die game at all events." The men answered him with another cheer, and
swore they would go to the bottom rather than yield. We blazed away at
the schooner, but in vain; she had been severely taught to respect us;
our shot fell far short, while she, with her long metal, kept dropping
shot after shot into us with deadly precision. We tried to close with
her; but she saw her advantage, and kept it; all that we could do was to
stand steadily on, the men lying down under the shelter of the bulwarks.
A faint dull sound now fell upon our ears, like the report of a distant
gun. "Thank heaven!" said I, "our guns have spoken to some purpose; some
of the cruisers have taken the alarm." We immediately burnt a blue
light, and threw up a couple of rockets. In a few minutes a shout of
joy burst from the crew, a small glimmering star appeared in the
distance, which flickered for a moment, and then increased to a strong,
steady, glaring, light; at the same time, we heard a second report, much
nearer and clearer than before. Alarmed at the near approach of the
stranger, which was now distinctly visible, standing towards us under a
press of sail, the pirate, determined to have another brush with us,
bore up, and closed with us. But we were prepared for him; he was
evidently staggered by our warm reception; and, giving us a parting
broadside, hove round, stood in under the dark shadow of the land, and
we soon lost sight of him.
The stranger proved to be H.M. sloop Porcupine. She hove to when she
neared us, and sent a boat on board. She had heard the report of our
guns, and hastened to the scene of action, just in the very nick of time
to save us. The lieutenant complimented the captain and crew on their
gallant defence, and hastened on board the sloop again, to make his
report. The boat soon returned, with a gang of hands to assist in
repairing our damages; and on the evening of the next day, we were
safely at anchor. When the excitement of the action was over, the pain
of my wounds and the agitation of my mind brought on a violent attack of
fever. During my delirium, the vision of my dying brother was ever
before me; and in my madness I twice made an attempt upon my own life.
At length the goodness of my constitution triumphed over the violence of
my disorder; but my peace of mind was gone for ever. My worthy friend,
the captain, to whom I confided my story, did everything in his power to
rouse me from my sorrow, and to reconcile me to myself; but in vain. The
sight of my brother had recalled the vivid recollection of by-gone
scenes, which I had been for years steeling my heart to forget; my
spirit was broken, I became listless and indifferent, and no longer felt
any interest in my profession. I did my duty, to be sure; but it was
mechanically--from the force of habit. Captain Rose was ceaseless in his
kindness. When, on our return home, I expressed my determination not to
go to sea again, he represented my conduct during the action, and on
other occasions, in such glowing terms, to the owners, that they settled
a small annuity upon me, in consideration of the wounds I had received
in their service. It was with the deepest regret I took leave of my
worthy friend and captain.
"I can never forget," said he, "that, but for you, my children would
have been fatherless, my wife a widow; whenever you need the assistance
of a friend, Douglas, apply to me with as much confidence as to a
brother."
He then offered to evince his regard in a more substantial manner, which
I firmly but gratefully declined. I wrote to him afterwards, telling him
that I had settled in this neighbourhood, and requesting him to make
arrangements that my annuity might be made payable to a certain firm in
Glasgow. In reply, he wrote me a long and affectionate letter. It was
the first and last I ever had from him; he died soon afterwards. It is
now five years since I took up my abode here, and I feel the weakness
and infirmities of age creeping fast upon me. Oh! how happily will I lay
down the weary load of life!
"Douglas," said I, when he had finished his story, "you certainly have
had grievous sorrows and trials; but you have borne them nobly, except
in wilfully attaching the odium of crime to the unfortunate
circumstances of your brother's death."
"Would that I could think as you do!" said he.
We parted: and four years elapsed before we met again. I had, in
the meantime, commenced practice as a surgeon in Glasgow, and my
professional avocations kept me too constantly employed to allow of my
leaving the town. At last, after a severe attack of illness, I was
recommended to go to the sea-side for a few months; and my thoughts
immediately recurred to my old friend. I took a lodging in Rothesay, and
next morning went down to the beach, where I saw the old man just
preparing to put off.
"Here I am again, Douglas," said I.
"Sir!" replied he, looking at me at first doubtingly, for illness had
greatly reduced me. "Ah! Mr. Stewart, is that you? I thought you had
forgotten me."
"Then you did me injustice, Douglas; I have often and often regretted
that the pressure of business prevented my visiting you again. By the
by, I was reminded of you in rather an extraordinary way lately."
"How was that, sir?"
