patient dignity to the dark, uncertain course of time; to bow with resignation to the will of Heaven, saying, “Thy will be done.”
This beautiful and lofty heroism is however no uncommon grace of woman; and Madam Joinly, after the storm of feeling and affection had subsided into a calm, sat down and wrote a cheering, submissive, and consolatory letter to her husband. When she had nearly completed it, she left it, marked with her tears, upon the table in the library, and went out of the room, intending soon to return.
She was, however, detained; and during her absence, her eldest son, whose name was Worthington, came accidentally into the room. His eye fell upon the two letters, and he hastily ran them over. He had known something before of his father’s anxiety and his mother’s sorrow, but the whole force of their distress was now for the first time unfolded to him. He was a youth of quick perception, great self-dependence, and firm resolution. Saying nothing to any member of the family, and treasuring the knowledge he had acquired in his own heart, he strode rapidly down to the river, leaped into a light boat, and pushed off from the shore. Applying the oars, he bent them with his vigorous strokes, and the little shallop glided out like an arrow upon the broad water of the sound.
The sea was smooth, and young Joinly, as if he could now breathe freely, drew in his oars, and permitted the boat to float at the will of the waves. He then gave himself up to thought. The resolution to do something was speedily fixed; but what should he attempt? Should he go to General Washington, and beg for his interference? Should he proceed to New York, and throw himself at the feet of the British general, and solicit the liberation of his parent? Should he proceed to the scene of his father’s captivity, and devise the means of his escape?
These suggestions were, one after another, considered and rejected, partly as likely to prove ineffectual, but more, perhaps, because they did not recommend themselves to the young man’s somewhat bold and daring humor. He was, indeed, wrought up to such a pitch of excitement, that his heart found relief in contemplating the most hazardous enterprises.
While he was ruminating over his plans, a vessel from the eastward hove in sight. As her tall masts and snowy canvass rose to view over the bending water, the British flag became visible, and young Joinly soon discovered that she was a British frigate of considerable size. With a slow and stealing progress, she advanced directly toward his position. He waited till she was within the distance of two or three miles, when he applied his oar and swept up toward the mouth of the river.