A Rewriting Of Moll Flander's Prison Scene

The Adventures of Jemy, who was born in London and lived for Fourscore Years, was 30 years a Highwayman, Married a Woman who Deceived Him and Whom he Deceived, later was Transported as a Felon to Virginia, Remarried the Same Woman, and Repentant. Taken from his Journals.

I was strolling in the press-yard, contemplating the rumors I had heard of a Mrs. Flanders who was to send me to the gallows to save her own neck. Certainly, this did not seem delightful to me but, in a way, I was happy to have the rotten life of a highway man behind me. No longer would I have to constantly look over my shoulder, fearing I should be captured; and, since this Mrs. Flanders was to come out against me I no longer had any question of my fate. For the first time in many years I knew for certain what was to happen tomorrow and what my fate would be and while I certainly would like it to be better, there was comfort in knowing my future.

My contemplations were interrupted by a woman whose features were indiscernible due to a hood that covered up most of her face. Could this be the Mrs. Flanders that had sold me out and I had wanted to see so badly? The woman asked if she could speak with me privately, to which I replied in the affirmative as civilly as a man in my circumstances could.

I then led her to a small room and, as soon as she shut the door, she threw off her hood, burst into tears and cried "Dear, don't you recognize me?" Although the room was poorly illuminated, for a single candle was its only light source, there could be no mistaking the face of my Lancashire wife. Seeing her face sent me into a fit of rage: was it not bad enough to be reminded of my own past: how I, a gentleman, was forced to the life of a highwayman and how I, a gentleman, was now in a prison filled not with those whose circumstances had forced them here but who were merely low creatures who were not fit for the company of a gentleman like myself?

My former wife then tried to state that she had not come to insult my honor, to which I paid hardly any attention. Finally she discovered to me that she was here in a similar condition, not for highway robbery but for attempting to steal from a tradesman, and that she, too, faced the gallows. Upon hearing this I, despite my best attempts not to, went into a fit of crying. How could so much misery fall upon one couple?

She then entered into a discussion about what had befallen her since we parted, telling me long, exceedingly boring stories of stealing cloth and watches. Did this wench honestly think I, a man who had been both shot by a pistol-bullet and run through with a sword would find such stories interesting - surely even a schoolboy would find her stories painfully boring! However, I decided to play the fool and act interested, for I sensed this conniving woman was quite wealthy: she had been a minor thief for roughly 12 years, and the rags she wore suggested she wouldn't part with money unless it was absolutely needed.

What was most shocking was her account of my passage at Brickhill, where I had gone seeking safety after causing some ruckus in Hockley. My comrades and I thought ourselves quite safe in that town - positive that no one had seen us enter it - and let our guard down completely. Shortly after we left this hamlet a mob asked her if that had seen three highwaymen and, if so, if she had any information about them. She then proceeded to explain to them how we all were gentleman of the finest sort - which, indeed, we were, though we were forced into dishonest labor due to circumstances out of our control.

After she had finished her account I asked, "And it was you, my dear, that gave the check to the mob at Brickhill?" "Yes," said she, "it was I indeed."2 After she stated this I cast my head downward and gave a long sigh. "Why, then," said I, "it was you that saved my life at that time, and I am glad I owe my life to you, for I will pay the debt to you now, and I'll deliver you from the present condition your are in or die in the