recollect she called me to her bedside often, and wept over me; but she
only prayed, and blessed me. She sent one of her neighbours, who was
very attentive, for the minister to come to her, saying she had
something important to intrust him with; but, before he arrived, her
mind began to wander, and she remained in that condition until her
death, two days after. She had even forgot she had sent for the good
man, who, after offering up a prayer, departed." I paused, for the old
man wept bitterly while I spake. I did respect his feelings; but my own
were too impetuous to be restrained. "Who was my father, since you are
not?" cried I. "Is he alive? If you ever loved me, pause not a moment.
Nay, I shall tear the secret from you." And I started up in my bed, sore
as I was, and looked wildly at him, as he appeared to hesitate.
"Be composed, my dear John," said he. "It is a melancholy tale. I would
more willingly spare your feelings than wound them by the relation; but
it were cruel now to withhold it from you. You will have no cause to
blush for your relatives. My own history is so deeply interwoven with
that of your parents, that I cannot disentangle them, and therefore must
give them, connected as they are. It was upon the borders of the
romantic Esk I first awoke to consciousness, in the hospitable house of
your grandfather, to whom my father had been head servant for many
years. I was within a few weeks of the same age as John, your father,
his third son. I was his foster-brother and playfellow, unequal as was
our rank. I loved him with more than a brother's love, and would have
risked my life for him, had he been in danger. He was my young master;
his comfort was all my duty and care; and swiftly the days and hours
passed on, until the period arrived that he was to go to Edinburgh to
attend the classes at the university, and whither I was to accompany
him. We were both young and inexperienced. Your father was of a
fearless, open, and generous temper; and his rank in life gave him
access to the best society in the city. At one of the assemblies he
became acquainted with a young lady, the orphan daughter of an officer
who had fallen in the wars of Marlborough. She resided with two rich
maiden aunts, upon whom she depended for her present support and future
fortune. Their intimacy soon ripened, unfortunately, into love. As
politics raged at this time with a force and bitterness that divided
friends and relations, even the sacred mysteries of love were
interrupted by the offerings to the stern genius of discord. Rose's
aunts were stern Whigs, supporters of what were then styled by us the
Hanoverian usurpers; and their only surviving brother was an officer
high of rank in their armies; while your grandfather was faithful to his
lawful king, and as true a Tory as ever lived or bled for the Stewarts.
Neither your father nor myself had ever troubled ourselves about the
rival factions; yet we were, as we had been bred, staunch adherents to
the royal exiles; but Love is of no party, and we were both under his
influence. From the cause I have mentioned, your father's visits were
unacceptable at Rose's aunts; their interviews were stolen, and, of
course, more sweet. She was at times allowed to walk out for exercise,
and to visit, but never unaccompanied by her maid, who had been her
servant before her mother's death. She was a bar in my master's way;
and, if he dared to converse with his beloved, she would have been kept
entirely from his sight. To aid him in his interviews, I became
acquainted with Mary, the servant, and was soon as deep in love as my
master. Little did our young and joyous hearts dream of the bitter dregs
that lay in the cup of pleasure we quaffed in the hours of romance, as
we walked, or sat scarce in sight of each other, among the cliffs and
sheltered valleys of Arthur Seat. Nothing but my love for your father
could have blinded me to the folly he was guilty of, and the ruin that
awaited his future prospects in life. As for myself, I could not be
other than I was. Mary was of my own rank, born to toil, and with little
to lose; while they had a fearful height to fall from, if they wedded
without consent of friends. But when, alas! did ever youthful love
calculate consequences aright, until the calculation is useless?
"Thus intoxicated with love, the time ran on with unheeded speed; yet my
master was unremitting in his studies. He had, with the consent of his
father, fixed upon the law as his profession, as the political opinions
of the latter gave his son small chance of rising in the army. Rose and
he had often exchanged vows of mutual constancy, until more fortunate
times for their love should arrive. Your father had pictured to himself
speedy success at the bar; and the first use he was to make of his fame
was to claim your mother from her aunts; and if they refused, as, from
the vain efforts he had made to gain their good graces, he had every
reason to expect, to wed her without their consent, or one farthing of
fortune. His father's consent he knew he could not hope for before the
marriage; but his forgiveness afterwards he had no doubt of obtaining.
