an end to a conversation that was clearly tending towards a crisis, to
which the boldness of Mr Caleb would soon have brought it. But enough
had been said to dream upon; and by the time that the two met next day
in the woods, the matter had been arranged in the minds of both. The
question was "popped," a gracious answer returned, and, as Caleb had
clearly induced her to believe, without any direct statement, that he
had not a single child to mar Mrs Jemima's happiness, he saw the
necessity of getting the transaction concluded without the loss of a
moment of time, lest discoveries might break it up. But the widow was
just as anxious for quick despatch as he was; and he did not fail to
take advantage of so favourable a circumstance. So to Perth he went, and
got all things put in readiness for a proclamation of banns. This
preliminary was gone through on the following Sunday; on the Monday
after, Mr Caleb Crabbin and Mrs Jemima Bowsie were man and wife; and
thus had Caleb disposed of himself, for the third time, on terms which
he conceived to form the elements of a good bargain.
These matters we have run over rapidly, leaving it, of course, to be
understood that several explanations--such as the localities of their
locked-up houses, their connections, and so forth, were mutually made
and mutually relied on; and it becomes us, in the same manner, to leave
to the fancy all the pretty excursions and conversations that lasted for
the legitimate period of the sweet moon, at the end of which the couple
arrived in Edinburgh to take possession of the husband's deserted house.
And, to be sure, the house was empty enough, in so far as regarded human
beings; for there was no one in it, and Mrs Jemima Crabbin surveyed it
as her future home with no small expression of satisfaction. A new
servant was got. A week passed, and all was as it should be--not a word
of the six children having, as yet, been uttered by Caleb, and no one of
the neighbours having taken it upon them to supply the want of knowledge
which Caleb conceived to be necessary to a continuation of his
happiness. On the eighth day, they went out together to draw the
quarterly annuity from the agent of the Atlas Company; and never was a
man better pleased with himself than Caleb, when he pocketed the
thirty-seven pounds ten shillings, the first earnest of many drawings,
even so long as the life of his helpmate. This was clearly not fated to
last; because it behoved Caleb to make the necessary disclosure, to
prevent its being made, perhaps, in a manner fraught with more pain to
her who apparently looked forward to a life of genteel ease. It was
clear that the sooner the disclosure was made the better; and a stronger
cup of tea than usual (brewed on the head of the quarter's annuity)
having been served up, he sat ruminating on the best way of breaking the
intelligence.
"What are you thinking of, Mr Crabbin?" said the lady, as she sat
filling out the first cup of tea, and while the door stood open that the
servant might bring in the toast.
"There he is, you little darlings," said Mrs Reddie of Pennicuick, as
she entered; and at the same instant Master Caleb Reddie Crabbin, Master
Andrew Reddie Crabbin, and Miss Maria Reddie Crabbin, rushed forward
with a united cry of "Papa! papa! papa!" and hung round his neck, and
jumped on his knee, with a demonstration of affection that a father, in
ordinary circumstances, would have been delighted to see.
"I couldna keep them awa, sir," said the woman. "They would be in,
reason or nane."
Mrs Crabbin sat with the teapot in her hand, held nearly as high as her
mouth, and contemplated the affectionate scene, with open lips and wide
staring eyes; but never a word had Mr Caleb said, though the dear little
ones hugged him more fondly than ever.
"Are these your children, Mr Crabbin?" at last said the wife.
Caleb looked at her, and saw something like a smile playing round the
corner of her lips, in the midst of sufficient indications of surprise;
but the meaning thereof transcended all his powers of construction.
"The children, you hear, say I'm their father," replied he, still gazing
in her face, to try if he could catch again the same symptom he had
observed before; and, to be sure, he did catch it, and, with it, another
symptom that astonished him more still; for Mrs Crabbin immediately
ejaculated--
"Why did you not tell me of this, Mr Crabbin? What nice, dear, sweet
creatures! I'm delighted to see them. Come to me, George; come to me,
Andrew; and, Maria, you are the prettiest little girl in the world."
"What an amiable wife I have got!" ejaculated he, as he saw her take the
little ones and fondle them as kindly as if they had been her own.
"When saw ye the others," said Mrs Reddie--"George, Amelia, and
Augustus? Are they weel aneugh?"
"Three more!" ejaculated Mrs Crabbin.
