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“Spare me! oh spare!—I will confess,
——They
Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I
And my companion forthwith murdered him.”
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In the latter end of May, 1825, a young Englishman named Whitcombe came to me from Racora, in Bœotia, where he had been serving with the Greek troops. At all times glad to see my countrymen, I was particularly so at that time: Fenton was especially pleased with him. They both dined and passed their evenings with me, but slept below in Fenton’s hut. On the fourth day, after our noonday meal, we sat smoking and drinking on the verandah of my house on the lower terrace longer than usual.
It was intensely hot; all my people had retreated into one of the upper
grottoes, where it was always cool, to enjoy their usual siesta. Fenton said, he
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I took a pistol from my belt and fired; they were standing close together
on a flat rock, two yards behind me; the instant I had fired I heard another report, and
felt that I was shot in the back. As one of their flint guns had just before hung fire, and
I had seen Fenton doing something to the lock of
his, I thought it was an accident. I said, “Fenton, this must
have been accidental!” He assured me it was so, and expressed the deepest
sorrow. No thought of their treachery crossed my mind. Fenton said,
“Shall I shoot Whitcombe?” I answered,
“No.” I took my other pistol from my belt, when
Fenton said, “I will call your servant,” and
hastily left me, following Whitcombe to the entrance porch. The dog,
growling fiercely, first stopped their flight; he
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The morning after I had respited Whitcombe, my servant brought me the following letter from him, which he read to me, though he could not speak English:
“For God’s sake, sir, permit me to see you, if it is but for
five minutes conversation; it will save my life. In the fulness of contrition I
yesterday told Favourite (Everett) my crime, and through
misconstruction, or some other cause, he has interpreted it to Camerone, so as to cause my death. They all declare to
me they will kill me and burn me. Camerone knocked me down and has
thrown me in irons. For the mercy of Almighty God, let me see you; instead of
augmenting, my explanation will palliate my offence. I wish not that it should be
alone. I
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I refused to see him: he then wrote an incoherent account of what took
place between him and Fenton—the latter
accusing me of having usurped his place, as Odysseus
wished him to have the command during his absence; saying that
Odysseus had sent a messenger to him at Athens to that effect, and
that on his return he should take possession of the cave; that there were beautiful women
in it, and stores of gold; he would man it with English, clothe his followers with rich
dresses and jewels: there would be a row first, a scene of blood, but that all he wanted
was a friend to stand by him. By Whitcombe’s
account—too rambling and absurd to transcribe—his feeble brain was
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I cannot express to you what I feel for your unmerited
kindness to me for your releasing me from an untimely death; other release it
is not in the power of man to procure for me, my internal misery and shame
being complete. May you never feel the half that I do. May you never be like
me, reduced by an acquaintance of four days with a villain from the smiling
circles who loved me, and had pleasure in my society, to the solitary wretched
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That God may send you a speedy recovery, and turn every curse which falls upon my head into a blessing upon yours, is the prayer of the wretched
He subsequently addressed one of his friends as follows:
You will, perhaps, be astonished at my addressing you, when
from the unhappy circumstances into which my fatality has immersed me, I ought
only to calculate on your discarding all converse with a being whose sin has
placed between him and society a gulf fitter to be removed by any hands but
his. But I cannot, cannot bear so sudden a transition into exquisite misery and
shame without a line which may give palliatives to my offence. Scan it
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Charmed by Mr.
Humphreys’ account of the excessive intrepidity, honour,
romantic situation, &c., &c., of his friend Fenton, added to his good-nature and bonhomie, I was induced by the repeated, by the urgent
entreaties of that Mr. Humphreys, added to a letter
(expressing the most pressing invitation from Fenton,
addressed to Humphreys, with many dark mystic expressions,
known only, I pre-
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But it is not for myself that I am wretched. No—I can roam to far distant regions, and amidst other scenes and other inhabitants, commence a new career, unembittered by the past. It is for my family, a family who had boasted that, through all their branches and connections, it had never had a spot to sully it. That that family should, through my faults, be disgraced, is more than I can bear. My mother is a parent who loves me to distraction. I received a letter a few days ago from that quarter. She has been dangerously ill, and the only reflection that contributes to her recovery is that of seeing me return crowned with laurels. They will be laurels!
Now view the reverse. It has been reported that
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I only regret that being too great a coward to put an end to my existence, I cannot cut off the miseries of anticipation.
But I have troubled you too long with subjects about which you can feel but little interest. Only one word more. Should an opportunity present itself, for God’s sake let not accounts reach England that I am killed.
With hopes that you will excuse my long and selfish letter, and with many kindest remembrances to Mrs. Alison and all your family,
P.S.—I sincerely regret that, by the most untoward circumstances, both the letters which you have been good enough at different times to send me, have been lost before they reached my hands; the one by the lies of that rascal Charlilopulo—the other by Dr. Tindal, amongst his other things.
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