I had received from the staves of the constables pained me very much,
particularly one I had received upon the head; I put up my hand, and
found it bleeding pretty fresh. Thus was I in a fine mess to seek for a
decent lodging, or account for my present plight. As I turned over in my
mind for a plausible story, I perceived a respectable-looking inn still
open, and made straight for it. There were several seafaring men, like
captains of coasters, sitting in the tap. When I entered, all eyes were
turned upon me. The landlord insisted upon turning me out, without
allowing me to speak. The company took my part, and insisted that I
should be heard. I had now my story ready as near the truth as I
dared--I told them I was a stranger from Scotland, on my way to London,
in quest of a vessel, and had only arrived in the town that evening,
when I had had a quarrel and fight, having been insulted, and some one
had carried off my hat, jacket, and bundle; but that I had plenty of
money to pay my way. As soon as I had finished, the landlord became all
civility; I got my head bound up, and a good lodging, and got intimate
with one or two of the captains before I retired to bed.
Next morning my head ached, but nothing to speak of. I arose, sent for a
dealer in clothes, and purchased a jacket and hat, had breakfast, and
took a walk through the town. As I did not intend to leave it until I
had heard the issue of the brawl, nothing else was talked of. The fight
between them and the constables had been long and severe, for they made
a desperate resistance; and it was not until several of the inhabitants
had reinforced the civil power, that the beggars were secured, and
lodged in jail, male and female. I wished only to know the fate of Bill
and Betsy, and then started upon my journey--I wished to have no further
intercourse with them. My bundle, and necessaries in it, I had given up
for lost, unless they were liberated, at least Betsy, through the course
of the day. I could not have found my way to their room without inquiry;
and this it was neither prudent nor of any use to make, until they were
liberated. Well, the magistrates were busy examining them, I was told,
the whole forenoon, and the issue was, that all the able-bodied
rascals--Bill amongst the rest--were sent to man His Majesty's navy, and
the females were to be confined, and then banished the town for ever.
I returned to my inn, and, by appointment, met my new acquaintances, the
captains;--one of them, the captain of a brig, was loading grain for
London. I was weary of walking on foot, and agreed with him for a
passage, leaving my conductors to the beggars' ball in durance; the
males expecting to be sent off in a day or two, and the females making
out their solitary confinement, preparatory to their banishment.
LEEIN JAMIE MURDIESTON.
With the exception of one unhappy failing, delicately hinted at in the
title of this sketch, there was nothing really bad in the character of
Mr. James Murdieston. He was an honest, civil, inoffensive, and obliging
man; but--we neither can nor will conceal the fact--a most determined
inventor. Yet his lies had no malevolence in them. They were all of the
vainglorious kind, and never bore reference to any man or woman's
character or affairs. On the whole, as defensible as lies can be, they
were also as harmless. To profession, an enlightener of the world, not
as a philosopher or teacher of science, but simply as a candle-maker, he
was so far a benefactor of mankind, but on a very humble scale--having
only the wants of a very small village to supply with the produce of his
manufacture.
With this preamble, we proceed to say, that it happened once upon a time
that Jamie Murdieston had to go to Glasgow, on some particular
business--we believe it was to make a purchase of tallow. On this
occasion, as on all others when his presence was necessary in the
western metropolis, Jamie took the coach--an opportunity which he always
prized highly, as affording him admirable scope for the exercise of his
talent for romancing. At home, where his propensity was well known, he
could get few listeners and still fewer believers; but, on the top of a
coach, where he was not known, he was always sure of finding both; and
he never failed to make an excellent use of his advantage. It was a
great comfort and satisfaction to Jamie, when he stumbled on an
unwincing believer. It was a perfect treat to him, since it was one
which he rarely enjoyed. On the occasion of which we are
speaking--namely, Jamie's visit to Glasgow--he found himself, on
ascending the coach, seated beside a very engaging young lady, who had
preferred the outside to the inside, on account of the extreme warmth of
the weather, and also for the purpose, as she herself informed Jamie, of
more fully enjoying the scenery through which they might pass.