And Caleb again searched her face, to see if there was not some irony
lurking about the muscles; but the never a trace could he find but
satisfaction. He was puzzled as never man was puzzled since the days of
OEdipus.
"Have I been at all these pains," muttered he, "to conceal what yields
her pleasure rather than chagrin?"
"Now, Mr Crabbin," said his wife, as she still fondled the children,
"you must send to-morrow for the others, that I may see them; for I long
to show them that I shall be as kind to them as would have been their
own mother."
"The never such another woman is to be found in all Christendom!"
muttered Caleb.
"Jenny," cried Mrs Crabbin, "bring cups here, that the children may have
their tea."
And so the cups were brought; and the whole group, Mrs Reddie--whose
mouth had been closed up by the effect of the extraordinary
scene--included, sat down in the most perfect harmony.
On the very next day, a messenger was sent off for Master George Reddie
Crabbin, Miss Amelia Reddie Crabbin, and Master Augustus Reddie Crabbin;
and they were expected to arrive at the house of their father within
three days afterwards. Meanwhile, Mrs Crabbin displayed still the same
degree of kindness she had at first exhibited; and Caleb continued to
wonder more and more at conduct that seemed to set at defiance all the
matrimonial maxims he had got proved to him by the many women he had
solicited to become his wife. Nor can there be a doubt that he was
pleased--if, indeed, it might not be said that he was delighted; for it
cannot be denied that the weight of the secret he had carried about had
materially interfered with his connubial happiness; and even the light
of the honeymoon had been dashed with streaks of shade, thrown up from
the cavern where the dread fact had lain concealed.
On the day on which the additional children were expected, Mrs Crabbin
was occupied in making preparations for their home-coming. A thousand
little matters were gone about with maternal assiduity; and, everything
having been arranged, the couple and the three children sat down to tea,
much in the same spirit they had done on the previous occasion. It was
about five o'clock; and the coach would arrive somewhere about that
time.
"Here they come at last," said Caleb, as he listened to a tread of many
steps on the stair, accompanied by the clear clack of the tongues of
happy children.
And, to be sure, in they came; but there happened to be no fewer than
five, accompanied by an old nurse; and they had no sooner entered, than
they ran forward to Mrs Crabbin, crying out "Mamma! mamma! mamma!" all
together, and hanging round her neck, and kissing her, and climbing on
her knees, just in the same affectionate manner that had been exhibited
by Mr Crabbin's children on the prior occasion.
Meanwhile, Mrs Jemima Crabbin was busy with the face of Mr Caleb, to see
what she could find there; but the man, who never had any great sense
of justice, showed no smile, as she had done when _his_ children came so
unexpectedly in upon her. A sombre gloom covered his face, and he sat
and looked as glum as he did on every occasion when Mrs Amelia Crabbin
had brought him a child; and, probably, if there had been any deeper
shade, or rather five times as deep as that expression, it would have
found a place upon his face.
"Are all these your children, madam?" said Caleb, with a voice that
expressed with the question a tendency to choke.
"Yes," answered Mrs Crabbin; "but you see, my dear sir, you beat me;
for, while I have only five, you have six."
"Eleven of a family to support on two thousand pounds of principal, at
four per cent., and one hundred and fifty per annum on the life of Mrs
Jemima Crabbin!" groaned Mr Caleb. "A deuced poor trafficker I am proved
to be! Would I not have been better as a hosier?"
"A hosier!" ejaculated Mrs Crabbin. "I took you for a gentleman, as Mr
Frederick Bowsie was, every inch of him."
"And I took you for a solitary widow, as you led me to believe,"
responded he.
"And so, to be sure, I took you for a solitary widower, carrying the key
of your house in your pocket, as you previously told me," was the just
reply.
At this juncture the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the
other three Crabbins, who acted over again the scene of their brothers
and sister; and thus there were brought on the carpet no fewer than
eleven of a family, one-half strangers to their half-brothers and
sisters, and all talking, and laughing, and romping in a manner that
might have afforded no small joy to well-conditioned parents. Yet Mr
Caleb was not to be cajoled by their fun into anything like good humour,
for no man likes to behold the evidence of the almost total defeat of a
darling project, which he had held to be the pride and profit of his
existence. Nor was the bringing of eight more tea-cups, instantly
ordered by Mrs Crabbin, likely to effect what the romping of the "dear
ones" had not been able to accomplish; and it is impossible to say how
long he would have remained under the cloud of his gloom, had not Mrs
Crabbin risen, and, going round to him by the backs of the circle of
children, gently and playfully clapped him on the hanging clouded cheek.
