When the door was opened Mr Ramsden’s servant alighted, and went in to deliver his letter to the doctor. The doctor was not at home; he had obtained his furlough of three weeks, and was very busy with his fishing-rod some thirty miles distant; but the keepers were in attendance, and, as Mr Ramsden’s servant stated the insanity of Mrs Forster, and that she had been sent there by his master, they raised no objections to her reception. In a few minutes the servant reappeared with two keepers, who handed Mrs Forster out of the chaise, and conducted her to a receiving-room, where Mrs Forster waited some minutes in expectation of the appearance of Doctor Beddington. In the mean time, Mr Ramsden’s servant, having no farther communication to make, left the letter for Doctor Beddington, and returned in the chaise to Overton.

  After a quarter of an hour had elapsed, Mrs Forster inquired of one of the keepers, who had, much to her annoyance, taken a chair close to her, whether the doctor intended to come.

  “He’ll come by-and-bye, good woman. How do you feel yourself now?”

  “Very cold — very cold, indeed,” replied Mrs Forster, shivering.

  “That’s what the poor brutes always complain of — ar’nt it, Jim?” observed another keeper, who had just entered. “Where be we to stow her.”

  “I sent Tom to get Number 14 ready.”

  “Why, you don’t think that I’m mad!” cried Mrs Forster, with terror.

  “So, softly — so — so,” said the keeper next to her, patting her, as he would soothe a fractious child.

  The violence of Mrs Forster, when she discovered that she was considered as a lunatic, fully corroborated to the keepers the assertion of Mr Ramsden’s servant; but we must not dwell upon the scene which followed. After an ineffectual struggle, Mrs Forster found herself locked up in Number 14, and left to her own reflections. The previous scenes which had occurred, added to the treatment which she received in the asylum, caused such excitement, that, before the next morning, she was seized with a brain fever, and raved as loudly in her delirium as any of the other unfortunate inmates there incarcerated.

  Chapter Nine.

  Who by repentance is not satisfied,

  Is not of heaven or earth; for these are pleased;

  By penitence the Eternal’s wrath’s appeased.

  Shakespeare.

  Mr Ramsden’s servant returned to Overton, stating that the doctor was not at home, but that he had left Mrs Forster and the letter. The time that Doctor Beddington was to be absent had not been mentioned by the keepers; and Mr Ramsden, imagining that the doctor had probably gone out for the evening, made no further inquiries, as he intended, in a day or two, to call and bring Mrs Forster back to her own house. On the third day of her removal he set off for the asylum; and when he discovered the situation of Mrs Forster, he bitterly repented that he had been persuaded to a step which threatened such serious results. To remove her was impossible; to assert to the keepers that she was in sound mind, would have been to commit himself; he therefore withdrew his letter to Doctor Beddington, who was not expected home for a fortnight, and with a heavy heart returned to Overton. Miss Dragwell was as much shocked when she was informed of the unfortunate issue of her plot; and made a resolution, to which she adhered, never to be guilty of another practical joke.

  In the mean time Newton Forster had made every despatch, and returned to Overton with the cargo of shingle a few days after his mother’s incarceration. He had not been ten minutes on shore before he was made acquainted with the melancholy history of her (supposed) madness and removal to the asylum. He hastened home, where he found his father in a profound melancholy: he received Newton with a flood of tears, and appeared to be quite lost in his state of widowhood. The next morning Newton set off for the asylum, to ascertain the condition of his mother. He was admitted; found her stretched on a bed, in a state of delirium, raving in her fever, and unconscious of his presence. The phrenzy of his mother being substantiated by what he had witnessed, and by the assurances of the keepers, to whom he made a present of half his small finances, to induce them to treat her with kindness, Newton returned to Overton, where he remained at home shut up with his father. In a few days notice was given by the town-crier, that the remaining stock of Mr Nicholas Forster, optician, was to be disposed of by public auction.

  The fact was, that Nicholas Forster, like many other husbands, although his wife had been a source of constant annoyance, had become so habituated to her, that he was miserable now that she was gone. Habit is more powerful than even love; and many a married couple continue to live comfortably together long after love has departed, from this most binding of all human sensations. Nicholas determined to quit Overton; and Newton, who perceived that his father’s happiness was at stake, immediately acquiesced in his wish. When Nicholas Forster resolved to leave the town where he had so long resided, he had no settled plans for the future; the present idea to remove from the scene connected with such painful associations, was all which occupied his thoughts. Newton, who presumed that his father had some arranged plan, did not attempt to awaken him from his profound melancholy, to inquire into his intentions; and Nicholas had never given the subject one moment of his thought. When all was ready, Newton inquired of his father, in what manner he intended they should travel?— “Why, outside the coach will be the cheapest, Newton; and we have no money to spare. You had better take our places to-night.”

  “To what place, father?” inquired Newton.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Newton,” replied Nicholas, as if just awoke.

