period. The cruelties committed by the king's troops in the Highlands,
made our blood run cold in our veins; and we now pitied those whom we
had a few months before hated and feared. Numbers were in prison,
waiting a bloody release, more objects of pity than those who were
butchered outright. The law sometimes realises the tales of the
crocodiles, and weeps over the victims it is intent to devour. Well, the
second evening after the laird left us, there came to our door a poor,
aged man, scarcely able to support himself upon his staff; his keen,
grey eyes were at one time fixed upon the ground, and the next, when he
looked up, piercing into my inmost thoughts. With a tone of voice which
affected humility, he requested rest and a little food. There was a
round fulness in the subdued tone, that ill assorted with the apparent
age of the individual; yet I welcomed him into the house--for the needy
never left our door empty. When he was seated, I saw his searching eye
scan the apartment. Grace was seated at her wheel, while I had been
reading to her the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and the book lay on the table.
The first words he spoke were to inquire if there were any other inmates
in the house except ourselves. When I answered him that there were not,
he stretched his body erect as he sat on his chair. I could scarce
believe my eyes. Grace gave a faint cry of surprise and fear. I looked
to the gun that hung over the mantelpiece--for that he was a robber in
disguise, was my first impression. It lasted, however, only for a
moment; for, taking a letter from his pocket, he gave it to me. It was
the promised letter from the laird; and so, taking the candle from the
table, I requested him to follow me. He rose from the seat, and, clothed
as he was in his beggar's weeds, I seldom had seen a more majestic
figure, as he passed into the little apartment. Without uttering a word,
he threw himself upon a seat, and motioned me to retire. I felt awed by
his presence, and withdrew, shutting the door after me, and leaving him
to his meditations. Grace prepared some supper for him; and, tapping on
the door, inquired if he would partake of it. He replied no; and begged
not to be disturbed until he called in the morning.
"Wondering at what we had seen, and who our guest could be, we retired
to rest. I could hear at times the stranger groan heavily; and Grace,
who slept little through the night, said she believed he had never lain
down, for she had heard him at times walking and sighing heavily. Yet,
afterwards, we had more to wonder at. For many weeks, he never allowed
any of us to enter his room. At night only he would walk forth, after we
were in bed. His food was handed in to him at the door. I never saw him,
neither did Grace; for he only exposed his hands, and part of his arms,
when he took anything from her at the door. At first we felt very
curious, and formed many conjectures who he could be; but, as the laird
still remained in Edinburgh, we could learn nothing. Gradually, we
became accustomed to all his humours, and thought little of them. Our
few neighbours seldom visited us, and they never suspected there was any
person except ourselves in the house. His taciturn and secluded manner
at length wore off. Grace first was admitted to his apartment, then
myself. Previous to this, a large trunk of books and necessaries, along
with a letter to me, arrived at the Big House. I was to get the whole
conveyed here in the best manner I could, for 'the gentleman,' as we
called him, which I immediately set about. From this time he became an
altered man. The almost misanthropical turn he had shown entirely left
him; a shade of touching sadness overcast his countenance; and it
appeared to me that his grey locks seemed more bleached by care than
time; for his voice was full and melodious, and his face unmarked by a
wrinkle.
"The executions at Carlisle, and the beheading scenes at Tower Hill, had
been over for some time before the change of which I speak took place.
Pleasing as it was to us, another source of discomfort, and a far more
trying one, was discovered: he was a rank papist!--an idolater!--a
worshipper of painted and graven images! Judge you what we two
covenanted adherents of the Church of Scotland, in all her purity, felt,
to have a part of our roof turned into a temple of Dagon! We were sore
beset. What to do, we knew not. If the laird had been at home, our duty
was plain before us--to demand back my pledge, which I never meant
should shelter the enemies of truth, or convert my house into the abode
of idolatry, to the risk of the salvation of our precious souls. But I
knew not where to find him; and besides, much as I detested our guest's
mode of worshipping, I could not divest myself of a secret love for
him--he was so condescending, so grand, yet so humble and polite in all
he did; and I could not say there was anything amiss in his conduct,
save the way in which he had decorated his lonely apartment. Grace there
was not half so much perplexed as I was. 'Poor gentleman,' she said, 'if
he is pleased, it would be wrong in us to find fault. I have nae doubt
he is a poor, misled, ignorant papist, and wish from my heart he was as
well informed as we are; but, if he thinks he is right, we may pity, but
I wadna distress him. We must set a good example, and pray for his
enlightenment night and morning.'