"Come, now, Mr Crabbin," said she, "you see we are just in the position
of the pot and kettle that fell into warfare, calling each other
blackamores. You have cheated me, and I have cheated you, and therefore
are we on a par. No good can come of complaining where each has so good
a rejoinder; and, to be plain with you, if you gloom, I'll gloom, having
just as good a right; whereas, if you are well pleased, and love my
five, I shall be well pleased, and love your six; and thus we may make
the best of a bad bargain. What say you, Mr Caleb Crabbin?"
Caleb threw his eye around the table, and groaned; but necessity is a
strong monitor; and so he turned round--where there was a matrimonial
kiss awaiting him--and, having taken the offering for better and for
worse--
"I believe, Jemima, you are right, after all," said he; "but still it is
a bad business; for, if we add five or six more children to that small
army, we may come to starve."
"You can begin business again as a merchant (but not in the hosiery way)
with your two thousand, and I shall be as frugal a wife as ever made the
two ends of coming and going out meet."
Caleb meditated.
"You are right again, Jemima," said he; "for, after all, I have not been
happy under the trade of wiving I have driven for so many years--always
idle, and pointed out as one who lives on the means of his wives--so, to
be sure, I'll immediately betake myself to an honourable calling, and
before I die I may yet acquire the reputation of what is called a
respectable member of society. For true it is," he added, "that a
fortune-hunter, even if he has run down the game of thousands, is only a
fortune-hunter to the end of the chapter. Out of my evil, you see, has
come my good; and you, who a little ago seemed my bad angel, have turned
out to be my good. So here be all our strife ended."
And another embrace settled the affair.
"Now," said Caleb, "you'll be kind enough to tell me the names of these
children. By my faith, they are pretty ones--as pretty as my own!"
"This is William--this is George--this is Andrew--this is Mary--and this
is Margaret."
"Well, we must fall upon some way of distinguishing those of mine and
those of yours, who carry the same name. Let it be your George and my
George, your Andrew and my Andrew. I see now no difficulty about the
matter."
"Neither do I," answered Jemima. "All we have to provide against is to
avoid calling our own _mutual_ children George or Andrew, for a third of
the name wouldn't do."
"Neither it would," rejoined he.
According to these arrangements, Mr Crabbin commenced business again;
and, having been taught experience by his former failure, did very well.
We believe there were at least two or three additional children born
afterwards; but that was of no consequence, because Mr Crabbin's means
became, by his own industry, proportionate. A good lesson hangeth by the
peg of our tale, or we are somewhat out.
THE SERJEANT'S TALES.
THE IMPRUDENT MARRIAGE.
Serjeant Square again resumed the narrative of his adventures:--
There is a strange feeling, that every reflecting person must have often
been conscious of, accompanying the idea of time. We feel as if in
contact with the past, as far back as our memory can reach. If our
reading has been extensive, it requires reflection to disentangle the
events of early ages, as well as those of a more recent date; and, even
as regards the time to come, we feel as if it also were for us, until
the melancholy certainty of the shortness of life forces us back upon
the present moment, which, until passed, we cannot call our own. Neither
is there a situation in which we can be placed, in which we do not feel
some cause of uneasiness, from the faintest shade of unfulfilled
anticipation, to the depth of real suffering.
Gloomy were the reflections that haunted my mind for the first three
weeks after my arrival in London. Often and far as I had been from
Scotland, never until now had I been home-sick--if it could be called so
in one who had neither kindred nor home in the world. Destitute of
kindred as I was, the feeling seemed to extend my relationship: every
Scotchman being my relation, and his accents music to my ears. An
unaccountable melancholy was upon me; and I felt a strange presentiment
as if some evil were about to befall me. I felt no pleasure, as I was
wont, in walking about. My time was spent at my lodgings, in Lower
Thames Street, save when I went occasionally to the neighbourhood of
Covent Garden, to visit Captain H----. Even these visits had become
irksome, as no good seemed likely to arise to me from them. I was always
received in the most friendly manner. Still there was a constraint upon
me I could not overcome, arising from the relative situation in which we
had formerly stood towards each other as private seaman and captain. I
would have felt far more at my ease had he treated me in a more distant
manner. Frugal as my mode of life was, my cash wore done apace, and I
had fixed upon no mode of obtaining a new supply. Once or twice I had
made inquiries among the shipping for a situation, without success.