"On my way down here, a few days since, the steamer touched at Greenock.
I was standing on the quay when a poor fellow, a passenger in a vessel
just arrived, fell from the gangway, and was taken up insensible. I
immediately bled him; and, seeing that he appeared to be seriously
injured, I determined, as I had no other particular call upon my time,
to remain beside him till he recovered. I had him carried to a small
lodging in the neighbourhood, where he soon partially recovered; and,
having prescribed for him, I left him, desiring that I might be sent for
if any change took place. During the night he had a violent attack of
fever. I was sent for; when I arrived, I found him delirious; he was
raving about Cuba, and ships, and pirates, and fifty other things that
immediately recalled you to my remembrance. When he came to his senses
again--
"'Doctor! tell me the truth,' said he: 'am I not dying?'
"'No,' replied I; 'your present symptoms are favourable; everything
depends upon your keeping your mind and body quiet.'
"'Quiet mind!' muttered he, with a bitter smile on his countenance. 'It
is not that I fear death, doctor; I think I could willingly depart in
peace, if I had but been allowed time to find the person whom I came to
Scotland in search of.'
"'And who is that?'
"'A fisherman at Rothesay.'
"He mentioned the name; but at this moment I forget it. Let me see--it
was--ay, it was Ponsonby--Charles Ponsonby."
Douglas started, and turned pale.
"Ponsonby!" exclaimed he; "that was _my_ name, my father's name! Who can
he be? Perhaps some old shipmate of poor Harry's. I will go directly and
see him." And he turned as if to depart.
"Gently, gently, my friend," said I, detaining him; "I must go with
you. When I left the poor fellow under the charge of a medical man at
Greenock, he was greatly better; but he had received some severe
internal injury, and he cannot live long. A sudden surprise might hasten
his death. I must go with you to prevent accidents."
We went on board the next steamer that started, and in two hours we
landed at Greenock. I led the way to the small lodging in which I had
left my patient; and leaving Douglas at the door, went in to inquire
into the state of the sufferer's health, and to prepare him for
his visitor. I found him asleep; but his was not the slumber that
refreshes--the restless and unquiet spirit within was disturbing the
rest of the fevered and fatigued body. His flushed cheek lay upon one
arm, while his other was every now and then convulsively raised above
his head, and his lips moved with indistinct mutterings.
"He is asleep," said I to Douglas; "we must wait till he awakens."
"Oh, let me look at him," said he; "it can do no harm. He must be an old
shipmate of poor Harry's; perhaps he has some memento of him for me."
"Very well," said I; "you may come in; but make as little noise as
possible."
We walked up gently to the bed; Douglas looked earnestly at the sleeper,
and, suddenly raising his clasped hands, he exclaimed--
"Merciful heaven! it is Henry himself!"
The poor patient started with a wild and fevered look.
"Who called me? I thought I heard Charles' voice! Where am I? Give way
in the boat!--oh, spare me, spare me, Charles!--Fire!--Down with them!
Hurra!"--And, waving his hands above his head, he sunk down again on has
bed, exhausted.
He soon fell into a deep slumber, which lasted for some hours. I was
sitting by his bedside when he awoke.
"How do you feel now?" said I.
"O doctor! I am dying. I have been dreaming: I thought I heard the voice
of one I have deeply injured--nay, I dreamt I _saw_ him; but changed,
how changed!--and I--I have been the cause of it."
Here he was interrupted by the smothered sobs of poor Douglas, or
Charles, as I now must call him.
"Who is that? there is somebody else in the room," said he; and,
drawing the curtain aside, he saw his brother. "Then it was no dream! O
Charles!" and, turning round, he buried his face in the pillow. Douglas
sprang forward, and, throwing himself on the bed, gave way to a violent
burst of emotion.
"Henry! dear Henry! look at me--it _is_ your brother, Henry!"
The dying man groaned. "I cannot look you in the face, Charles," said
he, "till you say you have forgiven me."
"Forgiven you!" replied the other; "bless you! bless you, Henry! if you
did but know the load of remorse that the sight of you has relieved me
from! Thank heaven I was _not_ your murderer!"
"And can you forget the past, Charles?" said Henry. "Do not my ears
deceive me? Do you really forgive me?"
"Freely, fully, from my heart!" was the reply; "the joy of meeting you
again, even thus, repays me for all I have suffered."
"O Charles!" again ejaculated Henry, "you were always generous and
forgiving; but this is more than I expected from you."