"Quite richt, mem," replied Jamie, on his fair and frank
fellow-traveller informing him of this last particular, as they rolled
along. "Quite right, mem; for the kintra hereawa is just uncommon
beautifu--just uncommon. Do ye see, mem, that bit glisk o' the Clyde,
there?--that's a spot I should mind weel, and I will mind it till the
day o' my death."
"Indeed, sir!" said the young lady to whom these remarks were addressed.
"Pray, what circumstance is it, may I ask, which so solemnly binds your
recollections to that particular locality?"
"A melancholy aneugh are, I assure ye mem; that's to say, it micht hae
been melancholy, an it warna that Providence had sent me just in time to
save the life o' a fellow-cratur."
On this communication being made to her, the young lady for whose
edification it was intended discovered a degree of agitation and
surprise, for which the circumstance itself would hardly account. As it
escaped Jamie's notice, however, and she was aware that it did so, she
merely said--"Dear me, sir, what was the occurrence you allude to, and
when did it happen?" But there was an eagerness and an anxiety in her
manner, when putting these queries, which she could not altogether
conceal. Jamie observed it with inward satisfaction, hailing it as an
assurance that whatever he might communicate would be at once taken for
gospel. Feeling thus encouraged, Jamie replied--
"I'll tell ye a' aboot it, mem. Ye see it was just aboot this time
twelmonth, I think--yes, just exactly aboot this time--that, as I was ae
day fishin in the Clyde, at the spot I pointed oot to ye, I was suddenly
startled by hearin an awful scream, and, immediately after, a tremendous
splash in the water. 'Somebody fa'en in!' says I; and I instantly flang
doon my rod, on which I had, at the moment, a saumont fifty pun wecht,
if he was an unce--and ran roun the bit projectin bank that had keepit
me frae actually seein what had happened. A weel, on doin this, doesna I
see a woman's bonnet floatin on the water--it was a' I could see--and
gann fast doun wi' the stream, which was geyley swelled at the time.
Soon becomin aware that the bonnet was on the head o' some unfortunate
person, and that she maun perish in a few seconds, if no attempt was
made to rescue her, I, without a moment's thocht, threw aff my coat and
shoon, and jumped in after her; and, as gude luck wad hae't, was the
means o' savin her life; but it was a teuch job, for, by the time I
reached her, she had sunk, and it wasna till I had dived three times
that I got haud o' her. But I _did_ get a grup o' her; and I assure ye I
held it, and never let it go till I had her safely on the bank, puir
thing, and a bit bonny cratur she was."
Thus far had Jamie got in his interesting story, and much further he
would have gone, had he not been suddenly interrupted by his fair
auditor, who, seizing him by the hand, in a transport of joy and
surprise, exclaimed--
"O my deliverer, my deliverer!--_I_ was the person whom you saved; and
delighted will my father, who's inside the coach, be, when he learns we
have found you at last. But why, why," continued the grateful girl,
looking all the gratitude she felt in Jamie's face--"why did you so
abruptly and suddenly withdraw yourself, after having done such a
generous and noble deed? We could never find you out, nor obtain the
smallest trace of you, although hardly a day has passed since then that
we have not made some attempt to accomplish either the one or the other.
It was cruel of you not to afford us an opportunity of evincing the deep
and everlasting gratitude we felt towards you."
We leave the reader to conjecture what was Jamie's amazement on finding
himself thus addressed by his fair companion; for we suppose we need
hardly say that every word of his story about rescuing a young lady from
drowning was a lie--an unmitigated, and, so far as he knew certainly, an
utterly foundationless lie. Well may we then, we think, call on the
reader to conceive, if he can, Jamie's surprise, when he found his
narrative thus strangely converted into truth. He by no means liked it,
for it threatened to lead to some awkward discoveries; and, under this
impression, he endeavoured to back out, and to separate the two cases by
some additional remarks.
"That's odd," he said, on the young lady's imposing on him the character
of her deliverer--"verra odd," he repeated, but with considerable
embarrassment in his manner; "but I dinna think ye're the young leddy I
saved that day; she was a hantle stouter than you, and a guid deal
aulder."
