was carefully preserved by me; my adventure with him of former years was
generally known, and my anxiety about him, and my following his body to
the grave, created no manner of surprise. His companions were tried,
convicted, and executed. The death of their leader, and the capital
punishment inflicted on his followers, had a wholesome effect in that
district, and 'lifting' of cattle, from that time, became, at least
there, somewhat uncommon.
"Resolved to redeem my pledge, I procured leave of absence, and
journeyed to Northumberland, where I found the family in mourning for
the old gentleman, who had died, strange to say, about a week before his
son. The delivery of the ring at once announced the cause of my visit,
and my attentions to the unhappy donor were repaid by the extreme
kindness of his relatives. Her brother, Edmund, thought he could never
do too much for me; and the kind-hearted and beautiful niece of the
ill-fated Ranald became----" Here he paused.
"What, father?" inquired Edmund.
"YOUR MOTHER."
THE SERJEANT'S TALES.
JOHN SQUARE'S VOYAGE TO INDIA.
Having been so much edified by Serjeant Square's narrative of the
Palantines, I was anxious to hear another section of his adventures.
Next day, my wish was gratified.
"After my arrival in Greenock from my voyage to America," he
began--"that land of promise, where I had been carried as a Palantine--I
had no wages to receive; for I had wrought my passage home--that is,
given my labour for my food and room in the vessel, and was not entered
as one of the crew. A miserable passage it was; for the captain being as
complete a tyrant as ever walked a deck, the crew were ill-used, and, of
course, sulky and dissatisfied; and, humble and obedient as I was, the
bad humour of every one was put forth upon me. The little seamanship I
had been so eager to acquire in my voyage out, now stood me in great
stead, and saved me many a kick and blow. Rough and severe as my masters
were, my progress was rapid. Young and nimble as a monkey, with a quick
eye and good memory, I was no despicable seaman before we reached the
Cumbraes. Even the captain, after a severe squall we had off the west of
Ireland, commended me, saying, 'Square, you are worth your room and
victuals!' Yet of room I had little, and my victuals were no boast.
Hammock or bedding I had none; but that mattered not to me, who had no
rest. I was in no watch, but was called up or started with a rope's-end
at the pleasure of every one, when there was anything to do, from the
cable tier, or wherever I had stretched my weary limbs to snatch an
hour's sleep. Still I bore up with a cheerful heart; for hard lying and
scanty fare were nothing new to me, and I hoped soon to tread the shores
of my native land. Well, I had only two dollars and a-half in my pocket
when I left Greenock to walk to Auld Reekie. My step was as light as my
heart. Towards sunset of the second day, I reached the city; and, before
I thought of rest, I had visited all my former haunts. But a very few
days served to dissipate my pleasing dreams of home. I had, for years
before I left Edinburgh, been looked upon as one too many in the city by
those who knew me as a dependant; and doubtless, when I disappeared,
they had felt relieved of a load they bore but lightly. I had returned
as poor as I departed; and they looked upon me with frowns, upbraiding
me with folly for my return from a place where I had a chance of
succeeding.
"In my wanderings, I had entered the King's Park by the eastern stile,
at the watering-stone, when, as I approached Mushet's Cairn, in the
Duke's Walk, I heard the clashing of swords on the other side of the low
wall. Urged by curiosity, I mounted the heap of stones to obtain a sight
of the combatants. My eyes became fixed upon them; my whole mind was
filled with so ardent, so intense an interest, that I could scarcely
breathe; yet my feelings were so painful at first, that my heart beat
thick, and my limbs shook under me. At one instant, I felt a desire to
part them--the next, to see the scene enacted and ended. I had in my
mind already taken a side, and wished 'my man' to conquer. They were
both, to appearance, gentlemen, and about the same age and stature; one
of them much slighter made than the other, who pressed him hard, while
he appeared to act principally on the defensive; and so cool and
dexterous was he in the use of his sword, that his opponent, though
equally master of his, was foiled in all his assaults. It was fearfully
grand to see two men so intent upon the destruction of each other. Their
looks spoke hatred and determination; their keen eyes were fixed upon
each other with an intensity I never before thought the eye capable of;
each seemed fixed immoveably upon that of his adversary; yet a fierce
vitality beamed in them, motionless as they appeared; while every limb
and muscle of their bodies was in the most violent action. No sound
arose on the stillness of the scene, except the clash and harsh grating
of their swords, as they foiled each other in their cuts and thrusts.
