Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume X Part 18

THE IMPRUDENT MARRIAGE.

Serjeant Square again resumed the narrative of his adventures:--

There is a strange feeling, that every reflecting person must have often been conscious of, accompanying the idea of time. We feel as if in contact with the past, as far back as our memory can reach. If our reading has been extensive, it requires reflection to disentangle the events of early ages, as well as those of a more recent date; and, even as regards the time to come, we feel as if it also were for us, until the melancholy certainty of the shortness of life forces us back upon the present moment, which, until pa.s.sed, we cannot call our own. Neither is there a situation in which we can be placed, in which we do not feel some cause of uneasiness, from the faintest shade of unfulfilled antic.i.p.ation, to the depth of real suffering.

Gloomy were the reflections that haunted my mind for the first three weeks after my arrival in London. Often and far as I had been from Scotland, never until now had I been home-sick--if it could be called so in one who had neither kindred nor home in the world. Dest.i.tute of kindred as I was, the feeling seemed to extend my relations.h.i.+p: every Scotchman being my relation, and his accents music to my ears. An unaccountable melancholy was upon me; and I felt a strange presentiment as if some evil were about to befall me. I felt no pleasure, as I was wont, in walking about. My time was spent at my lodgings, in Lower Thames Street, save when I went occasionally to the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, to visit Captain H----. Even these visits had become irksome, as no good seemed likely to arise to me from them. I was always received in the most friendly manner. Still there was a constraint upon me I could not overcome, arising from the relative situation in which we had formerly stood towards each other as private seaman and captain. I would have felt far more at my ease had he treated me in a more distant manner. Frugal as my mode of life was, my cash wore done apace, and I had fixed upon no mode of obtaining a new supply. Once or twice I had made inquiries among the s.h.i.+pping for a situation, without success.

Perhaps the fault was my own, as I was rather nice to please, and not over anxious to go to sea if I could do better. I hoped that the captain or his friend would propose something for my advantage; and thus the time had run on, while my lowness of spirits increased upon me. The weather had become wet and foggy. I cared not to leave the house, and remained at home for several days, so depressed that I even wished I were dead, and away from a world in which I had suffered so much. The pleasures I had also enjoyed were entirely blotted out from my recollection. All my life appeared to have been a scene of suffering, with no prospect before me but further misery and endurance.

This was a state of mind that could not long endure without leading to a fatal result. I began to regard suicide as the only remedy for my misery; and even to look upon it as a crime of no very deep atrocity.

Yet there was a feeling within me that made death as a remedy horrible.

At length, by an effort that cost me more to accomplish than anything I had ever done before or since, I shook off this, the darkest moral incubus of the darkest period of my life, and, after an absence of ten days, waited upon Captain H---- to bid him farewell, as I was resolved to leave London, and enter on board the first vessel wherever bound for, and in any capacity I could obtain a berth. When I reached the house, I found it shut up, and could obtain no information whither he had gone.

All I learned was, that they had left the house three days before, it was believed for the country. I felt indignant and hurt, although I had no reason, at this sudden departure. I had no claim upon him. I had ever been overpaid for any service I had rendered. Still, this was not my feeling at the time; and I bent my steps towards my lodgings in no enviable mood, either with myself or the world. A numbing sensation was upon me. I felt once more alone in the world; and pa.s.sed through the busy crowds that thronged the streets, almost unconscious of the presence of a human being, until I had reached Tower Hill, when my attention was roused by a crowd of men and boys, who were hooting and jostling an old man of rather respectable appearance, whose impatient anger caused them only to increase their shouts and annoyance. They were calling to him, "Rebel Scot," and "Scottish traitor;" and crying, "Roll him in the kennel," "Duck him in the river." I was in a humour to quarrel with any one, or even dare a host. My blood was on fire in a moment, for the old man upbraided them in Scotch, although tinctured by a foreign accent. He was tall, and had once been a very powerful man.

