are within the walls of a jail, awaiting their arrival, can conceive the
dread sensation of fear and hope awakened in the breasts of criminals by
the clang of the trumpets and shouting of the mob, as the pageant
proceeds through the streets. How bitter are the feelings produced by
the joyous shouts of the thoughtless people! forgetful, or heedless, of
the fates of their fellow-mortals. Next day I was led into the court,
more dead than alive. My head became giddy. Everything before me--the
crowded court, the judges, jury, and officers--became a confused mass; a
murmur as if of horror sounded in my ears from the assembled multitude;
the fatal bundle lay upon the table before me. At length all was ready;
and, the indictment having been read aloud by the clerk, the judge, in a
solemn voice, asked if I was guilty or not. After a gasp or two for
breath--
"'O my lord!' I said, 'I am as guiltless of this crime as the unborn
babe. Have mercy on me!' And I sank upon the table before me,
overpowered.
"The public prosecutor then opened the case, and harrowed up my soul
with the fearful account of the diabolical deed. He almost persuaded me
I was the murderer; so clearly did he reason from appearances. The
witnesses were called; a chain of circumstantial evidence was made out;
all that was awanting in it was, that I had not been seen to do the
deed. Witnesses I had not one. Those whom I could have called could have
said nothing but what they had already said, and it was wrested to my
disadvantage by my own story; for I was a self-convicted liar, and
little better than a thief, in my attempt to appropriate what was not my
own--even in the most favourable construction my able counsel could put
upon my case. The jury, without leaving their box, pronounced me guilty,
without a dissentient voice. The judge put on the fearful black hat upon
his head; and, after a heart-harrowing speech upon my guilt, pronounced
sentence of death upon me. I was to be taken back to the jail, and from
thence to the spot where the murder had been committed, and hung in
chains on the second market-day in October. How I was removed from the
court I cannot tell; neither can I tell what intervened for some hours.
The last thing strongly impressed upon my memory is a burst of
satisfaction in the court, when the sentence was passed upon me, and the
hooting of the crowd without; yet, strange to say, I slept soundly after
the irons were riveted upon my ankles, and awoke to find my doom fixed,
and my days on earth numbered. I became, in a manner, resigned to my
fate. Indeed, save for my parents, I had no other regret in leaving the
world; yet, at times, an anxious wish would steal upon my mind that I
might be saved from my unmerited death. It was the shuddering of nature
at entering upon eternity. The hope never left me that my innocence
would, at one time or another, sooner or later, be made manifest to my
fellow-men--for murder will not hide, nor innocent blood cry from the
earth in vain. The hours flew past with fearful rapidity; the
neighbouring clock seemed never to cease to strike the hour. Night
followed day, and day night, as if there was no interval between; yet
there was a heaviness upon me that bowed me down. My last Sabbath on
earth arrived; the day was spent in devotion--my heart-broken parents,
who now were convinced of my innocence, pouring out their souls with
mine to the Throne of Grace. If ever there was on earth a foretaste of
the joys of heaven, I felt it that day in the condemned cell, loaded
with irons. We had taken farewell of each other, in the full assurance
of soon meeting where there is no sorrow or shame. The bitterness of
death was past. My thoughts were no longer of this world.
"The Monday passed on. There was but one whole day more for me on the
earth. Wednesday was to be my last. On the morning of Tuesday, as soon
as the jail was opened, my brother, who had always thought hardly of me,
and visited me only twice, rushed into my cell, and, weeping, fell upon
my bosom. After a few minutes, he sobbed--
"'My brother! Simon, my brother! can you forgive me for thinking so
hardly of you?'
"'My brother,' I replied, 'I have ever thought of you in grief and pity,
never in anger. My heart blesses you for this kindness.'
"'You are innocent, my own Simon! You are cleared of this crime. All is
made manifest. The worthy minister is at present with the provost, who
will write to the sheriff to delay the fatal day, until your pardon
come.'
"I heard no more: a faintness came over me; my heart ceased to beat, and
all consciousness left me for some time. When I recovered, we fell upon
our knees, and poured out our souls in thanksgivings. At that time I
dedicated the whole remainder of my days to the service of that merciful
God who had made clear my innocence, and spared my parents and friends
from shame.