Perhaps the fault was my own, as I was rather nice to please, and not
over anxious to go to sea if I could do better. I hoped that the captain
or his friend would propose something for my advantage; and thus the
time had run on, while my lowness of spirits increased upon me. The
weather had become wet and foggy. I cared not to leave the house, and
remained at home for several days, so depressed that I even wished I
were dead, and away from a world in which I had suffered so much. The
pleasures I had also enjoyed were entirely blotted out from my
recollection. All my life appeared to have been a scene of suffering,
with no prospect before me but further misery and endurance.
This was a state of mind that could not long endure without leading to a
fatal result. I began to regard suicide as the only remedy for my
misery; and even to look upon it as a crime of no very deep atrocity.
Yet there was a feeling within me that made death as a remedy horrible.
At length, by an effort that cost me more to accomplish than anything I
had ever done before or since, I shook off this, the darkest moral
incubus of the darkest period of my life, and, after an absence of ten
days, waited upon Captain H---- to bid him farewell, as I was resolved
to leave London, and enter on board the first vessel wherever bound for,
and in any capacity I could obtain a berth. When I reached the house, I
found it shut up, and could obtain no information whither he had gone.
All I learned was, that they had left the house three days before, it
was believed for the country. I felt indignant and hurt, although I had
no reason, at this sudden departure. I had no claim upon him. I had ever
been overpaid for any service I had rendered. Still, this was not my
feeling at the time; and I bent my steps towards my lodgings in no
enviable mood, either with myself or the world. A numbing sensation was
upon me. I felt once more alone in the world; and passed through the
busy crowds that thronged the streets, almost unconscious of the
presence of a human being, until I had reached Tower Hill, when my
attention was roused by a crowd of men and boys, who were hooting and
jostling an old man of rather respectable appearance, whose impatient
anger caused them only to increase their shouts and annoyance. They were
calling to him, "Rebel Scot," and "Scottish traitor;" and crying, "Roll
him in the kennel," "Duck him in the river." I was in a humour to
quarrel with any one, or even dare a host. My blood was on fire in a
moment, for the old man upbraided them in Scotch, although tinctured by
a foreign accent. He was tall, and had once been a very powerful man.
His hat had been knocked off, and his grey hairs were in disorder, save
what were retained by a neat cue that bobbed from side to side, as he
was pushed, or turned to aim a blow at his cowardly assailants, many of
whom, I blush to say, had reached man's estate. In an instant I was by
his side, and shouted, to overtop the noise--
"For shame, to use an old man and a stranger so! Is that like
Englishmen?"
For a moment there was a pause; it was but for a moment. My Scottish
accent turned them as much against me as him whom I wished to befriend.
"They are both rebel Scots--serve them alike!" shouted a stout young
fellow, as he aimed a blow at me. The others joined in the cry. The blow
took effect upon the side of my head. I was stunned a little; but
returned it with so good effect that he staggered back a pace or two.
The blood flowed from my cheek, which was cut, pretty fast. In a moment
the shouting ceased, and "A ring! a ring!" was the cry. "Give the
Scottish sailor fair play--he has pluck in him." "Go it, Joe!" cried
others; and their attention was directed from the old man to me and my
opponent. A ring was formed. I gave my jacket and hat to the old man to
hold, and to it we went; but, tall as I was and stout, I was forced to
give in after a severe contest; my enemy's science prevailed; but my
object was attained. The old man and myself were no longer hated. "I was
a bit of good stuff," they said, "and had stood well up to fighting Joe
of Smithfield." Even Joe said he would give any one a beating who
molested us. We were conducted to a public-house, where I got myself
cleaned and my bruises dressed. The old gentleman gave me a thousand
thanks for the part I had taken in his rescue, and seemed to feel much
more for the injuries I had received than I did myself. As soon as we
had had some slight refreshment, he caused a coach to be brought, and
accompanied me to my lodgings. During our short drive, I learned that he
had only arrived from Holland the evening before, and was a stranger in
London. He said he had resided for the last ten years there; that he had
not been in Scotland for many years; and that he was on his way to it to
lay his bones in the graves of his fathers. There was a reservedness of
manner that interested me much in the man; and every time I looked to
him, I grew the more certain that his face had been familiar to me at
some former period of my life. Even his voice fell on my ear like some
well-known sound. Neither of us had inquired the name of the other. The
coach stopped at the door of my lodging, into which he assisted me; and
I immediately went to bed at his request, he promising to call upon me
in the morning.