His hat had been knocked off, and his grey hairs were in disorder, save what were retained by a neat cue that bobbed from side to side, as he was pushed, or turned to aim a blow at his cowardly a.s.sailants, many of whom, I blush to say, had reached man's estate. In an instant I was by his side, and shouted, to overtop the noise--

"For shame, to use an old man and a stranger so! Is that like Englishmen?"

For a moment there was a pause; it was but for a moment. My Scottish accent turned them as much against me as him whom I wished to befriend.

"They are both rebel Scots--serve them alike!" shouted a stout young fellow, as he aimed a blow at me. The others joined in the cry. The blow took effect upon the side of my head. I was stunned a little; but returned it with so good effect that he staggered back a pace or two.

The blood flowed from my cheek, which was cut, pretty fast. In a moment the shouting ceased, and "A ring! a ring!" was the cry. "Give the Scottish sailor fair play--he has pluck in him." "Go it, Joe!" cried others; and their attention was directed from the old man to me and my opponent. A ring was formed. I gave my jacket and hat to the old man to hold, and to it we went; but, tall as I was and stout, I was forced to give in after a severe contest; my enemy's science prevailed; but my object was attained. The old man and myself were no longer hated. "I was a bit of good stuff," they said, "and had stood well up to fighting Joe of Smithfield." Even Joe said he would give any one a beating who molested us. We were conducted to a public-house, where I got myself cleaned and my bruises dressed. The old gentleman gave me a thousand thanks for the part I had taken in his rescue, and seemed to feel much more for the injuries I had received than I did myself. As soon as we had had some slight refreshment, he caused a coach to be brought, and accompanied me to my lodgings. During our short drive, I learned that he had only arrived from Holland the evening before, and was a stranger in London. He said he had resided for the last ten years there; that he had not been in Scotland for many years; and that he was on his way to it to lay his bones in the graves of his fathers. There was a reservedness of manner that interested me much in the man; and every time I looked to him, I grew the more certain that his face had been familiar to me at some former period of my life. Even his voice fell on my ear like some well-known sound. Neither of us had inquired the name of the other. The coach stopped at the door of my lodging, into which he a.s.sisted me; and I immediately went to bed at his request, he promising to call upon me in the morning.

After pa.s.sing a restless night, I was awoke in the morning by my landlady entering my room to inquire if I would see Lieutenant Speare, the old gentleman who had accompanied me home the evening before.

Although I felt rather feverish, I replied that I would be glad to see him. In a few minutes I was astonished to see him enter in an undress, until he informed me that he had been so fortunate as to obtain a room from my landlady; and, if I was agreeable, he wished to breakfast along with me and spend the day, as I was not, he felt a.s.sured, in a state to leave my room. I did not conceal that I felt very unwell, and would be happy to have his company. After he was seated, I inquired by what accident he had become involved with the rabble upon Tower Hill. After a short pause--

"You and I," replied he, "are countrymen, but strangers to each other.

From the disinterested manner in which you interfered in my behalf, I feel that I may trust you with my secret. Even if we differ in opinion, you will not betray me; I therefore shall make no reserve.

"I was born and bred an adherent of the exiled royal family of Great Britain; have bled in their cause; suffered exile from all I held dear; and even now I tread my native land with a halter about my neck, which one word from you might attach to the fatal tree that has ceased to have any horrors for me, were it not for a sacred duty I have to perform before death put a period to my long life of suffering. Yesterday afternoon I had only been a few hours in London, for the first time in my life; yet its gloomy Tower, and blood-drinking Tower Hill, had long been familiar to my mind, as scenes of cruelty and tyranny, where the best blood of Scotland was poured out like water to satisfy the thirst of a usurper. I had surveyed the scene for some time in silent agony, when my oppressed feelings called before me the heroes, as I had seen and admired them, in manly vigour, struggling in a righteous cause, with the sad termination they experienced, when their headless trunks were insulted by an unfeeling crowd. All caution left me, and I expressed my thoughts aloud. I was overheard and a.s.sailed. You delivered me. I acknowledge my imprudence; and, on your account, lament what I have done."