Thus had he lulled himself into a pleasant dream of security, from which
he was soon awakened. It was in the beginning of the third session of
college, that one of the two aunts was taken suddenly ill, and died in a
few days, without making any will. Elizabeth, the younger sister, who
had never been very kind to Rose, was now her sole protector; and she,
sweet lady, was rendered very unhappy--a circumstance that gave great
pain and uneasiness to your father, and was the cause of the imprudent
step he took. Scarcely was the funeral over, when Mary her maid was
discharged, as an unnecessary burden; and, with my master's consent, she
and I were married. Aided by his bounty, I began housekeeping, still
waiting upon him; and, meanwhile, our house was the scene of the meeting
of the lovers. The penury and harshness of her aunt rendered the young
lady's life miserable. Her secret was communicated to my wife, who again
told my master. This precipitated the consummation of the long
courtship. He prevailed upon his beloved to give her consent to a
private marriage, that he might have the right to shelter her from
suffering longer from her aunt's tyranny. They were privately married in
my house, at the head of Mary King's Close.
"Your father had not yet passed as an advocate, and had no means of
subsistence, save what he got from his father. It was imperative that
his marriage should be kept secret from every one. Your mother resided
with her aunt only until your father had furnished a small house, near
the foot of our close, for his beloved wife--an achievement he could not
get accomplished so quickly as he wished, without raising curiosity as
to the cause of his repeated demands for money. Nearly four months
passed on after the marriage, and your mother still resided with her
aunt, who, since her sister's death, had become gay, and had many
visiters--principally bachelors--all paying her court, old as she was,
for the sake of her wealth; and several of them often paying more
attention to the young wife than she wished. Among the visitants was
one, a great favourite with the aunt, a retired officer, of an abandoned
turn, but connected with some of the oldest families in Scotland. He was
well received in most companies, and welcomed for his wit and jovial
manner. I recollect I was waiting your father's return from a tavern
party, principally young lawyers, before I went to my own house for the
night, when he came home much sooner than I had expected, greatly
agitated, and in high anger. Alarmed at his unwonted manner, I, with
all the humble freedom I could ever use with him, implored him to tell
me what had occurred to disturb him so much. After he had become more
calm, he told me that Captain Ogilvie had been of the party; that they
had drunk pretty freely, and were giving toasts; that the captain
pledged Rose, your mother, and spoke more lightly of her than he could
endure to hear; and that a quarrel had ensued, and blows had been
struck. He then desired me to see that his rapier was sharp and in
order, as he was to meet the captain by five the next morning in the
Duke's Walk. My anger against the vile traducer was as great as that of
my master. I wished I could meet him in his place; for I had a strong
feeling that evil would come out of it; but this was impossible.
"Your father sat down to his writing-table, and began two letters--one
for his young wife, the other to his father--and, while he was thus
employed, I ran home, told Mary not to expect me home that night, and
put on a suit of plain clothes. Before he was done, I had his sword and
my own in excellent order; for I was as good at fencing as he was, in
consequence of having practised with him all the manly exercises he had
learned. As soon as he was ready, we began play at the swords; as the
captain was an expert swordsman, while my master had had no practice for
several years. Thus we passed the night until past four o'clock. When we
sallied forth, we called at Blackford's Wynd upon his second, whom we
found waiting upon him, and then proceeded by St Mary's Wynd Port and
the South Back of the Canongate to the ground, which we reached a few
minutes before the appointed time. The captain and his friend arrived
almost as soon as we did. Since then, I have seen blood spilled as
freely as water; but never did my heart quail as at this time. In
fighting with the blood warm, there is a fierce pleasure; but to me
nothing is, or can be, more distressing than to stand an idle
spectator, and see your friend engaged, and hear the clash and rasp of
the weapon aimed at his heart, as if it were your own, and your hands
bound. Such were my feelings at this time. The seconds wished to
reconcile them, but neither would hear of it. Each drew, and stood on
his guard. A fearful pause of a few seconds ensued, while they eyed each