"I yielded to what she said, partly because I had an affection for him,
and partly because I agreed in her sentiments; yet I never entered the
idolatrous scene without feeling a shudder come over me. Upon the top of
his little table stood a crucifix and an open book, by the side of which
lay a string of beads. At the foot of his bed there was a picture of
Jesus on the Cross; and upon his breast he wore another, which I often
saw him take out and kiss, with his face raised to heaven, in an
expression of joy and hope, while the tears stole down his face. Yet I
could never think he had peace in his faith; for he was always
attempting something to secure his eternal happiness--night after night
flogging his bare shoulders--week after week tasting only bread and
water--on Friday refusing flesh or fowl--and, in the spring of the year,
living for weeks on eggs, bread, or milk. Surely, thought I, if the
papists are Christians, they do not feel the faith in Jesus that a true
Christian enjoys; for this worshipper obeys the traditions and commands
of men more than the Word of God. I often wished to expound the truth to
him; but we never, in all our converse, entered upon matters of faith. I
worshipped with Grace, as my fathers had done, by ourselves, and he in
his room, in perfect harmony. Yet, if strictness of walk and self-denial
be accounted holiness, he was far more holy than we; for, though his
mind was not so much at ease in his faith, his yoke appeared grievous,
and his burden heavy; and new penances, as he called them, were proofs
of his ever coming short in his own estimation of his attainable object.
Poor gentleman, he fell a victim to his own endeavours to attain peace
of mind by his austerities! He would have been a bright and a shining
light, had he only been brought up in the truth, as Grace and I had
been. But I am growing tedious, and wandering from the subject. To be
short, his life continued to be what I have described. We continued to
love him as a father; and poor Colin" (pointing to an old dog that lay
at our feet) "was his friend and constant companion. No one, save the
laird, Grace, and myself, knew he was in our house; and, after two or
three years, the laird called upon him often, and passed a few hours
with him; but he seemed to feel pleasure only when alone, and engaged in
his superstitious devotions. About twelve months since, he began
evidently to decline in health, and the laird wished to remove him to
the Big House, and procure medical attention; but this he would not hear
mentioned.
"'I have vowed,' said he, 'to the Virgin, never to leave this place
alive; but, if you will send to Edinburgh, and get me a priest of our
Holy Faith, that I may receive the last rites and consolations of the
True Church, my soul will thank you and depart in peace--you, my friend,
know whom. If possible, I would wish you to learn if he is still alive;
he will not refuse to come.'
"In a few days after, a stranger came to our door, and gave me a letter
for the strange gentleman. I had not seen him for several days, Grace
being his sole attendant; and even she dared not interrupt him but as
little as possible. I was shocked at the change I saw upon him. He lay,
pale and exhausted, his eyes bent on the crucifix, and his thin, wasted
hands clasped upon his bosom, as if he had been entranced. The sickly
light of the wax candle that burned beside the crucifix cast a strange
light upon the dead-like body before me. I started back, and looked
aghast. The noise of my entrance had aroused him.
"'What want you, William?' he inquired, in a hollow voice.
"'It is a letter for you, sir,' said I, 'brought by a stranger, whom the
laird said I might admit.'
"A glow of pleasure passed over his face, as, with an effort, he raised
himself, and took the letter from my hand.
"'Blessed Jesus!' he said, 'my prayers are heard! Admit him. He brings
me peace and salvation through the Church. My penitence and penances
have prevailed.'
"After the stranger, who was a Papist priest, was admitted, they
remained alone until our guest died, which was on the second day after.
He was buried by the laird. What or who he was, we never knew. All his
books and papers were taken away; but the consequences of his residence
still remain, as a punishment for harbouring a Papist, and suffering
idolatry under our roof. The room he possessed and died in is, we are
certain, disturbed by a spirit. We hear the door open and shut at night,
and strange noises startle us from our rest. Two visiters, one after the
other, who attempted to sleep in it, were terrified almost out of their
senses; and it is for this reason we could not offer it to you to sleep
in."