While I stood fascinated, gazing upon them, the thinner person--whose
side I had taken involuntarily, for I knew neither the individuals nor
the cause of quarrel--in parrying a thrust, slipped his foot, and sank
to the ground, his antagonist's sword passing through his body in a
downward direction. He lay extended at his conqueror's feet, who, quick
as thought, seized the hand of his fallen adversary, and detached a ring
from one of his fingers. I stood immoveable on the heap of stones, with
the low wall still between us, watching the issue. He disengaged his
sword, and was in the act of plunging it again into the body. 'Villain!
villain!' I shouted; it was all I could utter, horrified as I was. He
stopped his raised hand, looked round to where I stood, exclaimed, in a
voice hoarse from passion, 'Scoundrel, you must die!' and, at the same
moment, bounded towards me, with the blood-stained sword in his hand.
Not a moment was to be lost. Urged by fear, I sprang from the cairn, and
fled towards the hill, across the swamp. Fearfully I looked over my
shoulder as I neared the wall; he was evidently gaining upon me. Young
and fleet as I was, he was far my superior in length of leg and
strength; yet my fears did not destroy my presence of mind. I saw that
it was only by doubling I could escape; for, if the chase were continued
for any length of time, he must run me down like a hare; and the fearful
consequence gave me energy. At a bound I cleared the wall, and,
stooping, ran under its shade for some distance before he reached the
spot I had leaped. He stood (for I heard his panting breath) for a
second, before he perceived the direction in which I had run--a
circumstance of the utmost service to me. Down he leaped, and followed
on my track. I again sprang the wall; and, after running a few yards, I
was on the highway, and clear of the park. My hopes now were all placed
in meeting some one or other, to claim their protection, or in reaching
a house before my pursuer could overtake me. I had not run a hundred
yards towards the Abbey Hill, when I saw three men in sailor's dress
before me, going towards the city. I called to them to stop, for the
rapid step of my enemy was sounding in my ears like the death-knell.
They stood still, and looked back; the next moment I was up to them;
while he that followed leaped the wall, and disappeared in the direction
of the town. We sought not to pursue him, for I had not yet recovered my
breath sufficiently to inform them of what I had been an unconscious
witness. As soon as I told my story, the men resolved to go with me, to
ascertain whether the person was dead or required our aid, saying, they
were on their way to the Canongate, to meet their captain, by
appointment, and having yet sufficient time, they would go by the King's
Park, and bear the unfortunate gentleman to town. When we arrived at the
spot, we found him seated upon the grass, his head bent forward upon his
knee, sick and faint, the blood welling from the wound in his side,
which he was making no effort to staunch, and he was plunged in the
deepest melancholy. I could hear him sigh heavily ere we crossed the
wall. When the seamen saw him, they uttered a cry of mingled surprise
and rage. He raised his head; his face was deadly pale; a faint
expression of pleasure passed over it for a moment, then it settled into
deep sorrow. He appeared utterly regardless of life; and it was even
with gentle violence only that he allowed them to staunch his wound by
binding their silk handkerchiefs round his breast. We found that his
ankle was also dreadfully sprained and swelled; and, truly, his agony
must have been great from this cause alone; but no complaint or groan
escaped from him; and I thought I perceived that his sufferings were far
more mental than even bodily. From exhaustion or apathy, he allowed us
to do as we pleased; all he commanded being, to be taken to his vessel,
and not to the town. So we bore him to a house at Clock Mill, the
nearest refuge, while I ran to the Canongate to procure a surgeon, and a
conveyance to carry him to Fisherrow. The surgeon I might bring at my
own responsibility, for he would not hear of one, wishing evidently to
die. The sailors, who recognised me as having been on board the Eliza of
London only a few hours before, in quest of a berth, looked upon me now
as one of the crew, for the service I had rendered their beloved
captain.