I was now going to leave the room; but my patient, noticing my
intention, begged me to remain.
"Stay, doctor, and listen to my confession; concealment is no longer
necessary, for I feel that the hand of death is upon me, and that, in a
few short hours, my career of sin, and shame, and sorrow, will be at an
end."
"My poor fellow," said I, "I have heard the first part of your story
from your brother; you had better defer the remainder till you have
recovered from your present agitation; I will come again to-morrow."
"To-morrow, sir!" said he; "where may I be before to-morrow? Oh, let me
speak now, while time and strength are allowed. It will do me good, sir;
it will relieve my mind, and be a comfort to my troubled spirit."
Feeling that he was right, I seated myself, while he thus commenced his
tale:--
"You remember, Charles, our last sad parting--when we stood"----
"Mention it not, Harry!" groaned his brother--"there is agony in the
recollection. Poor Julia!"
"When I left you, I was maddened with sorrow and remorse; all night long
I wandered about in a state of distraction, and, when morning dawned, I
fell down by the roadside, overcome with fatigue and misery. How long I
lay I know not; when I awoke, the sun was high in the heaven; and,
during one brief moment of forgetfulness, I rejoiced in his brightness.
Alas! it was but for a moment; my guilty love, my treachery, my loss,
all flashed upon my mind at once, and I started to my feet, and hurried
madly onwards, as if I hoped, by the rapidity of my movements, to escape
from my own thoughts. Hunger at last compelled me to enter a small
public-house, where I fell in with a poor sailor, who was on his way to
Liverpool in search of a ship. The sight of this man turned my thoughts
into another channel. 'Double-dyed traitor that I am,' muttered I,
'England is no longer a home for me. She for whose love I broke a
father's heart and betrayed a brother's confidence, has been torn from
me; and what more have I to live for here?' My mind was made up.
"'My lad,' said I to the sailor, 'if you have no objection, we will
travel together; I am bound to Liverpool myself.'
"'With all my heart,' said he; 'I like to sail in company.'
"I engaged to work my passage out before the mast, in a ship bound
to Jamaica, intending to turn my education to some account there if
possible, or, at all events, to remain there as long as my money lasted.
When I saw the shores of my native land sink in the distance, I felt
that I was a forlorn and miserable outcast--that the last link was
severed that bound me to existence. A dark change came over me; a spirit
of desperation and reckless indifference; a longing wish to end my
miseries at once. I strove against the evil spirit; and for a while
succeeded. On our arrival at Kingston, I endeavoured in vain to obtain
employment; my stock of money was fast decreasing; and when that was
gone, where was I to turn for more? Poverty and wretchedness threatened
me from without; remorse was busy within. 'Why should I bear this weary
load of life?' said I, as I madly paced the shore, 'when one bold plunge
would bury it for ever?'
"I threw myself headlong into the water; and, though an excellent
swimmer, I resolutely kept my face beneath the surface; yes, with
desperate determination, I strove to _force_ myself into the presence of
that dread Being whom I had so grievously offended. When I came to my
senses again, I was lying on a part of the beach I was unacquainted
with; a tall, handsome, dark-featured young man, was bending over me,
and, within a few yards of where I lay, a small light boat was drawn up
on the shore.
"'So you have opened your eyes at last, my friend,' said the man; 'you
have had a narrow squeak for it. When I dragged you out of the water,
like a drowned rat, I thought all was over with you. Have you as many
lives as a cat that you can afford to throw away _one_ in such a foolish
manner?'
"'Life! I am sick of it,' answered I.
"'Well,' said he, 'if that is the case, why not throw it away like a
man, among men? Come with me, and I will furnish you with active
employment to drive the devil out of your mind. But here, before we
start, take some of the cordial to cheer you.'
"I was chilled and exhausted, and took a hearty draught. I felt its
warmth steal through my frame--it mounted to my brain--I laughed aloud;
I felt that I was equal to any act of desperation. Alas! I little knew
the snare I was falling into. We launched the boat and sprang into it;
and my companion, seizing the oars, pulled rapidly along the beach.
After rowing some distance, we saw a light glimmering amid the bushes;
it was now nearly dusk; my companion lay on his oars, and gave a long,
low, peculiar whistle, which was immediately answered. He then ran the
boat ashore; two men sprang in, who relieved him at the oars; and we
again held on our way. There was a great deal of conversation carried on
in a low tone; and from what I heard of it, half tipsy as I was, I
inferred that my companion, whom the other men addressed with great
respect, was a naval officer on some secret duty. Just as we were
crossing the mouth of a narrow creek, a light four-oared gig dashed out
after us, a voice hailed us in English to lie on our oars, and, when we
still held on our course, a musket ball whizzed over us, to enforce
obedience.