"On my account there is no cause of regret," said I. "I am happy your unguarded language had no more fatal result. Your secret is safe in my keeping. I myself have been a sufferer through that fatal affair, although too young to distinguish between parties; for the miseries of civil war fall heaviest upon the innocent, the females and children. By it I was deprived of both my parents, and thrown dest.i.tute upon the world, without friends or home. If the great will struggle, urged by ambition or party zeal, what have the poor to do with their strife, who can, at the best, only change their taskmasters? Had my father remained in Edinburgh, my mother had not broken her heart, and I had not been an outcast orphan boy."

"Edinburgh, did you say, young man?" replied he. "Few joined the Prince from that city." His voice faltered; his whole frame shook. He gazed fixedly upon me for a short time; then, starting to his feet, he staggered to my bedside, supporting himself by the bedpost. "What is your name?" he eagerly said.

"John Square," I replied.

Uttering a cry that resembled a heavy groan, he sunk upon the bed, and, grasping my hand, bathed it with tears; then, clasping me to his breast, kissed my forehead. His heart was too full to speak; he held me in his embrace, and gazed upon my face. I was so much amazed at the strange conduct of the old man, that it was some time before I recovered from my surprise, or could inquire the cause of his, to me, unaccountable proceeding. Still grasping my hand--

"Now, welcome death!" said he. "My mission is accomplished. I shall die in peace. I have found thee, my long-forsaken and injured boy."

It was now my turn to feel the utmost agitation. Did my father really stand before me? I feared to ask the question, yet burned to do so.

"Are you my father?" cried I.

"Alas! no! I am not your father," said he. "Yet I am all the father you ever knew; and you were, and are, dear to me as my own son. Ah, my poor Mary!--she was a kind mother to you. Told she not the secret of your birth before she died?"

"No," was my answer. "I was too young and thoughtless at the time. I recollect she called me to her bedside often, and wept over me; but she only prayed, and blessed me. She sent one of her neighbours, who was very attentive, for the minister to come to her, saying she had something important to intrust him with; but, before he arrived, her mind began to wander, and she remained in that condition until her death, two days after. She had even forgot she had sent for the good man, who, after offering up a prayer, departed." I paused, for the old man wept bitterly while I spake. I did respect his feelings; but my own were too impetuous to be restrained. "Who was my father, since you are not?" cried I. "Is he alive? If you ever loved me, pause not a moment.

Nay, I shall tear the secret from you." And I started up in my bed, sore as I was, and looked wildly at him, as he appeared to hesitate.

"Be composed, my dear John," said he. "It is a melancholy tale. I would more willingly spare your feelings than wound them by the relation; but it were cruel now to withhold it from you. You will have no cause to blush for your relatives. My own history is so deeply interwoven with that of your parents, that I cannot disentangle them, and therefore must give them, connected as they are. It was upon the borders of the romantic Esk I first awoke to consciousness, in the hospitable house of your grandfather, to whom my father had been head servant for many years. I was within a few weeks of the same age as John, your father, his third son. I was his foster-brother and playfellow, unequal as was our rank. I loved him with more than a brother's love, and would have risked my life for him, had he been in danger. He was my young master; his comfort was all my duty and care; and swiftly the days and hours pa.s.sed on, until the period arrived that he was to go to Edinburgh to attend the cla.s.ses at the university, and whither I was to accompany him. We were both young and inexperienced. Your father was of a fearless, open, and generous temper; and his rank in life gave him access to the best society in the city. At one of the a.s.semblies he became acquainted with a young lady, the orphan daughter of an officer who had fallen in the wars of Marlborough. She resided with two rich maiden aunts, upon whom she depended for her present support and future fortune. Their intimacy soon ripened, unfortunately, into love. As politics raged at this time with a force and bitterness that divided friends and relations, even the sacred mysteries of love were interrupted by the offerings to the stern genius of discord. Rose's aunts were stern Whigs, supporters of what were then styled by us the Hanoverian usurpers; and their only surviving brother was an officer high of rank in their armies; while your grandfather was faithful to his lawful king, and as true a Tory as ever lived or bled for the Stewarts.