After an absence of nearly an hour, I with difficulty procured a
post-chaise and a surgeon. The injury was found not to be of much
importance, the sword having glanced along the ribs, producing only a
severe flesh wound, which was dressed, and the dislocation reduced. The
surgeon insisted upon his staying where he was, for fear of fever, but
he was bent upon proceeding to his vessel; so, accompanied by the
surgeon, he set off in the chaise, and I, joining my new comrades on
foot, proceeded to the vessel, along with them. The sensation produced
by the wounded state in which the invalid had come on board, was in
proportion to the love the men bore to their captain. As soon as we were
upon the deck, every one on board crowded around us. I gave a true
detail of all I had witnessed; every one shook me heartily by the hand,
and declared he would be my friend to the end of life; but no one was
more warmed to me for the little I had done than the mate. The captain's
wound put on a favourable appearance, and he was declared out of danger.
In a few days, the wind chopped about to the westward, and we got under
weigh, to complete the voyage, being bound for London. Before we weighed
anchor, the captain caused himself to be carried upon deck, where he sat
gazing in the direction of Edinburgh until we were out of the Frith; he
seemed consumed with some secret grief, and had not opened his mouth to
give a single order, the mate doing all that was required.
"When we had passed the islands of May and the Bass, and stood into the
ocean, he called me to him.
"'Square,' said he, 'I have been informed by the mate how much I am
indebted to you. The service to me was of small value, insomuch as I had
rather have perished in the combat, than survived to think that my
traitorous rival has triumphed in his villany; but, believe me, young
man, my gratitude to you is not the less--you shall in me never want a
friend.'
"I thanked him kindly for his assurance, and said it would be my
endeavour to deserve his friendship. He was soon after removed below,
and I did not see him until we reached the Thames, and were moored at
the Isle of Dogs. The captain, who was part owner, went into furnished
lodgings while we were delivering our cargo, being still unable to walk,
from the dislocation of his ankle. The greater part of the crew also
lodged on shore; but I remained on board with the mate, in charge of the
vessel, and often went to the captain with letters and messages. In one
of my visits, he desired me to be seated, and give him an account of
myself, as he said he had taken an interest in my welfare, and wished to
serve me, agreeably to his promise, if I continued to deserve it. I gave
him a full detail of my life until I came to the encounter I had
witnessed between him and his opponent, when I stopped. 'Nay, young
man,' said he,'I wish to hear an account of what you were witness of,
from your own mouth.' I went on. He heard me with composure, until I
mentioned the tearing off the ring from his finger. When I came to this
part of the narrative, his countenance became distorted with rage; he
ground his teeth, and stamped upon the floor; his eyes flashed fire, and
his passion seemed too great for utterance. I looked on in silence,
fearful that, from his weakness, he would fall into a fit. At length, he
said, as if in deep abstraction, and unconscious of my presence--
"'Faithless Eliza! I thought I had cast it at thy feet in my agony of
blighted hopes, and felt pleased. It was my intention; but my mind was
a chaos of misery. The traitor Wallace has got the pledge of the love
you proved false to. Would that his sword had pierced the heart his
treachery has rendered miserable! No; I shall meet him once again, and
one of us shall die----'
"Then starting to his feet, he supported himself upon the back of a
chair, his countenance no longer distorted with rage, having changed
into a settled, resolute cast, calm and stern. His burst of emotion had
passed away.
"'Square,' he said, 'you, like myself, have no tie to bind you to
Scotland, no relation or friend on earth; we are as if we had dropped
from some distant planet, now desolate of inhabitants, into this busy
world. Still I must ever remember that any happiness I ever enjoyed was
in Edinburgh; and my heart's cherished hopes--hopes that have cheered my
way through toil and danger--were there for ever crushed by the subtle
arts of one I thought my friend. Base wretch! you shall not long exult
in your villany! Square, you must accompany me back to Edinburgh, as
soon as I am able to use this limb with vigour. Do you agree to
accompany me?'
"'With pleasure,' I replied; 'whenever or wherever you go, I go'. My
young heart was full of gratitude for the kindness I had received from
him; and I felt almost as keenly for his wrongs as if I had been a
brother. He saw the workings of my mind in my countenance, and, seizing
my hand, said--
"'Hence forth we shall be as friends.'