"The very same, the very same, I assure you, sir," rejoined his fair
companion, laughingly. "There was no accident of the kind you mentioned,
at the place you pointed out, during all last summer, but my own. This I
know, from our having lived there from the month of March to October. So
you must not attempt to balk me of the happiness of believing I have
found my deliverer."
Here, then, was a poser for Jamie. The young lady, it seems, was
familiar with the place, and knew that no accident, except the one
which, by so odd and unhappy a coincidence for Jamie's veracity, had
befallen herself, had occurred there at the period he stated. He must,
therefore, either confess to a lie, or quietly pocket the compliments
that were thrust on him. On the latter he naturally enough determined;
but he wanted no more acknowledgments, as he found them sit on him
rather awkwardly. In truth, he now began to show as great a reluctance
to advert to the subject as he had before shown forwardness, and was
most evidently desirous of waiving it altogether; but this his fair
companion would by no means allow. She was by far too full of the
extraordinary chance, and extraordinary good fortune, as she reckoned
it, of having thus so strangely met with her deliverer, to allow the
matter to drop.
Before going further, we may as well advert to a circumstance which may
have a little startled the reader. This is, how it should have happened
that Jamie's story of a rescue should have had a counterpart in fact. As
to this matter, we can only vouch for its being perfectly true. It was a
coincidence--certainly an odd one, but not more odd than many that have
happened, and are daily occurring. The facts of the case, as we may say,
were these:--The young lady's father, who was a wealthy Glasgow
merchant, possessed a very pretty little cottage, which he and his
family occasionally occupied during the summer months, at a short
distance from the banks of the Clyde, and near to the very spot which
Jamie had so unfortunately chosen as the scene of his exploit; and,
still more unluckly for Jamie, it happened that the young lady in
question had actually met with such an accident as that which formed the
groundwork of his romance. Moreover, she had, in the case alluded to,
been rescued from a watery grave by a person who chanced to be angling
near the spot at the time; but this person had no sooner brought her on
shore, being assured that her recovery was certain, although she
appeared at the time insensible, and seen her safely in the charge of
some people who had hurried to the scene of the accident, than he had
suddenly and abruptly withdrawn, and was no more seen or heard of.
These, then, were the facts of that case which so strangely tallied with
Jamie's fiction. It is true that, had the fact and the fiction been
carefully collated, a good many small discrepancies would have appeared,
that would have at once stripped Jamie of his self-assumed honours; but
this not having been done, and the leading incident being the same in
both, no such result took place.
To resume our story. On the arrival of the coach at Glasgow--an event to
which Jamie had been looking forward with great impatience, as the only
occurrence that could relieve him from his present awkward
predicament--he bade his fair companion a hurried good-by, and, heedless
of her remonstrances and entreaties, was hastening down the side of the
coach, to make his escape, when the father of the young lady, to whom
the latter had hastily communicated the discovery of her deliverer, by
leaning over the top of the coach, and speaking through the upper part
of the doorway, suddenly intercepted him.
"Too bad, sir, too bad," said the old gentleman, smilingly, "to try and
escape us again. But we have you this time, and will take care that you
do not." Saying this, Mr. Alston held out his hand to Jamie, and, on
grasping the latter's, shook it with the most cordial warmth,
expressing, at the same time, the deepest sense of the mighty obligation
under which he lay to him, for having so nobly saved his daughter from
an untimely death--"An obligation," said the good old gentleman, "which
I can never repay."
"Dinna speak o't, sir, dinna speak o't," said Jamie, in the greatest
embarrassment, and wishing, the while, that his tongue had been
blistered when he first opened his mouth on the ill-starred subject of
the rescuing. "Dinna speak o't," he said, "it't just what ae
fellow-cratur should do for anither." And, having said this, Jamie was
about to make a sudden bolt, when the old gentleman, perceiving his
intention, dexterously hooked his arm within Jamie's right; while his
daughter, who had by this time joined them, did the same by his left,
and thus secured him.
"Away from us you shall not get," said Mr. Alston.
"Indeed you shall not," interposed his daughter.
"You must go home with us," resumed the former, "and receive the thanks
of my dear wife, who will be delighted to see you, and those of Ellen's
brothers and sisters. They are all, I assure you, as grateful to you as
either I or Ellen herself can possibly be."