"When we had become composed, I learned from him the wonderful manner in
which my innocence had been discovered, and the guilty punished by the
hand of the sufferer's own brother. She had resided in the parish of
Caerlaverock, with a brother, a widower, as his housekeeper, for some
years; and it had been understood that she was soon to marry a young
man, a stranger, who had come some years before into the parish. He was
on intimate terms with her brother; but her other friends did not
approve of the connection, as his character was none of the best. Her
brother was of a thoughtless, jovial disposition, and saw no harm in
him, for he was an excellent boon-companion, and they were thus
inseparable on all occasions of festivity. On the Saturday afternoon
before the day appointed for my execution, they had gone out with their
guns to shoot for amusement. Both had been drinking pretty hard; and it
was observed that the stranger had for some time almost entirely given
himself up to intoxication, especially since the death of Grace, his
sweetheart. This was attributed to his grief, and begat pity for him,
and no one was more assiduous in endeavouring to cheer his gloom than
her brother. After their search for game, they were returning to the
village, when, by some accident, the gun which Grace's brother carried
went off, and lodged its contents in the body of his companion, who
fell, dreadfully wounded. A surgeon was sent for, who gave little hopes
of his recovery. No blame could be attached to his companion, as the
accident was seen by several, and the grief of Grace's brother was
excessive. On the Sabbath, the stranger was much worse. His mind seemed
to suffer more than his body; and words of fearful import escaped from
him at intervals, which harrowed up the souls of those who attended him.
Cries of despair, mixed with horrid imprecations, burst from his lips.
Yet death evidently was approaching fast to seize his victim. When they
spoke of sending for the minister to pray with and console him, he
blasphemed, and thus spent he his last Sabbath on earth. Through the
night he fell into a troubled sleep, and began to mutter. Gradually his
words became more distinct. He talked of Grace, and recounted her murder
as he had perpetrated it; writhed in remorse, and called for mercy from
my injured spirit, as if I had already suffered. As soon as the morning
dawned, the minister was sent for, and what the guilty man had said in
his sleep recounted to him. He was now very low; the hand of death was
on him; and, for some time, he was deaf to the remonstrances of the
divine. But at length he confessed all; told that they would find the
knife with which he had done the fearful crime buried at the back of the
cottage where he lay. All was written down by the minister. The knife
was found, stained with the blood of his victim. I was now as much the
object of pity as I had been of hatred and horror. That day my irons
were struck off; I had the freedom of the jail until my pardon arrived,
and was visited by numbers of the inhabitants, who loaded me with
presents. But my feelings of gratitude were principally awakened on my
parents' account, for the joy it imparted to them. Many, many years have
passed since that event, but it is ever present with me, and spurs me on
in my labours of love, in comforting and winning souls to God."
So deeply had I been interested in the narrative of the Pious Pedlar,
that we had reached York, and stood at the door of the Duke of
Marlborough public-house, before I was aware of the distance we had
walked after he commenced. As this was the house where Bill and a number
of others in his line were in the habit of staying during the time they
were in the town, we entered, and found two or three, who, like
ourselves, had come to purchase goods. I was astonished at the haughty
manner in which they returned our salutation. The landlord, who seemed
to know all his guests well, received William and Simon with a hearty
welcome; and, shaking me by the hand, wished me success in my new
calling, expressing his hope that I would find everything in the
Marlborough to my liking. We were then ushered into a small room, where
dinner was to be served to us. When we were comfortably seated, I
remarked to Bill the impression the lofty bearing of the others had made
upon me, and inquired if he knew the cause. He laughed--
"Quite well," said he; "there is an aristocracy among pedlars as well as
other callings. They belong to the waggoners, and would think it a
degradation to associate with us bearers. We are a grade beneath them;
besides, the waggoners are, for the most part, gentlemen by birth--the
younger cadets of decayed houses of long standing. With a little capital
to commence with, they never dealt in small quantities, their line lying
in supplying the retailers in distant towns, and many of them are very
wealthy. Upon my return from London, when I have purchased my horse and
waggon, I will be entitled to rank with them, but will never be treated
as the equal of those who have both birth and waggons; nevertheless, I
will be a waggoner until I commence business in my own shop, when I will
be a grade higher than even waggoner; and, with economy and my usual
perseverance, I may be a bailie, or even provost, of the town I settle
in. Only think of that, John Square! Stick to your present occupation,
and, without trusting the stormy ocean, you may, by following my
counsel, succeed as well as I or any one."