"The surgeon entered at this period of our discourse, and, to the
captain's anxious inquiries, replied that it would yet be some weeks
before his limb would be so strong that he might use it without pain,
for any length of time. It was a whole month after this before we left
London, during which I had a private tutor to teach me, and restore any
little instruction I had got at school during the life of my parents. I
went no longer on board, save to visit the mate, who was now as master
on the point of sailing; the Eliza being chartered, and her cargo almost
on board. He sailed for Rotterdam eight days before we intended to leave
London for Edinburgh; which we were to do in a chaise. A voyage to
America, in the present day, gives a landsman less concern than a voyage
between London and Leith did in those days.
"All being arranged, and the captain's ankle pretty stout, we set off for
Edinburgh. In our tedious ride over the wretched roads, he was pleased
to give me the following account of himself:--He was the second son of a
gentleman of decayed fortune in the north of Scotland. He and his elder
brother had been sent, young, to an uncle's in Edinburgh, for their
education. His brother had chosen his uncle's profession of the law;
while he, much against his uncle's wish, had preferred the sea. In his
occasional visits to Edinburgh, when opportunity offered, he had met in
his uncle's a lovely young lady, the daughter of a gentleman, who was
obliged to live in exile for the share he had had in the rebellion. She
was under his uncle's protection, as her father's agent and her
guardian. The young sailor's heart was won by the charms of the gentle
Eliza; he wooed and won her love. Vows of constancy were exchanged on
both sides; but, although fortune had smiled upon him, he was still not
rich enough to maintain his beloved in the rank she was by birth
entitled to: and it was agreed at their last parting, that, after a few
more successful voyages, he should ask her hand in form from his uncle.
Changed rings were accordingly the memorials of their plighted faiths.
It was Eliza's ring that Wallace had torn from his finger on that
eventful evening. Urged by love, he had in his last voyage come far out
of his regular course to visit his Eliza; and having anchored in
Fisherrow Bay, he flew on the wings of joyous expectation to Edinburgh.
On his way he had met an old schoolfellow, who, in answer to his
inquiries after his friends, told him, as a part of the news of the
day, that his old schoolfellow and rival, Wallace, was on the eve of
marriage to Eliza, and that his addresses were sanctioned by his uncle.
Maddened by the intelligence, he had hurried to his uncle's, and had the
bad fortune to see Wallace taking leave of her as he approached the
house; whereupon, in an agony of jealousy and disappointed love, he
hastened to overtake him. Angry words ensued--Wallace boasted of his
triumph, and a challenge was given and received, to meet in the King's
Park. Urged on by his disappointed hopes, he waited upon Eliza in a
frame of mind bordering upon distraction. Without prelude or
explanation, he upbraided her as the most faithless of women, saying, he
now thought as lightly of her love as he had ever highly prized it; and,
in his fury, thought he had, as he intended, thrown her ring at her
feet. At first she had looked alarmed, and wept, surprise held her
silent, until all her native pride, and the innate dignity of the
female, were roused by his taunts and reproaches, and she ordered him
from her presence. They parted in mutual anger. Without seeing his uncle
or any acquaintance in town, he had walked in the most sequestered parts
of Arthur's Seat and the Hunting Bog, until the hour of meeting his
rival. They met, and the issue has been told.
