t did not affect me much.
I had made up my mind that I should suffer, and had to a degree weaned
myself from life. I considered how all hopes of my ever enjoying the
delight of family and kindred ties had flown away, and I looked with
disgust upon my career as a privateer's-man--a career of recklessness
and blood, so denounced by the sacred writings which I had before me.
I reflected that if I were to leave the prison, I should have no
other means of sustenance, and should probably return to my former
life, and load my soul with a still heavier weight of crime, and,
although I felt an occasional bitter pang at the idea of leaving the
world so young--a world which I could not hate--still I was, after a
few hours' communing and reflection, resigned to my fate, and
exclaimed with sincerity, "Thy will be done." I think, Madam, you may
have observed that, sinful as I was, my whole career proved that I was
not a hardened sinner. Good was not driven entirely out of me, but was
latent, notwithstanding all my excesses, and the bad company which had
influenced me.

I now prayed, and prayed earnestly, and I thought that my prayers were
heard. Such was my state of mind on the day before the one appointed
for my execution, when the gaoler and one of the sheriff's officers
came into my cell, accompanied by the Roman Catholic priest whom I
have before mentioned. I perceived by the countenance of the gaoler,
who was a humane man, that he had no unpleasant news. The sheriff's
officer delivered to him an order for my liberation, and to my
astonishment I was told by the gaoler that my pardon was signed, and
that I was free. I was stupified with the intelligence, and I stood
without making any reply. The priest waved his hand to them as a hint
to leave the room, which they both did. As they left, my eyes followed
them, and then I cast them down upon the Bible which lay before me on
the table, and slipping down from the bench upon my knees, I covered
up my face and prayed. My prayers were confused--I hardly knew what I
said--but I knew that they were intended to be grateful to Heaven for
my unexpected preservation from an ignominious death. After a time, I
rose up, and perceived the priest, whose presence I had till then
forgotten. He had been kneeling at the other side of the table praying
with me, and I am sure for me--and he was rising up just after I had.

"I trust, Captain Elrington," said he, after a pause, "that the peril
you have