After passing a restless night, I was awoke in the morning by my
landlady entering my room to inquire if I would see Lieutenant Speare,
the old gentleman who had accompanied me home the evening before.
Although I felt rather feverish, I replied that I would be glad to see
him. In a few minutes I was astonished to see him enter in an undress,
until he informed me that he had been so fortunate as to obtain a room
from my landlady; and, if I was agreeable, he wished to breakfast along
with me and spend the day, as I was not, he felt assured, in a state to
leave my room. I did not conceal that I felt very unwell, and would be
happy to have his company. After he was seated, I inquired by what
accident he had become involved with the rabble upon Tower Hill. After a
short pause--
"You and I," replied he, "are countrymen, but strangers to each other.
From the disinterested manner in which you interfered in my behalf, I
feel that I may trust you with my secret. Even if we differ in opinion,
you will not betray me; I therefore shall make no reserve.
"I was born and bred an adherent of the exiled royal family of Great
Britain; have bled in their cause; suffered exile from all I held dear;
and even now I tread my native land with a halter about my neck, which
one word from you might attach to the fatal tree that has ceased to have
any horrors for me, were it not for a sacred duty I have to perform
before death put a period to my long life of suffering. Yesterday
afternoon I had only been a few hours in London, for the first time in
my life; yet its gloomy Tower, and blood-drinking Tower Hill, had long
been familiar to my mind, as scenes of cruelty and tyranny, where the
best blood of Scotland was poured out like water to satisfy the thirst
of a usurper. I had surveyed the scene for some time in silent agony,
when my oppressed feelings called before me the heroes, as I had seen
and admired them, in manly vigour, struggling in a righteous cause, with
the sad termination they experienced, when their headless trunks were
insulted by an unfeeling crowd. All caution left me, and I expressed my
thoughts aloud. I was overheard and assailed. You delivered me. I
acknowledge my imprudence; and, on your account, lament what I have
done."
"On my account there is no cause of regret," said I. "I am happy your
unguarded language had no more fatal result. Your secret is safe in my
keeping. I myself have been a sufferer through that fatal affair,
although too young to distinguish between parties; for the miseries of
civil war fall heaviest upon the innocent, the females and children. By
it I was deprived of both my parents, and thrown destitute upon the
world, without friends or home. If the great will struggle, urged by
ambition or party zeal, what have the poor to do with their strife, who
can, at the best, only change their taskmasters? Had my father remained
in Edinburgh, my mother had not broken her heart, and I had not been an
outcast orphan boy."
"Edinburgh, did you say, young man?" replied he. "Few joined the Prince
from that city." His voice faltered; his whole frame shook. He gazed
fixedly upon me for a short time; then, starting to his feet, he
staggered to my bedside, supporting himself by the bedpost. "What is
your name?" he eagerly said.
"John Square," I replied.
Uttering a cry that resembled a heavy groan, he sunk upon the bed, and,
grasping my hand, bathed it with tears; then, clasping me to his breast,
kissed my forehead. His heart was too full to speak; he held me in his
embrace, and gazed upon my face. I was so much amazed at the strange
conduct of the old man, that it was some time before I recovered from my
surprise, or could inquire the cause of his, to me, unaccountable
proceeding. Still grasping my hand--
"Now, welcome death!" said he. "My mission is accomplished. I shall die
in peace. I have found thee, my long-forsaken and injured boy."
It was now my turn to feel the utmost agitation. Did my father really
stand before me? I feared to ask the question, yet burned to do so.
"Are you my father?" cried I.
"Alas! no! I am not your father," said he. "Yet I am all the father you
ever knew; and you were, and are, dear to me as my own son. Ah, my poor
Mary!--she was a kind mother to you. Told she not the secret of your
birth before she died?"