"As we approached the city, he became very dull and uncommunicative,
sitting absorbed in his own thoughts for hours; the fierce aspect that
his countenance had for a long time worn was succeeded by a deep shade
of sadness. I was young and inexperienced, and knew not how to speak, to
divert his mind from the painful feelings that were preying upon him;
thus we sat silent for hours, until we reached Musselburgh. 'Square!' he
said, starting up, 'I shall soon have my doubts solved. For this some
time an idea has haunted my mind, which renders me the most miserable of
men. What if, in my madness (I can give it no milder term), I have
wronged Eliza! She was all goodness and truth, and I ought to have
weighed well before I reproached her. I have striven to think hardly of
her, but my heart refuses. Eliza! Eliza! I have lost you for ever; true
or false, I can never look on thy face again; but Wallace shall not
triumph in my misery. I have preferred bringing you with me to any other
person, because of your intimacy with Edinburgh. I do not wish it to be
known that I am in town, until I have ascertained, through you, what has
occurred since my last unfortunate visit to it.' I promised cheerfully
to do my utmost to serve him in any duty he required, and, before the
evening set in, we were safely lodged in the White Horse Tavern at the
head of the Canongate. Our first step was to send for one of the
cadies--a race of men now extinct; but they were, in their day and
generation, a numerous fraternity in Edinburgh, and the source of
communication, before the invention of the penny post. The affairs of
the inhabitants of all ranks were in general well known to them. Their
trustworthiness was admitted, and they were often employed in preference
to domestic servants, in whose gossiping qualities they did not
participate. I named Angus M'Dougal in preference to any other, as I had
long known him. I brought him. When he entered, the captain sat with his
back towards us, wrapped up in his travelling cloak, and avoiding the
exposure of his face. After our first greeting, I proceeded to make the
necessary inquiries, and found that Mr H---- was in town, and went very
little abroad, on account of some distress in his house. The captain
gave a start, a stifled groan escaped him, and, to relieve his suspense,
I inquired of Angus if he knew the cause. 'Oh, the cause is no secret,'
replied he; 'his ward, Elizabeth, is not expected to recover frae a
dangerous illness. They say it is the effect o' grief, from a strange
and hurried occurrence that happened several weeks ago. Miss Eliza had a
sweetheart o' the name o' Mr Wallace, wha it was supposed was to hae
married her; he was a constant visitor at her uncle's, but there was
ane, they say, she liked better, a nephew o' Mr H----'s, wha was lang
awa at sea. He appeared suddenly in the house when her guardian was frae
hame, and as suddenly left it; nor has he been heard o' since. He was
seen in the King's Park by several, as they think. It's no for me to
speak evil o' ony gentleman; but they say that her other sweetheart
murdered him, and concealed his body, for next forenoon, Mr H---- was
sent for express, to come hame to Miss Elizabeth, wha had been out o' ae
fit into anither ever since she had seen his nephew. Mr H---- sent
everywhere to inquire for the unfortunate young man, but nae tidings
could be had. Mr Wallace had left the town suddenly, but nane could tell
whar he had gane. They say he was also seen, latish in the afternoon,
entering the Duke's Walk to the east. Every part was searched, in vain,
for the body, which has never been discovered; but, what has put it
beyond a doubt, in the minds of many, that the youth was killed, was,
that at a sma' distance within the wall near Mushet's Cairn, the grass
was observed to be trodden down, and stained wi' blood. This, and the
flight o' Wallace, who is said to hae gane owre to Holland to avoid the
vengeance o' his uncle, are, at best, very suspicious circumstances.
This Johnny Square, is a' that I ken o' the matter.'
"Dismissing the cadie as soon as possible, amply pleased with his
reward, I hurried to the captain, who was weeping, like an infant, his
face buried in his handkerchief. I saw that anything I could say, in the
present situation, would be intrusion upon grief, too sacred for
interference, and too recent to be soothed. After a few minutes, he
turned to me--'Am I not the most guilty of men,' he said, 'and
deservedly the most wretched? I have, by my hasty, jealous temper,
killed my Eliza, and banished myself from her presence for ever, even
should she recover. Oh! how could I, for a moment, harbour such a
thought, to the injury of such an angel--far less give utterance to it!
Fool, fool, that I have ever been!--it is fitting you die to atone for
your jealous madness.' And he beat his forehead with his clenched fists.
I became afraid that he intended to do some injury to his person; for
there was a fierceness, mingled with agony of mind, in his looks, as he
grasped, as if by some involuntary motion, the hilt of his sword, that
alarmed me. I was on the point, different times, of rushing upon and
disarming him; but, at length, this paroxysm was succeeded by one of
subdued grief, and he became, to all appearance, as feeble as an infant.
'Oh, that I could, by any sacrifice,' he cried, in thrilling tones,
'obtain one glance of my injured Eliza, if it even were my last, to die
at her feet, pleading for forgiveness!--her esteem, and with it her
love, I know I have forfeited for ever! Rash, rash fool that I was!'
Again he relapsed into silence, and, taking advantage of this new turn
of thought, I suggested his writing to his uncle. 'Alas, Square,' he
said, 'I cannot write; my mind is in a chaos of confusion--my brain is
racked almost to madness.'
"'Then,' I answered, 'allow me to go, as if I had just arrived in town,
and expected to have found you there, and to act as occasion requires.
If I find I can, there shall be a messenger sent for you to come to your
uncle's, or, at all events, I shall return in as short a time as
possible, and give you an account of my success.'