"My young friend," said the pious Simon, "all these are good in
subjection; but a higher aim ought to be your guide through life; for
all these give not peace to the soul."
While he spoke, we were joined by other two of our own rank, to whom my
two companions were barely civil, and very distant. Both were well
advanced in years, with a forward cast of countenance and a look of low
cunning strangely blended, which they endeavoured to make pass for
frankness. Having settled our small bill, and left our packs in charge
of the landlord, I walked out to see the minster, they to transact some
business of their own.
I returned when the shades of evening fell, and found that Wilson and
Simon had arrived some time before me, and were seated by themselves.
There were several others in the room in general conversation, in which
we took no part. The two whom I had left before I went out were still in
the same position, evidently under the influence of liquor. They were
clearly unwelcome; their conversation was only calculated to beget
disgust in well-regulated minds, consisting of anecdotes of fraud and
imposition, of which they seemed proud of being the heroes.
"These two," said Simon to me, "are a specimen of those who bring
disrepute upon any callings, and much more so on ours. They are not
without talents, but they cultivate them to unprofitable ends. I have
known them for many years; and, with all their boasted cunning, they
are, I believe, poorer at this moment than they were when I first knew
them, and must still become poorer, for their character is gone. The
public fear to deal with them, and will not do it, even when they would
act honestly. They are forced to range far, to places where they are
unknown; and even there they are every year circumscribing and planting
thorns for others to walk over. They, besides, are ever under the fear
of injury from some one or other whom they have defrauded. Such are the
fruits of dishonest dealing."
All our business being transacted, it was agreed that we should continue
our route for London, to purchase silks and light goods, and return by
the same route to Scotland. William having purchased a small waggon and
horse, together with a small assortment of woollens, my stock remained
much the same, and was slung over my shoulder, save when, for ease, and
there were no houses on the road, I placed it in the waggon; for I was
weary of my pedlar's life, and only endured it until I should reach
London. We arrived at Hatfield, about twenty-five miles from London,
early in the afternoon, and resolved to stay for the night, as Wilson
had hopes of doing some good in the neighbourhood. As for me, I had
ceased, much to his chagrin, to attempt any sales, as my pack was now
much reduced. While he was gone, I sat at the inn-door, amusing myself
in the best manner I could--sometimes musing on my strange fate, at
others gazing listlessly upon the passers-by--when a post-chaise drove
up to the door at a furious rate. The horses were extremely blown, and
covered with perspiration. A gentleman and lady descended from the
chaise; she evidently was under restraint, and looked anxiously and
fearfully around. Our eyes met; I thought she gave her hand that was
disengaged a movement, as if she wished me to come to her. She was in
tears. I rose, and moved to approach, but she was hurried into the house
before I could advance; for I was in doubt--yet her look expressed what
her hand signalled. I thought it strange, for a moment; but this feeling
died away, for I might have been deceived. The gentleman came to the
door, to hurry the people, as they were rather slow, as he thought, in
procuring fresh horses. I good-naturedly went to assist the postilion.
As I stood before the chaise, I looked up to one of the windows, and saw
the female weeping at it. Our eyes again met; she clasped her hands
imploringly, and, taking a small packet, placed it behind the
window-shutter, and, raising her clasped hands to heaven, looked
earnestly at me. I gave a nod of assent. She retired from the window.
All this had passed quickly as a shadow. In a few minutes they were
again in the chaise. As it passed off, I again gave a nod, and a languid
smile passed over her face. I entered the house, and inquired of the
landlord who they were; but got no information, as he said they were
unknown to him. I requested to have a glass of brandy-and-water in the
room where the lady had been. As soon as it was brought, and he had
retired, I looked behind the window-shutter, and, taking out the parcel,
found it to contain a sum of money and a sealed letter, upon the inside
of the wrapper of which was written in pencil--"Benevolent stranger,
whoever you are, for mercy's sake and all that is dear to you, deliver
this as directed, with your utmost despatch, and snatch a
fellow-creature from misery. Let this supply your immediate wants, and
an ample reward shall follow. Use all despatch, I again implore you."