  This answer produced a consultation; and after many pros and cons, it was resolved that Nicholas should proceed to Liverpool, and settle in that town. The sloop commanded by Newton was found defective in the stern port; and as it would take some little while to repair her, Newton had obtained leave for a few days to accompany his father on his journey. The trunk picked up at sea, being too cumbrous, was deposited with the articles of least value, in the charge of Mr Dragwell; the remainder was taken away by Newton, until he could find a more secure place for their deposit. On their arrival at Liverpool, with little money and no friends, Nicholas rented a small shop; and Newton having extended his leave of absence to the furthest, that he might contribute to his father’s comfort, returned to Overton, to resume the command of the sloop. The first object was to call at the asylum, where he was informed that his mother was much less violent, but in so weak a state that he could not be admitted. Doctor Beddington had not returned; but a medical gentleman, who had been called in during his absence, stated to Newton, that he had no doubt if his mother should recover from her present state of exhaustion, that her reason would be restored. Newton returned to Overton with a lightened heart, and the next day sailed in the sloop for Bristol. Contrary winds detained him more than a fortnight on his passage. On his arrival, his cargo was not ready, and Newton amused himself by walking about the town and its environs. At last his cargo was on board; and Newton, who was most anxious to ascertain the fate of his mother, made all haste to obtain his clearance and other papers from the Custom-house. It was late in the evening before he had settled with the house to which the sloop had been consigned; but, as the wind and tide served, and there was a bright moon, he resolved to weigh that night. With his papers carefully buttoned in his coat, he was proceeding to the boat at the jetty, when he was seized by two men, who rushed upon him from behind. He hardly had time to look round to ascertain the cause, when a blow on the head stretched him senseless on the ground.

  Now, my readers may probably feel some little distress at the misfortune of Newton, and have some slight degree of curiosity to know the grounds of this severe treatment. I, on the contrary, am never more pleased than when I find my principal character in a state of abeyance, and leave him so with the greatest indifference, because it suits my convenience. I have now an opportunity of returning to Mrs Forster, or any other of the parties who act a subordinate part in my narrative; and, as Newton is down on the ground, and hors de combat, why there let him lie — until I want him again.

  Doctor Beddington returned home long before the recovery of Mrs Forster from her severe attack. As it may be presumed, he found her perfectly rational; but still he had no doubt of the assertions of his keepers, that she was insane at the time that she was sent to the asylum by Mr Ramsden. The latter gentleman kept aloof until the issue of Mrs Forster’s malady should be ascertained: if she recovered, it was his intention to call upon Doctor Beddington and explain the circumstances; if she died, he had determined to say nothing about it. Mrs Forster’s recovery was tedious; her mind was loaded with anxiety, and, what was infinitely more important, with deep remorse. The supposed death of Mr Spinney had been occasioned by her violence, and she looked forward with alarm, as great as the regret with which she looked back upon her former behaviour. When she called to mind her unfeeling conduct towards her husband — the many years of bitterness she had created for him, her infraction of the marriage vow — the solemn promise before God to love, honour, and obey, daily and hourly violated, — her unjust hatred of her only son, — her want of charity towards others, — all her duties neglected, — swayed only by selfish and malignant passions, — with bitter tears of contrition and self-abasement, she acknowledged that her punishment was just. With streaming eyes, with supplicating hands and bended knees, she implored mercy and forgiveness of Him, to whom appeal is never made in vain. Passion’s infuriate reign was over — her heart was changed!

  To Doctor Beddington she made neither complaint nor explanation. All she wished was to quit the asylum as soon as she was restored to health, and prove to her husband, by her future conduct, the sincerity of her reformation. When she became convalescent, by the advice of Doctor Beddington, she walked in a garden appropriated for the exercise of the more harmless inmates of the asylum. The first day that he went out she sat down upon a bench near to the keepers, who were watching those who were permitted to take the air and exercise, and overheard their discourse, which referred to herself.

  “Why, what was it as made her mad — d’ye know, Tom?”

  “They say she’s been no better all her life,” replied the other; “a rat would not live in the house with her: at last, in one of her tantrums, she nearly murdered old Spinney, the clerk at Overton. The report went out that he was dead; and conscience, I suppose, or summut of that kind, run away with her senses.”

  “Oh, he warn’t killed, then?”

  “No, no: I seed him and heard him too, Sunday fore last, when I went to call upon old father; I was obligated to go to church, the old gemman’s so remarkable particular.”

  “And what’s become of her husband, and that handsome young chap, her son?”

  “I don’t know, nor nobody else either. The old man, who was as worthy an old soul as ever breathed (more shame to the old faggot, for the life she led him!) grew very unhappy and melancholy, and would not stay in the place: they disposed of every thing, and both went away together; but nobody knows where the old man is gone to.”

  “And the young un?”

  “Oh, he came back and took command of the sloop. He was here twice, to see how his mother was. Poor lad! it was quite pitiful to see how unhappy he was about the old catamaran. He give me and Bill a guinea apiece, to be kind to her; but, about three days back, the sloop came into the harbour without him: they suppose that he fell off the jetty at Bristol and was drowned for he was seen coming down to the boat; and, a’ter that, they never heard no more about him.”

  “Well, but Tom, the old woman’s all right now?”

  “Yes, she’s right enough; but, where be her husband, and where be her son? she’ll never plague them any more, that’s pretty sartain.”