Neither your father nor myself had ever troubled ourselves about the rival factions; yet we were, as we had been bred, staunch adherents to the royal exiles; but Love is of no party, and we were both under his influence. From the cause I have mentioned, your father's visits were unacceptable at Rose's aunts; their interviews were stolen, and, of course, more sweet. She was at times allowed to walk out for exercise, and to visit, but never unaccompanied by her maid, who had been her servant before her mother's death. She was a bar in my master's way; and, if he dared to converse with his beloved, she would have been kept entirely from his sight. To aid him in his interviews, I became acquainted with Mary, the servant, and was soon as deep in love as my master. Little did our young and joyous hearts dream of the bitter dregs that lay in the cup of pleasure we quaffed in the hours of romance, as we walked, or sat scarce in sight of each other, among the cliffs and sheltered valleys of Arthur Seat. Nothing but my love for your father could have blinded me to the folly he was guilty of, and the ruin that awaited his future prospects in life. As for myself, I could not be other than I was. Mary was of my own rank, born to toil, and with little to lose; while they had a fearful height to fall from, if they wedded without consent of friends. But when, alas! did ever youthful love calculate consequences aright, until the calculation is useless?

"Thus intoxicated with love, the time ran on with unheeded speed; yet my master was unremitting in his studies. He had, with the consent of his father, fixed upon the law as his profession, as the political opinions of the latter gave his son small chance of rising in the army. Rose and he had often exchanged vows of mutual constancy, until more fortunate times for their love should arrive. Your father had pictured to himself speedy success at the bar; and the first use he was to make of his fame was to claim your mother from her aunts; and if they refused, as, from the vain efforts he had made to gain their good graces, he had every reason to expect, to wed her without their consent, or one farthing of fortune. His father's consent he knew he could not hope for before the marriage; but his forgiveness afterwards he had no doubt of obtaining.

Thus had he lulled himself into a pleasant dream of security, from which he was soon awakened. It was in the beginning of the third session of college, that one of the two aunts was taken suddenly ill, and died in a few days, without making any will. Elizabeth, the younger sister, who had never been very kind to Rose, was now her sole protector; and she, sweet lady, was rendered very unhappy--a circ.u.mstance that gave great pain and uneasiness to your father, and was the cause of the imprudent step he took. Scarcely was the funeral over, when Mary her maid was discharged, as an unnecessary burden; and, with my master's consent, she and I were married. Aided by his bounty, I began housekeeping, still waiting upon him; and, meanwhile, our house was the scene of the meeting of the lovers. The penury and harshness of her aunt rendered the young lady's life miserable. Her secret was communicated to my wife, who again told my master. This precipitated the consummation of the long courts.h.i.+p. He prevailed upon his beloved to give her consent to a private marriage, that he might have the right to shelter her from suffering longer from her aunt's tyranny. They were privately married in my house, at the head of Mary King's Close.