I was for a few minutes lost in amazement. The letter was addressed to
Captain James H----, Strand, London. Could this be my old patron and
captain? There was not one moment to lose. I descended to the bar, and
told the landlord I must set off for London immediately, and requested
his advice how I was to proceed. He told me I must make the journey on
horseback, as he had not another pair of horses. I told him that was
impossible, as I had never been on horseback in my life, and I could
walk it faster and with more ease than I could ride. I would walk on to
Barnet before dark, and get a chaise there if I could find none sooner.
As I was on the eve of setting off, he found means to procure an old
phaeton; and, while it was getting ready, I wrote to Wilson that
circumstances forced me to London, but that I would perhaps see him in
the morning. At all events, I made him heartily welcome to my pack, as I
meant to carry it no more, wishing him health and prosperity if we
should not meet.
I mounted the high-hung, crazy vehicle, with a lad to drive and bring it
back, having satisfied mine host to his utmost wish. By half-past ten
o'clock, I reached the jeweller's in the Strand, whose first floor
Captain H----occupied, and found him at home. His lady was also present.
His surprise was great at my entering. Our joy was mutual, and only
damped by my relating the strange manner in which I had again had the
pleasure of seeing him. He broke the letter open, and having hastily
perused it, turned to his wife, who sat pale and anxiously looking at
him--"My love, I must be off this instant, and endeavour to rescue
Catherine from her unpleasant thraldom. Do not be alarmed--there is no
danger. During the time I am getting all ready, you may peruse the
letter." Saying this, he rung the bell, and ordered his servant to
procure a post-chaise as quickly as he could, and send in refreshments
for me. Mrs H---- was dissolved in tears, as she had read the letter to
an end. When we were again alone, "James," said she, "this proceeding of
Master Wilton is very cruel to my cousin; although he is her guardian,
he has, I should think, no right to wound her feelings, and hurry her
about the country in this mysterious manner. I am fearful he has some
reason he is ashamed to confess. My dear James, be careful of yourself
for my sake; I shall be miserable until your return."
"There is not the smallest occasion, my love; I shall write you as soon
as I arrive at Mr Wilton's. In the morning, you must write a note to Mr
Stenton, to call upon you. Show him your cousin's letter, and order him
to take what steps he may judge necessary in this affair."
"Can it be possible," said she, "that my aunt approves of this
proceeding? He could not have removed Catherine without her consent."
"I shall soon know, my love. The dear girl must not be allowed to suffer
from their designs or caprice."
At this moment the chaise was announced to be at the door, and in a
short time we were in it, and rattling along towards Barnet, where we
changed horses, and were in Hatfield a little after daybreak. During our
dark and comfortless ride, I told him all that had befallen me since we
parted in Lisbon. He had only been in London a few months, where he had
come upon business--an uncle of his wife's having died some time before,
leaving the bulk of his fortune to his two nieces--Catherine, the young
lady whose letter I had brought to London, and his wife. To Catherine,
his favourite sister's daughter, he had left, besides an equal sum in
cash, all his landed and other property. Mr Wilton's sister, the aunt of
both, was a rich widow, but of a morose and finical temper. Catherine
had been brought up by her some fifty miles from London, and Mr H----
had no idea until my arrival that she had not been still with her. "I
hope there is no foolish love affair in this strange business," said he;
"for Catherine is a warmhearted, susceptible girl. Her father was our
countryman, and my intimate friend."
As Mr Wilton's property lay near Baldock, about eighteen miles distant,
and no post-horses were to be got, the captain, on horseback, set off
alone; I was to follow on foot, which I preferred, to Stevenage, where I
was to wait until I heard from him. After a hasty parting from my
fellow-traveller Wilson, which was not without regret on both sides, I
set off for Stevenage; he saying, as he shook my hand--
"John Square, I hope you will never want, but you will never be rich.