other like hungry wolves. My eyes felt as if they would start from their
sockets; my breath was suspended; all was still as death; a sudden clang
rung on my ears; their swords gleamed in the rays of the rising sun; and
so rapid were their movements, that my eye could not follow them. I saw
that the captain, from his fence, was a complete master of his weapon,
having practised abroad. My master had been foiled in his favourite
assault--the one, indeed, on which I had placed my reliance. A moment's
pause ensued; neither had drawn blood. Again they closed, and, after a
few unsuccessful attacks, paused again for breath. I saw the blood upon
my master's arm, from a slight cut. My hand grasped my sword; but, by a
violent effort, I restrained myself. They had been engaged nearly
half-an-hour; my master's hand was dyed in blood; but he was young and
alert; while his antagonist was rather corpulent, and his constitution
shaken by dissipation. His play became now more feeble and cautious, and
my confidence began to revive. He was yet without a scratch; and,
collecting all his energies, he made a desperate lunge, which your
father only parried so far as to make it pass between his side and the
sword-arm, piercing his vest; and the captain lay at his feet
transfixed. My heart leaped for joy as I ran to your father's aid. I
bound up his arm, while the two seconds attended to the captain. I found
my master but slightly hurt. He despatched me for aid to his antagonist,
with which I returned; and, as the captain's wound appeared to be
mortal, we left them, and proceeded over the hill. We scarcely
exchanged words. Passing up the valley, we stood upon the crest of the
height that commanded a view of Craigmillar Castle, and the distant
hills, with the level country between. Here we paused; and your father,
clasping his hands in agony, gazed around for a few minutes in silence.
My own heart was too full to speak, and I stood looking upon his mental
suffering, which I knew no mode of soothing, and reverenced too much to
interrupt. At length he said, as if unconscious of my presence,
'Farewell, sweet scenes of my happiness! my cruel destiny drives me from
you, and her who is dearer to me than life. But that thought is
distraction. Rose! my beloved Rose! in what a state am I forced to leave
you! Alas! I dare not even bid you farewell. My hands are red with
blood, and the avengers will soon be on my track; but in defence of your
honour it was shed, and Heaven will justify the act. Who now--who will
protect you when I am an outlaw?'
"He dashed his hands upon his forehead, and groaned. I could endure in
silence no longer, and at length soothed him into something like
composure. It was agreed that he should go to his father, inform him of
his duel, and act by his counsel; while I should return to my own house,
watch the progress of the captain's wound, and, happen what would, meet
him at Roslin Chapel at ten o'clock in the evening, to consult what was
farther to be done. We parted at St Leonard's Hill.
"In the forenoon nothing was talked of in the city but Captain Ogilvie's
duel; and it had become a party question. The Whigs had one version of
the cause of quarrel, the Tories another, I gave no ear to either; but
was rejoiced to learn that the captain was not dead, although his life
was despaired of.
"It was now past six o'clock--the quarter had chimed upon the clock of
St Giles. I had my hand on the latch to go once more to the captain's,
to know how he continued since my last inquiry, when the rasp was gently
moved. I opened the door, and your mother staggered into my arms, pale
as death, and swooned away. With difficulty Mary and I restored her to
consciousness. I told her of your father's safety; and she replied that
she was now, save for her husband, a destitute outcast; that her aunt,
who only waited a pretext, had turned her out upon the world; and that
the cause of her expulsion was her conduct in being the mean of her
aunt's favourite, Captain Ogilvie's death. I told her that the captain
was not yet dead, and would, I hoped, survive; and, leaving her in
charge of Mary, I hurried to ascertain what ground there was for any
hope. I found that the captain was still alive, but that his death was
hourly expected.
"With a sorrowful heart I hurried out by Bristo Port, after getting the
word for the night from the keeper, that I might be admitted, on my
return, into the city. I was at the chapel some time before ten o'clock,
and found my master waiting for me. When I told him that the captain was
still in life, he took my hand--'Square,' he said, 'this has been a sad
and dreary day to me. It is a fearful thing to have blood upon our
hands, even in a just cause. I pray with my whole soul he may recover,
both for his own sake and mine.'
"I then told him what had befallen your mother.