"Your father had not yet pa.s.sed as an advocate, and had no means of subsistence, save what he got from his father. It was imperative that his marriage should be kept secret from every one. Your mother resided with her aunt only until your father had furnished a small house, near the foot of our close, for his beloved wife--an achievement he could not get accomplished so quickly as he wished, without raising curiosity as to the cause of his repeated demands for money. Nearly four months pa.s.sed on after the marriage, and your mother still resided with her aunt, who, since her sister's death, had become gay, and had many visiters--princ.i.p.ally bachelors--all paying her court, old as she was, for the sake of her wealth; and several of them often paying more attention to the young wife than she wished. Among the visitants was one, a great favourite with the aunt, a retired officer, of an abandoned turn, but connected with some of the oldest families in Scotland. He was well received in most companies, and welcomed for his wit and jovial manner. I recollect I was waiting your father's return from a tavern party, princ.i.p.ally young lawyers, before I went to my own house for the night, when he came home much sooner than I had expected, greatly agitated, and in high anger. Alarmed at his unwonted manner, I, with all the humble freedom I could ever use with him, implored him to tell me what had occurred to disturb him so much. After he had become more calm, he told me that Captain Ogilvie had been of the party; that they had drunk pretty freely, and were giving toasts; that the captain pledged Rose, your mother, and spoke more lightly of her than he could endure to hear; and that a quarrel had ensued, and blows had been struck. He then desired me to see that his rapier was sharp and in order, as he was to meet the captain by five the next morning in the Duke's Walk. My anger against the vile traducer was as great as that of my master. I wished I could meet him in his place; for I had a strong feeling that evil would come out of it; but this was impossible.

"Your father sat down to his writing-table, and began two letters--one for his young wife, the other to his father--and, while he was thus employed, I ran home, told Mary not to expect me home that night, and put on a suit of plain clothes. Before he was done, I had his sword and my own in excellent order; for I was as good at fencing as he was, in consequence of having practised with him all the manly exercises he had learned. As soon as he was ready, we began play at the swords; as the captain was an expert swordsman, while my master had had no practice for several years. Thus we pa.s.sed the night until past four o'clock. When we sallied forth, we called at Blackford's Wynd upon his second, whom we found waiting upon him, and then proceeded by St Mary's Wynd Port and the South Back of the Canongate to the ground, which we reached a few minutes before the appointed time. The captain and his friend arrived almost as soon as we did. Since then, I have seen blood spilled as freely as water; but never did my heart quail as at this time. In fighting with the blood warm, there is a fierce pleasure; but to me nothing is, or can be, more distressing than to stand an idle spectator, and see your friend engaged, and hear the clash and rasp of the weapon aimed at his heart, as if it were your own, and your hands bound. Such were my feelings at this time. The seconds wished to reconcile them, but neither would hear of it. Each drew, and stood on his guard. A fearful pause of a few seconds ensued, while they eyed each other like hungry wolves. My eyes felt as if they would start from their sockets; my breath was suspended; all was still as death; a sudden clang rung on my ears; their swords gleamed in the rays of the rising sun; and so rapid were their movements, that my eye could not follow them. I saw that the captain, from his fence, was a complete master of his weapon, having practised abroad. My master had been foiled in his favourite a.s.sault--the one, indeed, on which I had placed my reliance. A moment's pause ensued; neither had drawn blood. Again they closed, and, after a few unsuccessful attacks, paused again for breath. I saw the blood upon my master's arm, from a slight cut. My hand grasped my sword; but, by a violent effort, I restrained myself. They had been engaged nearly half-an-hour; my master's hand was dyed in blood; but he was young and alert; while his antagonist was rather corpulent, and his const.i.tution shaken by dissipation. His play became now more feeble and cautious, and my confidence began to revive. He was yet without a scratch; and, collecting all his energies, he made a desperate lunge, which your father only parried so far as to make it pa.s.s between his side and the sword-arm, piercing his vest; and the captain lay at his feet transfixed. My heart leaped for joy as I ran to your father's aid. I bound up his arm, while the two seconds attended to the captain. I found my master but slightly hurt. He despatched me for aid to his antagonist, with which I returned; and, as the captain's wound appeared to be mortal, we left them, and proceeded over the hill. We scarcely exchanged words. Pa.s.sing up the valley, we stood upon the crest of the height that commanded a view of Craigmillar Castle, and the distant hills, with the level country between. Here we paused; and your father, clasping his hands in agony, gazed around for a few minutes in silence.