You are as unstable as water."
I had only been in the inn at Stevenage a short time, when a servant
arrived with a note, informing me that Captain H---- had got all
arranged to his satisfaction, and would return to London on the
following day, requesting me to hasten thither with a letter for Mrs
H----; which I did, and took lodgings for myself in Lower Thames Street.
When the captain and I again met, I found present the young lady and
another gentleman. I was most graciously received by all. The uncle of
Catherine was likewise present, and, turning to his niece, said--
"So this is the messenger you contrived to engage, strictly as I watched
you in this foolish affair. I see that a woman's invention, like her
love, has no bounds"--saying which, he good-humouredly patted the happy
and blushing Catherine under the chin.
The captain retired with me to a separate room, where he told me that
the whole had arisen out of the anger of his wife's aunt, who had set
her heart upon marrying her niece to a young clergyman of her
neighbourhood, for whom she had not the smallest regard, and whose
assiduities were hateful to her, as her heart was already engaged to Mr
Stenton, a distant relation of her own; but, as his circumstances were
not sufficiently prosperous to enable them to marry, she had concealed
their love from all but Mrs H----.
"The death of her uncle, and my arrival in London, altered her views.
She rebelled against her aunt's authority, and refused to see the
clergyman as a lover. This threw the old lady into a paroxysm of rage.
Poor Catherine was locked up, and, all her repositories being searched,
Mr Stenton's letters were found. They were immediately sealed up, and a
letter written to Mr Wilton, her brother, of the most alarming kind for
the safety of his now wealthy niece, representing that she meant to
throw herself and fortune away upon some peasant in the neighbourhood.
He had posted, on receipt of the packet, to his sister, when his fears
were further excited by the old lady's conjectures. Catherine was
unconscious of what had passed, until she was summoned to the presence
of her uncle, whom she had seldom before seen. He is a good-hearted, but
a positive, irascible man. No explanation was asked. When all appeared
so plain against the trembling girl, she was, by her uncle and aunt,
hurried into a post-chaise, and was on her way to Mr Wilton's. She had
contrived to write to me during the short time she was allowed to
prepare for the journey, but had no opportunity until, struck by your
manners, she resolved to shorten her confinement by trusting you, as her
uncle's anger was so great that he had scarce spoken to her since they
entered the chaise, but to threaten and abuse her. When I arrived, an
explanation and reconciliation had taken place, and the marriage will
follow in a few weeks. It only remains for you to consider in what
manner we can serve you."
I returned him my thanks for their kind intentions; and said the young
lady's purse, which I would not affront them by offering to return, was
much more than sufficient reward for all I had done; and, begging I
might not detain him longer from his friends, I bade him adieu,
promising to call in a day or two.
CHARLES LAWSON.
"Tak a faither's advice, Betty, my woman," said Andrew Weir to his only
daughter--"tak a faither's advice, and avoid gaun blindfolded to your
ruin. Ye are sune aneugh to marry these seven years yet. Marry! preserve
us! for I dinna ken what the generation is turning to, but I'll declare
bits o' lasses now-a-days haena the dolls weel oot o' their arms, till
they tak a guidman by the hand. But aboon everything earthly, I wad
impress it upon ye, bairn, that ye canna be owre carefu o' your company;
mind that a character is a' a woman has to carry her through the warld,
and ye should guard it like the apple o' your e'e; and remember, that
folk are aye judged o' frae the company they keep. Now, how often maun I
warn ye no to be seen wi' Charles Lawson? He's a clever lad, nae
doubt--naebody denies that; but, oh, Betty, Betty, woman! wad ye only
reflect that a' gifts are no graces; and I am far mistaen if he hasna a
serpent's heart as weel as his tongue. He has naething o' the fear o'
God before his een--ye canna deny that. In ae word, he is a wild,
thoughtless ne'er-do-weel; and I charge ye--I command ye--Betty, that ye
ne'er speak to him again in your born days; or, if ye do, ye surely will
hae but little satisfaction to break your faither's heart, and bring him
to the grave wi' sorrow and wi' shame--for that, Betty, that wad be the
end o't."