My curiosity was as much awakened by the vague account the good people
gave me of the room in its present state, as my interest had been
excited by the account of the poor outlaw. I am, I confess, not more
brave than other people. I never courted danger for the love of it, or
fled from it to meet dishonour; and, as for the reality of spectres, I
neither believe nor disbelieve in them; having, in all my travels, never
seen a legitimate one, nor troubled my head about them. As much through
curiosity, I believe, as anything else--for I am sure it was not the
love of a good bed, far less an adventure--I told my hosts I would with
pleasure sleep in the room, if they would allow me; and, after some
honest endeavours to dissuade me, they consented. Supper and
family-worship being finished, we all three entered the apartment--the
good woman insisting upon our company while she prepared my bed, and her
husband going more cheerfully when I proposed to accompany them. All
the little duties were done by the dame in a hurried, timid manner; and,
while she was occupied, I looked round. The door was only fastened by a
wooden latch, which opened by a string hung upon the outside. The whole
interior had a simple, clean, neat look, which pleased me. After a hasty
good-night and God be with you, they withdrew. When I was left alone,
the account I had just heard of the strange individual who had for so
long a period inhabited the apartment passed over my mind; and who or
what he could be gave rise to many a conjecture. I became low-spirited
at the thought of the many miseries that human nature is liable to,
under reverses of fortune from which neither birth nor riches can
protect us. In this frame of mind I retired to rest--the idea of
anything supernatural never entering my mind, and no shade of fear
discomposing my thoughts. I soon fell asleep. How long I had slept I
know not; but I was awakened by a slight noise at the door of the room,
as if some one had put his hand upon it. I now felt alarmed, and
expected to witness some fearful sight. The door opened and shut with a
faint clang. I heard a movement on the floor. A cold sweat came over me.
I raised myself upon my elbow. All was dark--impenetrably dark, and I
saw nothing; but the curtains at the foot of the bed shook violently.
"Who is there?" I attempted to inquire; but only a faint murmur escaped
my lips.
A strange noise and movement on the floor again took place, and I bolted
up and sat in the bed. The curtains again moved at the head; and, as I
thought, were partially opened. Still nothing was to be seen, and I put
forth my hand to grope. Something as cold as death touched it. This was
more than I could endure. I sunk upon the bed, buried my head in the
clothes, and would have cried out; but that terror had paralysed every
faculty. Whatever was the cause of my alarm, I now found that the object
had come into the bed, and was either seated or lying between me and the
wall. I dared not uncover my head, or put out my hands to ascertain what
it might be. The icy feeling still thrilled through my frame; and thus I
lay in mortal agony, under the conviction that the object still reclined
immoveable by my side. My firmness gradually began to return; and with
it came calm reflection. I thought I heard a heavy breathing; and slowly
uncovered my head to hear it better. Once more I summoned a desperate
resolution to put forth my hand. What did my hand encounter?--the shaggy
coat of a dog. A gentle whine followed; the next moment my hand was
licked by a warm tongue. I smiled at my late alarm. It was Colin.
Soon after daybreak I was awakened by my host, who came to inquire how I
had passed the night. He was agreeably surprised to find me safe and
well. To his inquiries, I related the adventure of the night without
concealing my fears, and the chance there was of my having added one
more testimony to the evil report of his apartment. The gratitude of the
good people was extreme. They overwhelmed me with their thanks. They
said I had rendered them a service they could not sufficiently repay. I
had removed a cause of dread which had cast a gloom over their minds for
many months; and, continued William--
"How silly it was in me not to know or think that it might be
Colin!--for both the people who fled the room in terror gave the same
account of the early part of the adventure. Colin, poor thing," he said,
as he patted the head of the dog, "you little knew the evil you did your
master and mistress. You and he that is gone were dear friends and
inseparable companions. No Christian could have shown more concern at
his death. You never came out from beneath his bed while the body lay on
it; and, when he was carried out, Grace had to hold you, to prevent your
snapping at the company as they bore him away. For long you visited his
grave, and sat for hours upon it. It is the remembrance of your old
friend that makes you still visit his room when all is quiet at night.
He that is now 'where the Lord will,' taught you to take the string in
your mouth and pull the latch, that, always welcome, you might enter
when you chose."