"Much obleeged, sir, much obleeged," stammered out Jamie, in great
distress of mind; "but, ye see, it's impossible--althegither oot o' the
question; for I have some important business to do, that maun be dune
before I go onywhaur."
And he struggled to free himself from his captors; but in vain. They
held on with a determined gripe.
"No, no, you must not leave us," exclaimed Mr Alston, "we must not lose
sight of you, now that we have you. I should be sorry to be the cause of
any interruption to your business; but we will not detain you an
instant. I merely wish, in the meantime, to show you the way to my
house, that you may find it readily when you want it, which I expect
will be the moment you get your business finished."
"Really, sir, really," exclaimed Jamie, despairingly, and holding
back to repress the forward movements of Mr. Alston and his
daughter--"really, sir, really I canna gang. I canna on no account. The
business I hae on haun maun be instantly attended to, and winna admit o'
the sma'est delay."
"Well, in that case," said the pertinacious Mr. Alston, "I'll accompany
you, and wait your conveniency; and Ellen here will, in the meantime, go
home and apprise her mother of her having met with you, and tell her
that we shall be there in--in--in what time shall I say?"
"An hour--an hour--an hour," exclaimed the perplexed romancer, in great
tribulation--"say an hour."
"Well, an hour, Ellen. Tell your mother we'll be home in an hour," said
Mr. Alston; "and let her have a little supper prepared for us by that
time, and let a bed be got in readiness for our dear friend here. You'll
take up your quarters with us, of course," turning to Jamie.
"Oh, surely, surely--wi' great pleasure," exclaimed Jamie, hurriedly,
and scarcely knowing what he said--"wi' great pleasure, but far owre
meikle trouble."
"Trouble!" said Mr. Alston, contemptuously; "you, the preserver of my
dear daughter's life, talk of trouble! No--no; we shall be but too happy
to have you, to show you, as far as we can, the deep sense we all
entertain of the unrequitable obligation we lie under to you."
"Don't lose sight of him, papa!" here exclaimed Miss Alston, in clear
soft tones, as she tripped away.
"No fear, my dear--I'll hold him fast," replied her father; and, while
he did so, he clutched Jamie with a still surer gripe.
Jamie now saw that the old boy was determined not to part with him until
he should have run the gauntlet of the whole family's gratitude; and
once more did he devoutly wish that his tongue had been anywhere but in
his mouth when he first broached the unhappy story of the drowning
adventure. He had never got into such a scrape before with any of his
small _nouvelettes_, and he almost determined that he would never
publish another--that he would henceforth deal in nothing but
well-authenticated facts. The question, in the meantime, however, was,
how to escape the threatened consequences of the one with which he was
now entangled, and this question was a poser. There was but one way, and
on this Jamie finally determined. This way was, to bolt for it--to show
the old boy a pair of clean heels; and thus at once cut the connection.
There was no other way of dealing with the dilemma. Having made up his
mind to this proceeding, Jamie suddenly stopped at a certain close-mouth
in the Trongate, and, intimating to his escort that he had a call to
make there, requested him to wait an instant till he returned.
"I'll no keep ye a minnit," said Jamie, "no ae minnit."
And, leaving the old boy to mount guard till his return, he proceeded up
the close, at first leisurely; but, on gaining a turn, which concealed
him from his Cerberus, he fairly took to his heels, and emerged in a
distant street, to which the close led. Here Jamie drew bridle and
breath together, and thanked goodness for his escape; expressing, at
the same time, a fervent hope that he would never again meet with Mr.
Alston or any of his family. Having thus got his head out of the noose,
Jamie adjourned to the quarters which he usually occupied when he went
to Glasgow; and, on the following day, sallied out to transact the
business which had brought him to the city. It was not, however, with a
mind perfectly at ease that Jamie went about this business; for he
dreaded every moment encountering Mr. Alston or his daughter; and, under
this terror, he kept a sharp look-out as he went along, always cutting
suddenly across the street, when he got his eyes on any person or
persons of suspicious appearance--that is, on any old gentleman or young
lady who bore a real or fancied resemblance to Mr. Alston or his fair
daughter; and the sequel will show that his precaution was not an
unnecessary, although, alas! a vain one.
