ABSTRACT
It was one night in the month of November in the year 1779,8 that our good curate and his amiable wife had sat down to regale themselves over a mug of ale and a plate of toasted cheese; when they were suddenly startled by a bright ash of lightning, which was instantly followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. Mrs. Evans was naturally timorous, and more afraid of thunder than of any thing else in the world; and though her husband was not subject to this weakness, yet the uncommon loudness of the peal, and the season of the year when thunder is but a rare phenomenon, hindered him to be altogether at case; especially as it was not long before that a house in the neighbourhood had been set on re by lightning, and much mischief done, though/ the family had the good fortune to escape. But it was not for his house, nor for himself, that his fears were alarmed on this occasion; the morning had been uncommonly ne, and he had taken advantage of it to send Ned as far as Bangor, about nine miles o , on some business he had with the register of the diocese; and Ned, being stout, and unwilling to tire his father’s only horse, had taken an oaken sta in his hand, and trusted to his own legs for the journey; in which indeed his wisdom was as conspicuous as his humanity; for it is certain that his own two were much better and safer to be relied on than the other’s four. Be that as it may, he was not yet come back, though it was long past the hour he had been expected; and as he was not accustomed to stay on any errands, and the night was now set in with all its horrors of storm and of darkness, we may forgive our worthy curate, if he began to be disturbed by some rising fears; which however he/ endeavoured to suppress out of compassion to his wife, who was now in such an agony of terror as could not support itself under any addition. Long did they listen with attentive and expecting ears, hoping to hear the welcome tread of Ned’s active and nimble feet; the ale and the cheese (now cold) were su ered to stand neglected on the table; whilst the good man holding his wife’s le hand in his right, while her head rested on his bosom, spoke not to her, but looked unutterable tenderness and a ection. He was supporting her in this tender attitude, and endeavouring to soothe her fears, when Towser,9 who was Ned’s favorite dog, and was lying on the hearth, set up a loud and melancholy howl; which was presently followed by the
trampling of horses, and the sound of many voices at the gate. Poor Mrs. Evans, who had long been wound up to the highest pitch of terror, could not support this new alarm, and immediately/ fainted in her husband’s arms; who was himself in a condition not much better, bawling in vain to their only maid to come to her mistress’s assistance; but she had long since crept into her bed, terri ed at the thunder, where she lay smothering under the clothes, incapable of hearing, and afraid even to draw her breath. e noise now grew louder, and approached the house, when Mr. Evans distinctly heard Ned’s voice calling for assistance, and begging him to open the door. e agitation the poor man was in is not to be described; his wife still senseless in his arms, and his boy, for aught he knew, about to be murdered at the gate. He had presence of mind however to lay her gently in an arm chair which happily stood by him, and then endeavouring to spring to the door, he unluckily overthrew the table, with his ale and his cheese, and, what was far more unfortunate, the candle, which was extinguished in the fall. All was now darkness and/ confusion, Ned still thundering at the door, and calling on his father. ‘What, in the name of God, has happened to you?’ said he, as he endeavoured to unbolt the lock; ‘Nothing to myself,’ cried Ned, ‘but every thing that is disastrous to two unhappy ladies, one of whom is in my arms.’ ‘ ank God! ank God!’ replied the honest curate, not considering what he said, but rejoiced to nd that Ned at least was safe; when continuing to fumble about the lock, the youth’s patience was exhausted, and driving his foot against the door with all his force, he burst it open with such violence, that it laid the old gentleman sprawling on the oor. Ned then came in, supporting the lady, who was altogether senseless; and nding his father on the ground, ‘My dear Sir,’ said he, ‘I hope I have not hurt you: I heartily beg your pardon; for, on my soul! I meant you no disrespect, but the situation of this unhappy lady must excuse me.’ ‘It does, it does, my dear/ boy, were it ten times worse; I am not hurt, and if I was, the joy of seeing you safe would cure me.’ He now rose from the oor, and groping into the kitchen, discovered Molly in her covert,10 whom he quickly unlodged, and set about endeavouring to recover a light. A candle at length was brought, and discovered a spectacle of sorrow, the extent of which was not known before; Ned, wet to the skin, supporting in his arms a beautiful creature of about seventeen, dressed in a travelling habit of the most elegant fashion: her hair dark as the wing of the raven, was oating all dishevelled, over her lovely bosom, which just heaved with breath; and her cheek all pale as ashes, lay reclined upon his neck; her eyes seemed closed in death; and she was wholly unconscious where she was, or how there, or what had happened. Behind were two postillions bearing in the body of another female, dressed with the same elegance, but advanced in/ years; whilst blood was streaming from a wound which she had received in her breast. Poor Evans stood motionless with horror and astonishment; wholly regardless of his wife, who was now come to herself, but equally entranced with terror and
surprise. At length he found utterance; and clasping his hands together, ‘Oh! Ned,’ he cried, ‘who is this angel you have brought here, and what has befallen her? ‘Alas! Sir,’ said he, ‘I cannot tell – all I know, I shall relate. As I was coming home from Bangor (where, as it now turns out, I was fortunately detained), about a hundred yards beyond the turning to the house, I met a post chaise and four on the turnpike road: it had globes with lights in them, by the glimmering of which I saw it suddenly attacked by two highwaymen on horseback; one of whom stopped the foremost postillion, whilst the other went to the window of the chaise. I soon a er heard a female shriek, when springing/ forward to give them what assistance I could a ord, I was lucky enough to knock the scoundrel at the window down with the oak stick I had in my hand; which the other fellow seeing, immediately quitted the postillion, and discharged a loaded blunderbuss, as I believe, into the chaise. e unfortunate lady whom you see killed, said, ‘Oh God!’ and instantly expired. is angel, whom you now see senseless in my arms, fell into them in this condition. e wicked perpetrators of this horrible act took advantage of the darkness and confusion, and have escaped. e postillions are no way to blame; they behaved as well as lads in their situation could do: they have preserved the trunks and the e ects; and the wretched authors of all this mischief have no other prey but the life of this innocent and unfortunate lady. I trust that the lovely object in my arms has no other hurt but fright, and I rejoice that Providence has so ordered it/ as to bring me to her assistance, and that the misfortune has happened so near the house which can a ord her an asylum in her present comfortless and forlorn situation.’ ‘And I rejoice, too,’ said honest Evans, ‘and I bless my God, who has inspired you with courage and resolution to fear no danger in succouring the distressed, and who has given me this humble habitation to be a comfort and refuge to this fair unfortunate. Go, my dear,’ said he, turning to his wife, who was now wholly recovered, ‘go and see what cordial, or other thing you can nd, that can help to restore her to her senses.’ He now turned to the postillions, who were standing all this time, bearing the body of the murdered lady between them; and having assisted them to dispose it decently on chairs set for the purpose, he desired them to tell him all they knew of the matter. ey said they were wholly ignorant who the ladies were, but they certainly were people of condition – /that they had come from London, and had crossed the ferry at Conway, about four o’clock – that they were on their way to Ireland, of which country they believed they were natives, and wishing to overtake the packet, which sails tomorrow from the Head, they were in haste to get on to Bangor this night; and had therefore, late as it was, taken a chaise and four at Conway for that purpose; that they had come on very well notwithstanding the storm till the highwaymen stopped them – and that all the rest was just as Mr. Edward had described it.