During this address to the dog, he looked wistfully in the face of his
master, as if he comprehended all that was said. The weather having now
cleared up, the morning was beautiful. After breakfast, I bade adieu to
my kind hosts, with a promise that if I ever passed that way I should
make their house my home, and sleep in the room I had freed from its
evil name.
As I moved cheerfully along the road, chanting some snatch of a song to
keep up my spirits, my ears were assailed, at a sudden bend of the road,
by a rough voice.
"Holloa, messmate, cast here a few coppers to help to revictual a hulk
all the doctors in the world could not refit for sea!"
Turning my eyes to the roadside, I saw, seated upon a bank, two strange
objects--a stout young man, in a tattered seaman's dress, with one arm
off by the shoulder and the other by the elbow, and a young,
good-looking, but tattered female by his side. In a moment my hand was
in my pocket, and, drawing near to them, the female rose and held out
her palm in dumb show.
"Not so fast, young woman," said I, as I was putting a half-crown into
his vest-pocket; "it is for Jack."
"Bless your honour," said he, "it's all one. That there young one is my
wife; poor thing, she was struck dumb in real earnest, when she saw me
come home to her thus maimed. Bless her pretty face, she did not
forsake poor Bill for all that."
While he spoke, a strong feeling came upon me that I had seen his face
before; but when or where I could not call to mind. As I stood gazing
into his face, he looked as scrutinisingly at me.
"Were you ever in the East Indies?" inquired I.
"To be sure I was. In that place I lost my precious limbs," replied he.
"Then you must be Bill Kay, whom Captain H----and I left at Bombay,"
said I.
"And you are Jack Square," said he. "Give me your hand, old shipmate."
And he held up the stump to me, and burst out a-laughing as I shook the
sleeve.
The female gave him an angry look, with so much more of meaning than
anger, that I thought she knew all we said.
"Come, Betsy, don't be sulky," said he; "I wish to have a bit of a talk
with my old mate. Come, be a good girl, and let us go back to Berwick.
Jack Square, you will not be ashamed to walk home with us?"
The wife nodded a consent, and away we trudged to the town, from which
we were only a small distance.
During our walk, I told him that I was on my way to London to look out
for a vessel to India, as my fortune had been adverse in Scotland; and I
was sick of the land, and careless what became of me.
"Never strike to an enemy, or quit the pumps while your vessel can
float," cried he. "There are many ways of leading a jovial life. You
were always my friend, and a good fellow. Give me your word, Jack, you
will either stay and join us, or pass on and do us no harm, and I will
have no secrets from you. Speak the word."
"I know not what you mean," I replied. "As for joining you. I do not
think, in the meantime, I shall, until I know better about it; and as
for hurting you or doing any harm, I give you my sincere assurance I
will not, however much I might gain by it."
"Betsy, my dear," said he, "we are not going to the kenn, we will go
home. I wish to entertain my old friend."
We then altered our direction, and, after proceeding down a dark and
dirty lane, entered a neat and well-furnished room. As soon as we
entered, and the door was shut--
"Betsy," said he, "there is no use for gammon now; find your tongue,
lass, and help me to find my arms."
"As you please, Billy," said the dumb wife. And both retired to another
apartment, from whence they soon returned--she well dressed, and Bill as
perfect in every limb as when we had parted, he to remain in India, and
I to return home.
I believe he had told her his intention and who I was in the time they
were away; for, seeing my surprise, he laughed aloud, while she,
smiling, took me by the hand, and welcomed me to their house. Now that
her begging disguise was thrown off, she really was a most bewitching
girl, of the gipsy cast--brilliant black eyes and hair, her features
regular, almost to perfection--the loveliest brunette I had ever seen.
Bill smiled good-naturedly at the admiration my looks expressed, as I
gazed at her; and, slapping me on the shoulder--
"Square," said he, "is she not a beauty? You must not fall in love with
her if you stay--that I must make a condition."
We all laughed.