  The feelings of Mrs Forster at the finale of this discourse are not easy to be portrayed. One heavy load was off her mind — Mr Spinney was not dead; but how much had she also to lament? She perceived that she had been treacherously kidnapped by those who detested her conduct, but had no right to inflict the punishment. The kind and feeling conduct of her husband and of her son, — the departure of the one, and supposed death of the other, were blows which nearly overwhelmed her. She tottered back to her cell in a state of such extreme agitation, as to occasion a return of fever, and for many days she was unable to quit her bed.

  Chapter Ten.

  “When Britain first at Heaven’s command

  Arose from out the azure main,

  This was the charter, the charter of the land,

  And guardian angels sung the strain —

  Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves,

  For Britons never shall be slaves.”

  We left Newton Forster senseless on the pavement leading to the quay at Bristol, floored by a rap on the head from a certain person or persons unknown: he did not however remain there long, being hoisted on the shoulders of two stout fellows, dressed in blue jackets and trousers, with heavy clubs in their hands, and a pistol lying perdu between their waistcoats and shirts. These nautical personages tumbled him into the stern-sheets of a boat, as if not at all sorry to rid themselves of his weight and, in a continued state of insensibility, Newton was hoisted up the side of a cutter which lay at anchor about one hundred yards from the shore.

  When Newton recovered his senses, his swimming eyes could just enable him to perceive that something flashed upon them, and in their weak state created a painful sensation. As he became more collected, he discovered that a man was holding a small candle close to them, to ascertain whether the vein which had been opened in his arm had produced the desired effect of restoring him to animation. Newton tried to recollect where he was, and what had occurred; but the attempted exercise of his mental powers was too much, and again threw him into a state of stupor. At last he awoke as if from a dream of death, and looking round, found himself lying on the deck attended by a female, who bathed his forehead.

  “Where am I?” exclaimed Newton.

  “Is it where you are, that you’d want for to know? a’nt ye on board of the Lively cutter, sure? and a’nt you between decks in her, and I looking a’ter ye, honey?”

  “And who are you?”

  “And who am I! Then if I’m not somebody else, I’m Judy Malony, the wife of the boatswain’s mate, and a lawful married woman.”

  “How did I come here?” continued Newton, raising himself on his elbow.

  “You didn’t come at all, honey, you were brought.”

  “Who brought me?”

  “Who brought ye! it was either the gig or the jolly boat; but I wasn’t on deck at the time, so I can’t upon my oath say exactly which.”

  “Then pray can you tell me why I was brought here?” replied Newton.

  “Sure I can guess, bating you don’t know already. It was to sarve your king and your country, like a brave volunteer as you are.”

  “Then I’m impressed?”

  “You may take your Bible oath of it, my jewel, and commit no perjury. It’s a hard rap that ye got, any how; just a hint that ye were wanted: but plase God, if ye live and do well, ‘twill be nothing at all to what we’ll have by-and-bye, all for the honour and glory of ould England.”

  Newton, who during these remarks was thinking of his father’s situation, and the distress he would suffer without his assistance, and then of the state in which he had left his mother, again sank on the deck.

  “Why he’s off again!” muttered Judy Malony; “he’s no countryman of mine, that’s clear as the mud in the Shannon, or he’d never fuss about a rap with a shillelah;” and Judy, lifting up her petticoats first, gained her feet, and walked away forward.

  Newton remained in a state of uneasy slumber until daylight, when he was awakened by the noise of boats coming alongside, and loud talking on deck. All that had passed did not immediately rush into his mind; but his arm tied up with the bandage, and his hair matted, and his face stiff with the coagulated blood, soon brought to his recollection the communication of Judy Malony, that he had been impressed. The ‘tween decks of the cutter appeared deserted, unless indeed there were people in the hammocks slung over his head; and Newton, anxious to obtain farther information, crawled under the hammocks to the ladder, and went up on deck.

  About twenty sailors, well armed, were busy handing out of the boats several men whom they had brought on board, who were ordered aft by the officer in command. Newton perceived that most of them had not received much better treatment than he had on the preceding evening; some were shockingly disfigured, and were still bleeding profusely.

  “How many have you altogether, Mr Vincent?” said the lieutenant to a stout master’s mate with a tremendous pair of whiskers, which his loose handkerchief discovered to join together at his throat.

  “Seventeen, sir.”

  “And how many had we before? — twenty-six, I think.”

  “Twenty-seven, sir, with the young chap I sent on board last night.”

  “Well, that will do; it’s quite as many as we can stow away, or take care of: — pass them all down below, forward; take up the ladder, and put on the grating until we are out of the harbour. As soon as the jolly-boat comes on board we’ll up anchor.”

  “She’ll be off directly, sir; I ordered her to wait for Johnson and Merton, who did not come down with us.”

  “Do you think they have given you the slip?”

  “I should think not, sir. Here is the jolly-boat coming off.”

  “Well, pass the men forward, and secure them,” replied the lieutenant. “Overhaul the boat’s falls, and bring to with the windlass.”

  Newton thought this a good opportunity to state that he was the master of a vessel, and, as such, protected from the impress; he therefore walked over to the lieutenant, addressing him, “I beg your pardon, sir—”