"'The piratical rascals!' exclaimed the young man; 'if they lay hold of
us, we are all dead men.' 'Here!' continued he, seizing a musket, which
lay in the stern sheets, and giving me another, 'fire for your life!'
"I was half mad with fever, and the effects of my late draught; and,
under the persuasion that our lives were in danger, I fired. The bowman
of the gig fell, and we rapidly left her. We came at last to a narrow
lagune, close to the low shore of which lay a small schooner at anchor,
with sails bent, and every preparation for a start.
"'Welcome on board the little Spitfire, my man!' said the young
stranger; 'we want hands--will you ship?'
"'What colours do you sail under,' replied I.
"'Oh, not particular to a shade,' said he; 'any that happens to suit us
for the time being: black is rather a favourite.'
"'Black!' exclaimed I; 'I thought you were king's men. I won't go with
you.'
"'It is too late, my lad--go you must! Besides, there is no safety for
you on shore now; you shot one of the crew of the cruiser's gig, and
they will have life for life, depend upon it.'
"The whole horror of my situation now burst upon me. I was in a fearful
strait; but I made up my mind at once, to deceive the pirates, by
appearing to be contented with my situation, and to take advantage of
the first opportunity that presented itself to escape.
"'Well,' said I, 'if that's the case, I had better die fighting bravely
like a man, than hang like a dog from the yard-arm of a man-of-war.'
"'Bravely said, my hearty!' replied the young leader; 'but we must be
moving--the blue jackets will be after us; that shot of yours will bring
the whole hornet's nest about our ears.'
"We got under way; and, after rounding the east end of Jamaica, we stood
away for the Cuba shore. The very first time we came to an anchor, I
made an attempt to escape; I had saved part of my provisions for some
days before, and concealed it, in readiness to take with me. We were
lying close to the shore, and the darkness of the night would, I
thought, conceal my movements; I was just slipping over the schooner's
side, to swim ashore, when I felt a touch upon my shoulder, and, turning
round, a dark lantern flashed in my face, and I saw the young pirate
standing beside me. He held a cocked pistol to my head. 'One touch of
this trigger,' said he, 'and you would require no more looking after. My
eye has been upon you all along; you cannot escape me; do not attempt it
again--the consequences may be fatal.'
"From that hour I was aware that I was constantly and narrowly watched.
Except in the one instance of the gig's man, whom I had fired at under
a delusion, it was my good fortune as yet to have escaped imbruing my
hands in blood. During the action with the Albion, I was sent in the
boat, under the particular charge of the mate. 'Keep your eye on this
fellow,' said the captain; 'If he flinches for a moment, blow his brains
out instantly; we must _glue him_ to us with blood. I will keep her in
play till you creep alongside; and, once on board, cut every one down
before you--give no quarter.'
"My blood ran cold at this horrible order, and I determined upon doing
all in my power to counteract its execution. I was delighted when you
discovered our approach and the blue light flashed from your stern; for
I dreaded the scene of massacre that must have ensued, if we had
boarded you unawares. I sprang on deck with the rest, in hopes that I
might be able to prevent some bloodshed; but, when I was violently
attacked, my passions were aroused, and I fought desperately for my
life. Just as you tumbled me over the gangway, the gleam of moonshine
showed me your face. I recognised you immediately; and, when I rose to
the surface of the water again after my plunge, I blessed heaven that I
had been spared the guilt of murder. I reached the boat which was still
hanging under your quarter, cut the painter, and in the confusion,
escaped unnoticed. I immediately made for the shore; and after many
hair-breadth escapes from my old associates, I volunteered on board one
of the cruisers on the Jamaica station. At length she returned home, the
crew were paid off, and I determined to seek you out. On inquiring at
the office of the owners of the Albion, in Liverpool, they told me that
the late chief mate had settled, some years before, in the neighbourhood
of Rothesay, in the Isle of Bute, and was still alive. Thank heaven! I
have found you at last! I should like to live, Charles, to prove to you
my sorrow and repentance for the past; but, as heaven has willed it
otherwise, the blessed assurance of your forgiveness will lighten death
of half its terrors."