I said, if I fell in love, I could not help it; the fault was his for
bringing me into temptation. A large square bottle of brandy and a jug
of water were set on the table, and while the wife was busy preparing
dinner, Bill gave me the following account of himself:--
"You know, Jack, I am no scholar," he began; "only a pretty good seaman,
as far as hand, reef, or steering goes; so I soon found India was no
place for me, in a regular country ship. I could not abide these black,
lazy, cowardly rascals of lascars; and there were crowds of them in all
the vessels I could find. They are well enough in fair weather; but when
it blows the heart is blown out of them. They are either in the way, or
skulking in corners; so I took the first opportunity of returning home
to Britain again. When I came to London, I got into all manner of
mischief, and lost my guineas like winking, above two hundred in one
week; and the remainder, clothes and all, in one night in Wapping; for I
awoke in the morning in the watch-house, bruised, and with only a
watchman's greatcoat thrown over me. I had been thrown out of a window,
or pushed down some stair, and in that state they told me I was found by
the watchman. I had now time to reflect, but nothing to reflect upon,
for all I had in the world was a shirt and a pair of trousers. There was
no charge against me, so I walked from the watch-house like a man adrift
in an old boat, without oars or food. I went to the wharves, for pity or
employ. I got fitted in a kind of way; but could not find a vessel, for
there were too many like myself. What to do I knew not. More than once I
thought of doing as I had been done by--that is, helping myself where I
could; but, although I was often without food, and slept in the streets
or under a boat, I, somehow, could not bring my mind to that. I often
wished I was again in Scotland, where I had friends and was known; but
how to get there I knew not. At length the thought came into my mind--I
could beg my way down. I could be no worse than I was in London--and
where was the odds? A beggar in London was no better than a beggar in
Scotland, or anywhere else; for my Scotch pride was by this time starved
out of me; so off I set, but was poorly enough off, for I was not then
up to the trade, so my stout look and honest truth met nothing but
unkindness and insult. At length, one day, as I was on the point of
dying from starvation (for England is not a country for an honest
beggar), I fell upon a gang of gipsies, upon the borders of a heath,
making merry. I joined them, and was kindly and hospitably received.
Betsy there was one of the troop. From the moment I saw her, I took a
fancy to her pretty face--joined the gang for her sake, and soon won her
regard and love. I was now content and happy. We had victuals of the
best in plenty, and roamed where we pleased, with no restraint but our
own wills. I found there was some tough work before my hand. Betsy had
one or two pretenders to her love, in her own and other gangs, and my
rivals were not to be lightly thought of, for in their minds none but
the brave deserve the fair. It is, win your bride and keep her while you
can. There was one stout, active fellow, whom her parents intended for
her husband, but Betsy had no wish for the match, and my arrival
confirmed her dislike to him. Our loves were only known to ourselves,
and our interviews stolen, until my services had gained me the esteem of
her father. He was patriarch or head of the gang, and kept the common
stock, guiding our movements and directing our operations as far as our
wayward fancies could be guided--partly by argument, partly by yielding,
but seldom by resorting to punishment, for all was done for our good, to
the best of his judgment. No one thought of resisting his control, and
if any became discontented they left the gang--a step by no means
desirable, for our safety lay in the strength of the camp. There is
scarce a gang but is at feud with some other gang or gangs, and when
they meet, nothing but the flight of the weaker, or some other
overruling cause, prevents a battle, in which murders are not
unfrequently committed.
"Under the tuition of Betsy, I became a most expert beggar, as you
witnessed this morning. My contributions to the common stock often
equalled the amount of all the others put together. I became the pride
of the gang; and no wonder--for I strove for Betsy, and was cheered on
by her acclaim, while I was scowled at by my rivals, who were quick
enough, though her parents had no suspicion of it, to see her preference
of me. When we thought it proper time, I proposed to the father for the
hand of his daughter. He had no objection to me as a son-in-law, further
than that he had all but promised her to Long Ned, but would leave it to
Betsy and myself to manage the affair as we best could, and would
interfere no farther with his authority than for the good of the gang.
If Betsy was pleased, he cared not whether Long Ned or I had her. When I
told her the result of my conference with her father, she was as well
pleased as myself.
"'Bill,' she said, 'you will not win me from Long Ned with both ease and
honour. He is no contemptible rival. He will be at you as soon as he
comes to the camp, for his mother will tell him. Now, be a man, and do
not yield while you can stand to him, for, much as I love you--and you
know I love you dearly--I could not marry you if you are beat. Nay, the
people might make me marry him, and you must leave the gang, or your
life would not be safe for one night. What says my Bill?'