My own heart was too full to speak, and I stood looking upon his mental suffering, which I knew no mode of soothing, and reverenced too much to interrupt. At length he said, as if unconscious of my presence, 'Farewell, sweet scenes of my happiness! my cruel destiny drives me from you, and her who is dearer to me than life. But that thought is distraction. Rose! my beloved Rose! in what a state am I forced to leave you! Alas! I dare not even bid you farewell. My hands are red with blood, and the avengers will soon be on my track; but in defence of your honour it was shed, and Heaven will justify the act. Who now--who will protect you when I am an outlaw?'

"He dashed his hands upon his forehead, and groaned. I could endure in silence no longer, and at length soothed him into something like composure. It was agreed that he should go to his father, inform him of his duel, and act by his counsel; while I should return to my own house, watch the progress of the captain's wound, and, happen what would, meet him at Roslin Chapel at ten o'clock in the evening, to consult what was farther to be done. We parted at St Leonard's Hill.

"In the forenoon nothing was talked of in the city but Captain Ogilvie's duel; and it had become a party question. The Whigs had one version of the cause of quarrel, the Tories another, I gave no ear to either; but was rejoiced to learn that the captain was not dead, although his life was despaired of.

"It was now past six o'clock--the quarter had chimed upon the clock of St Giles. I had my hand on the latch to go once more to the captain's, to know how he continued since my last inquiry, when the rasp was gently moved. I opened the door, and your mother staggered into my arms, pale as death, and swooned away. With difficulty Mary and I restored her to consciousness. I told her of your father's safety; and she replied that she was now, save for her husband, a dest.i.tute outcast; that her aunt, who only waited a pretext, had turned her out upon the world; and that the cause of her expulsion was her conduct in being the mean of her aunt's favourite, Captain Ogilvie's death. I told her that the captain was not yet dead, and would, I hoped, survive; and, leaving her in charge of Mary, I hurried to ascertain what ground there was for any hope. I found that the captain was still alive, but that his death was hourly expected.

"With a sorrowful heart I hurried out by Bristo Port, after getting the word for the night from the keeper, that I might be admitted, on my return, into the city. I was at the chapel some time before ten o'clock, and found my master waiting for me. When I told him that the captain was still in life, he took my hand--'Square,' he said, 'this has been a sad and dreary day to me. It is a fearful thing to have blood upon our hands, even in a just cause. I pray with my whole soul he may recover, both for his own sake and mine.'

"I then told him what had befallen your mother.

"'I am happy it is so,' he said, 'I shall leave her under the keeping of Mary and you with more confidence than I could in her aunt's. My mind is relieved of a burden; my greatest difficulty was how to dispose of my beloved until my return; for, by the command of my father, I set off for France to-morrow--to St Germains, where I will remain until this untoward affair blows over. If all go as we antic.i.p.ate, you will, perhaps, see me here sooner than you expect--ay, with a gallant band of patriots, to redress Scotland's wrongs, and restore our rightful prince. My father is not displeased at my conduct--would that he knew the right I had to take my Rose's part! But the time will come. As I know not how soon the officers of justice may be in quest of me, I must depart to-morrow morning for England, on my way to France. I must therefore see Rose, to bid her good-by for a short season. I shall be waiting for her near St Anthony's Chapel, to weep our parting, where we have so often smiled at our meetings. O William, William! these thoughts unman me.'

"'My dear master,' said I, 'am I to accompany you?'

"'No, William,' replied he--'no; I leave my beloved wife to your care until my return, when I will requite you as she shall report of you.'

"It was early in the morning before I reached Edinburgh. I found your mother and Mary still out of bed, awaiting my return. The night was spent in tears by the females, and a melancholy presentiment was on my own heart. Before we set out to meet the fugitive, I caused them to disguise themselves--your mother having my wife's maud, and she a dress she had never before worn. They proceeded down the street by themselves, while I went to inquire how the captain had spent the night. I found he was still in life, but no hopes were entertained of his recovery.

