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'One night I had been awakened by her yells- (since the medical men
had pronounced her mad, she had, of course, been shut up)- it was a
fiery West Indian night; one of the description that frequently
precede the hurricanes of those climates. Being unable to sleep in
bed, I got up and opened the window. The air was like
sulphur-steams- I could find no refreshment anywhere. Mosquitoes
came buzzing in and hummed sullenly round the room; the sea, which I
could hear from thence, rumbled dull like an earthquake- black
clouds were casting up over it; the moon was setting in the waves,
broad and red, like a hot cannon-ball- she threw her last bloody
glance over a world quivering with the ferment of tempest. I was
physically influenced by the atmosphere and scene, and my ears were
filled with the curses the maniac still shrieked out; wherein she
momentarily mingled my name with such a tone of demon-hate, with
such language!- no professed harlot ever had a fouler vocabulary
than she: though two rooms off, I heard every word- the thin
partitions of the West India house opposing but slight obstruction
to her wolfish cries.
'"This life," said I at last, "is hell: this is the air- those
are the sounds of the bottomless pit! I have a right to deliver myself
from it if I can. The sufferings of this mortal state will leave me
with the heavy flesh that now cumbers my soul. Of the fanatic's
burning eternity I have no fear: there is not a future state worse
than this present one- let me break away, and go home to God!"
'I said this whilst I knelt down at, and unlocked a trunk which
contained a brace of loaded pistols: I meant to shoot myself. I only
entertained the intention for a moment; for, not being insane, the
crisis of exquisite and unalloyed despair, which had originated the
wish and design of self-destruction, was past in a second.
'A wind fresh from Europe blew over the ocean and rushed through
the open casement: the storm broke, streamed, thundered, blazed, and
the air grew pure. I then framed and fixed a resolution. While I
walked under the dripping orange-trees of my wet garden, and amongst
its drenched pomegranates and pineapples, and while the refulgent dawn
of the tropics kindled round me- I reasoned thus, Jane- and now
listen; for it was true Wisdom that consoled me in that hour, and
showed me the right path to follow.
'The sweet wind from Europe was still whispering in the refreshed
leaves, and the Atlantic was thundering in glorious liberty; my heart,
dried up and scorched for a long time, swelled to the tone, and filled
with living blood- my being longed for renewal- my soul thirsted for a
pure draught. I saw hope revive- and felt regeneration possible.
From a flowery arch at the bottom of my garden I gazed over the sea-
bluer than the sky: the old world was beyond; clear prospects opened
thus:-
'"Go," said Hope, "and live again in Europe: there it is not