Just as he turned the corner of a street, who should Jamie see coming
towards him, and at the distance of about fifty or eighty yards, but the
much-dreaded Mr. Alston, his daughter, and a brother, a young man of
about four-and-twenty! On recognising them, Jamie instantly stopped
short, and, after a moment's reflection, determined on having again
recourse to his heels--no other way of escape, as in the former
instance, appearing practicable. To this proceeding Jamie was further
induced by an impression that he had not been seen, or at least
recognised; but in this, as will appear, he was mistaken. However, not
aware of the fact, Jamie turned quickly round, and fairly ran for it.
But, as we have already hinted, he had been both seen and known by the
Alstons, and they, believing his anxiety to avoid them proceeded from
excessive modesty, and a timid nature that shrank from the noise of its
own good deeds, resolved on compelling Jamie to submit to their
acknowledgments; and, acting on this resolution, the young man (who, by
the way, was provided with an admirable pair of legs for such purposes)
was despatched by his father and sister in pursuit. The effect of this
proceeding on Jamie, who had become aware of it, by happening to turn
round for an instant during his flight, was to accelerate his speed. He
flew like the wind, knocking about and overturning several people in his
rapid and furious career. Thus the run continued for several minutes,
when Jamie, feeling his wind failing him, and becoming thereby sensible
that he could not hold out much longer, made a sudden dive up a
close--one of those convenient retreats for "gentlemen in difficulties;"
and, by this cleverly-executed movement, succeeded in fairly throwing
out his pursuer, who, from the crowded state of the street, did not
perceive the ruse, but held on his way vigorously, and afforded Jamie
the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing him rush past the mouth of the
entrance in which he was concealed. Feeling now in comparative safety,
which, however, he further insured by going half-way up a stair, Jamie,
who was a good deal blown by his exertion, took off his hat, and began
wiping the perspiration from his face and forehead with his
pocket-handkerchief, and doing all he could to recover his nearly
exhausted breath.
"Hech," said Jamie, on beginning to respire more freely, and still
wiping his face assiduously, "this has been athegither a deevil o' a
job. Such a rumpus to be kicked up a' out o' nothing! Chased as if I was
a mad dog! It was the maist unlucky _ane_ ever I tell't but catch me
again savin onybody frae beein drooned! I'll no touch that style again
in a hurry, I warrant." And with such disjointed remarks as these on his
unhappy essay in his peculiar art, Jamie beguiled the short time which
he thought it necessary to remain in his concealment. This expired--or,
in other words, thinking the coast now clear--Jamie stole cautiously
down the stair, and, on arriving at the bottom, peeped into the close
before venturing out. The survey being satisfactory, Jamie emerged, and
stealing down the close like a cat, repeated at the foot of it the
operation of peeping round him, before taking the bold measure of
stepping into the street. No enemy was in sight, Jamie drew his breath
for a desperate adventure. It was a rush he meditated, which should at
once carry him clear of the dangerous locality; and he accomplished it.
From that hour, Jamie saw no more of the Alstons, and thus got out of
the entangled web which he had woven for himself; but it was not long
before he manufactured another, and a much more troublesome one.
The day on which the event in Jamie's life which we have just recorded
took place, was one of great stir and excitation in Glasgow. It was the
day of the execution of the Radical, Swan; whose death, on account of
his crime having been a political one, was to be attended with some of
the appalling ceremonies and peculiar proceedings that usually mark the
execution of traitors.
Following the general current of the population which, as the hour
appointed for the horrid exhibition was at hand, was drawing towards the
jail, Jamie soon found himself at the place of execution. Here the
general, and in some things the particular, appearance of the
preparations for the approaching tragedy, showed that it was to be one
of a very unusual kind. A strong party of foot-soldiers surrounded the
gibbet, while the approaches at either end of the jail were occupied by
dragoons, who, from the peremptory manner in which they performed their
duty, in repelling all attempts at affecting a passage by the way which
they guarded, sufficiently showed that their orders had been unusually
strict. The crowd and general excitement was immense.