"The shades of evening were beginning to fall before this last and sorrowful parting terminated. They never met again. Your mother, who was in the family way, although we knew not the fact for weeks afterwards, began to droop and pine--a sadness of heart seemed to consume her; in vain we strove to cheer her gloom; and her aunt made no inquiries after her. Once a-week I visited the banks of the Esk to inquire after my master; and occasionally got accounts of his welfare; but they were few and far between--only, indeed, when the letters could be forwarded by some one coming to Scotland. No letter had as yet come to me for his wife. How often have I left her, with a faint smile of hope dispelling the habitual sadness of her lovely countenance, and returned with an aching heart to witness her increased melancholy. Your father had left her all the gold he could, even more than he could spare; yet we would have given it all for a single letter from his hand; but none came.

Meanwhile Captain Ogilvie, who continued long in a precarious state, ultimately recovered.

"At length you were born; but your unfortunate mother did not survive many days; and scarcely was the sod green on her grave, when my master came back to Scotland. His grief, his agony, I shall not attempt to describe. In a few weeks after he returned to France, for his native country was hateful to him; and I would have accompanied him, but that Mary was in delicate health, and I could not leave her. As his father was displeased at him for relinquis.h.i.+ng his study of the law, he gave him only a small sum to maintain him in France. You pa.s.sed, meanwhile, as my own child, and went under my name.

"At length the long-expected deliverer came. I concealed the certificate of your father's marriage, and some other papers, in the wainscot of our room, and would have joined my master in the north; but, as the party were in rapid advance to Edinburgh, I thought I could be of more service to the cause in Edinburgh. It was I who contrived the way, and caused the easy entry of the Prince into the city, by the Netherbow Port. The gentleman you saw once or twice in conversation with Mary, whom you took for your mother, was your father; but it was not thought prudent to undeceive you. We had the greatest confidence in the success of our righteous cause. Alas! we were prosperous for a time, only to feel more bitterly our reverse. We advanced into England, elate with the victory of Tranent, where we scattered the red-coats like frightened deer. I had no opportunity of visiting Edinburgh again, until it would have been death to me to dare the act. Your father was wounded at the Battle of Falkirk, and required my utmost care. After the Prince retired from the siege of Stirling, and c.u.mberland's arrival in the north, our affairs began to wear a different aspect. Carlisle had been recaptured, and our success seemed farther from us than at the commencement. My master's wound was, by good management, so much better that he could travel by easy stages. The volunteers and adherents of the Hanoverians were beginning to show more bravery, by apprehending all whom they knew belonged to the Prince; so that, without taking leave, we left our landlord in the night; and, crossing at Kincardine, got into Fife, and travelled down the sh.o.r.es of the Forth until we reached Dysart, where your father was confined to bed, by fever, for some days. Here we received the heart-breaking intelligence of Culloden Field, and the ma.s.sacre of the friends of royalty. Scotland was no longer a country for us. My master had acted too open and conspicuous a part to hope for pardon. I would, perhaps, on Mary's account and yours, have ventured my life in a return to Edinburgh; but I could not leave your father in his present situation. As yet no one suspected we had belonged to the Highland army; for I had so adroitly concealed my master's wound, that he was thought to be only sick of a fever. Fortunately, there was a vessel about to sail for Rotterdam. We embarked for Holland without interruption, and arrived safe. During your father's convalescence we were reduced to great straits; for our supply of cash was, when we left Scotland, much reduced, and here it entirely failed. My master had written to his brother for a.s.sistance; but he had found it for his advantage to change sides; and, so far from sending a remittance, he never answered one of his letters. Had it not been for the disinterested aid of a Scottish merchant, who was established in the place of our retreat, and who had been a college friend of your father, we must have been reduced to absolute want. Through his influence, he obtained for him a commission in the Scottish Brigade, then in the service of the States; and thus relieved him from the humiliation of dependence; but this was not accomplished until nearly the end of the second year after I had left my peaceful home. During all this time we were in the greatest anxiety--he about his son, I about my dear wife. Yet we had no means of ascertaining your fates; and the consciousness of the poverty you must be plunged in embittered all our thoughts. As soon as my master joined the division of the brigade, which was quartered in Bergen-op-Zoom, he borrowed a sum of money for my use. At all hazards I had resolved to return to Edinburgh, use all the precaution I could to avoid being recognised, and bring over with me to Holland you and my dear Mary.