The poor fellow breathed his last a few days afterwards. Douglas mourned
long and deeply for his brother's death; but after time had soothed his
grief, he became quite an altered man. His mind and spirits recovered
their elasticity, after the load which had so long weighed them down
was removed. He did not resume his own name; but lived many years
afterwards, contented and happy, in the humble station of a fisherman;
and it was not till after his death that his old companions discovered
how justly the name of "Gentleman Douglas" had been applied to him. His
tombstone bore the simple inscription, "Charles Douglas Ponsonby,
eldest son of the late Reverend T. Ponsonby."
I often wander, in the calm summer evenings, to the quiet churchyard,
and return a sadder, but, I hope, a better man, after meditating upon
the troublous and adventurous life, and peaceful and Christian death of
the ROTHESAY FISHERMAN.
LEAVES
FROM
THE DIARY OF AN AGED SPINSTER.
The poet of THE ELEGY _par excellence_, hath written two lines, which
run thus--
"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
Now, I never can think of these lines but they remind me of the tender,
delicate, living, breathing, and neglected flowers that bud, blossom,
shed their leaves, and die, in cold unsunned obscurity--flowers that
were formed to shed their fragrance around a man's heart, and to charm
his eye--but which, though wandering melancholy and alone in the
wilderness where they grow, he passeth by with neglect, making a
companion of his loneliness. But, to drop all metaphor--where will you
find a flower more interesting than a spinster of threescore and ten, of
sixty, of fifty, or of forty? They have, indeed, "wasted their sweetness
on the desert air." Some call them "old maids;" but it is a malicious
appellation, unless it can be proved that they have refused to be wives.
I would always take the part of a spinster; they are a peculiar people,
far more "sinned against than sinning." Every blockhead thinks himself
at liberty to crack a joke upon them; and when he says something, that
he conceives to be wondrous smart, about Miss Such-an-One and her cat or
poodle dog, he conceives himself a marvellous clever fellow; yea, even
those of her own sex who are below what is called a "certain age" (what
that age is, I cannot tell), think themselves privileged to giggle at
the expense of their elder sister. Now, though there may be a degree of
peevishness (and it is not to be wondered at) amongst the sisterhood,
yet with them you will find the most sensitive tenderness of heart,
a delicacy that quivers, like the aspen leaf, at a breath, and a
kindliness of soul that a mother might envy--or rather, for envy, shall
I not write _imitate_? But ah! if their history were told, what a
chronicle would it exhibit of blighted affections, withered hearts,
secret tears, and midnight sighs!
The first spinster of whom I have a particular remembrance, as belonging
to her caste, was Diana Darling. It is now six and twenty years since
Diana paid the debt of nature, up to which period, and for a few years
before, she rented a room in Chirnside. It was only a year or two before
her death that I became acquainted with her; and I was then very young.
But I never shall forget her kindness towards me. She treated me as
though I had been her own child, or rather her grandchild, for she was
then very little under seventy years of age. She had always an air of
gentility about her; people called her "a betterish sort o' body." And,
although _Miss_ and _Mistress_ are becoming general appellations now,
twenty or thirty years ago, upon the Borders, those titles were only
applied to particular persons or on particular occasions; and whether
their more frequent use now is to be attributed to the schoolmaster
being abroad or the dancing-master being abroad, I cannot tell, but
Diana Darling, although acknowledged to be a "betterish sort o' body,"
never was spoken of by any other term but "auld Diana," or "auld Die."
Well do I remember her flowing chintz gown, with short sleeves, her
snow-white apron, her whiter cap, and old kid gloves, reaching to her
elbows; and as well do I remember how she took one of the common _blue
cakes_ which washer-women use, and tying it up in a piece of woollen
cloth, dipped it in water, and daubed it round and round the walls of
her room, to give them the appearance of being papered. I have often
heard of and seen _stenciling_ since; but, rude as the attempt was, I am
almost persuaded that Diana was the first who put it in practice. To
keep up gentility putteth people to strange shifts, and often to
ridiculous ones--and to both of these extremities she was driven. But I
have hinted that she was a kind-hearted creature; and, above all, do I
remember her for the fine old ballads which she sang to me. But there
was one that was an especial favourite with her, and a verse of which,
if I remember correctly, ran thus--
"Fie, Lizzy Lindsay!
Sae lang in the mornins ye lie,
Mair fit ye was helping yer minny
To milk a' the ewes and the kye."