"All being prepared, I bade adieu to your father, and embarked, in the dress of a Dutch skipper, on board of a vessel bound for Dysart, princ.i.p.ally loaded with old iron, for the nailers of Pathhead. She was a Fife vessel; and the captain knew me only as William Speare, a Dutchman.

Upon our arrival, I crossed, with the first Kinghorn boat, for Leith, and hurried up to Edinburgh. Our pa.s.sage across the Frith had been very tedious; and the shades of evening were just coming on when I reached the Abbey Hill. With a heart equally divided between hope and fear, I walked up the Canongate, through the Netherbow Port, and up the High Street. I saw many that I had known in happier days, and my heart yearned to address them; but, alas! I was a proscribed outlaw, shut out from the society I loved. When I reached Mary King's Close, my heart beat so ardently, that I was forced to pause for breath as I climbed the stair to my old door. I took the rasp in my hand, and gave my wonted tirl. A female opened the door, about the same height as her I loved. It was very dusky. That it was my wife I had no doubt. I threw my arms around her, crying, 'Dear Mary!' The female pushed me from her, and screamed out for help. I thought I would have sunk to the ground, and leaned against the door for support. An elderly female came in haste with a light. I attempted to speak, but could only sob, and felt sick almost to death. The women looked upon me in amazement, for the tears were silently stealing down my face. After whispering a few words, I was kindly invited into the house which I had expected to have been my own.

It was tidily furnished; but everything in it was strange to me, and wore a look of desolation and loneliness. Neither my wife nor you were there. Not to betray myself, I told them that I had not been in Edinburgh for a long time; but that, when I left it last, a very dear friend had resided there, whom I had hoped to find where I left her, and that my mistake must plead my excuse for any apparent rudeness. Their answers to my inquiries crushed all my hopes. Mary was in her silent grave, and you had disappeared. Nothing now remained to me in Scotland that I cared for; and, after in vain offering a reward to any one who could give any information concerning you, and shedding a few tears over the grave of my wife, I returned to Holland with my sorrowful intelligence. Your father, quite sunk with your uncertain fate, fell into a lowness of spirits that preyed upon his health, and continually reflected upon himself as the cause of your mother's early death, and your dest.i.tution.

"As the monotony and dulness of garrison duty in a strongly-fortified town served to increase his melancholy, which threatened to merge into consumption, he, by the advice of his physician--that change of scene, and a warm climate, might remove all the bad symptoms he exhibited--exchanged into a regiment stationed in the Island of Ceylon, into which I also enlisted, that I might accompany him. There was, alas! no other individual on earth for whom I cared. Far from recovering on the voyage, its tedious dulness sunk him more and more into his habitual lowness of spirits; and, on our arrival on the island, he grew worse, and did not survive many months. I buried him at Trincomalee.

Alas! how true is the saying, that 'all men know where they were born, but none where they shall lay their bones.'"

So intense had been the interest I felt in his narrative, that I scarcely moved, lest I should lose a word, or interrupt him. He paused at this event, and wiped a tear from his eyes. William and Mary I had until this hour looked upon as my real parents. For those I now heard of, I had new feelings to acquire. I noticed that he did not tell me the surname of my parents, and I pressed not the question. All that I asked of him was to continue his history, and inform me what had induced him once more to return to Scotland.

"Can a Scotsman ask that question of a Scotsman?" said he. "In whatever part of the globe he may be, the hope to lay his bones with his fathers is the Polar Star that cheers his wanderings, be they prosperous or adverse. Remove this hope, and his energies from that moment sink, for he has lost all of life worth caring for. I have both known and felt it.