"'I am happy it is so,' he said, 'I shall leave her under the keeping of
Mary and you with more confidence than I could in her aunt's. My mind is
relieved of a burden; my greatest difficulty was how to dispose of my
beloved until my return; for, by the command of my father, I set off for
France to-morrow--to St Germains, where I will remain until this
untoward affair blows over. If all go as we anticipate, you will,
perhaps, see me here sooner than you expect--ay, with a gallant band of
patriots, to redress Scotland's wrongs, and restore our rightful
prince. My father is not displeased at my conduct--would that he knew
the right I had to take my Rose's part! But the time will come. As I
know not how soon the officers of justice may be in quest of me, I must
depart to-morrow morning for England, on my way to France. I must
therefore see Rose, to bid her good-by for a short season. I shall be
waiting for her near St Anthony's Chapel, to weep our parting, where we
have so often smiled at our meetings. O William, William! these thoughts
unman me.'
"'My dear master,' said I, 'am I to accompany you?'
"'No, William,' replied he--'no; I leave my beloved wife to your care
until my return, when I will requite you as she shall report of you.'
"It was early in the morning before I reached Edinburgh. I found your
mother and Mary still out of bed, awaiting my return. The night was
spent in tears by the females, and a melancholy presentiment was on my
own heart. Before we set out to meet the fugitive, I caused them to
disguise themselves--your mother having my wife's maud, and she a dress
she had never before worn. They proceeded down the street by themselves,
while I went to inquire how the captain had spent the night. I found he
was still in life, but no hopes were entertained of his recovery.
"The shades of evening were beginning to fall before this last and
sorrowful parting terminated. They never met again. Your mother, who was
in the family way, although we knew not the fact for weeks afterwards,
began to droop and pine--a sadness of heart seemed to consume her; in
vain we strove to cheer her gloom; and her aunt made no inquiries after
her. Once a-week I visited the banks of the Esk to inquire after my
master; and occasionally got accounts of his welfare; but they were few
and far between--only, indeed, when the letters could be forwarded by
some one coming to Scotland. No letter had as yet come to me for his
wife. How often have I left her, with a faint smile of hope dispelling
the habitual sadness of her lovely countenance, and returned with an
aching heart to witness her increased melancholy. Your father had left
her all the gold he could, even more than he could spare; yet we would
have given it all for a single letter from his hand; but none came.
Meanwhile Captain Ogilvie, who continued long in a precarious state,
ultimately recovered.
"At length you were born; but your unfortunate mother did not survive
many days; and scarcely was the sod green on her grave, when my master
came back to Scotland. His grief, his agony, I shall not attempt to
describe. In a few weeks after he returned to France, for his native
country was hateful to him; and I would have accompanied him, but that
Mary was in delicate health, and I could not leave her. As his father
was displeased at him for relinquishing his study of the law, he gave
him only a small sum to maintain him in France. You passed, meanwhile,
as my own child, and went under my name.
"At length the long-expected deliverer came. I concealed the certificate
of your father's marriage, and some other papers, in the wainscot of our
room, and would have joined my master in the north; but, as the party
were in rapid advance to Edinburgh, I thought I could be of more service
to the cause in Edinburgh. It was I who contrived the way, and caused
the easy entry of the Prince into the city, by the Netherbow Port. The
gentleman you saw once or twice in conversation with Mary, whom you took
for your mother, was your father; but it was not thought prudent to
undeceive you. We had the greatest confidence in the success of our
righteous cause. Alas! we were prosperous for a time, only to feel more
bitterly our reverse. We advanced into England, elate with the victory
of Tranent, where we scattered the red-coats like frightened deer. I had
no opportunity of visiting Edinburgh again, until it would have been
death to me to dare the act. Your father was wounded at the Battle of
Falkirk, and required my utmost care. After the Prince retired from the
siege of Stirling, and Cumberland's arrival in the north, our affairs
began to wear a different aspect. Carlisle had been recaptured, and our
success seemed farther from us than at the commencement. My master's
wound was, by good management, so much better that he could travel by
easy stages. The volunteers and adherents of the Hanoverians were
beginning to show more bravery, by apprehending all whom they knew
belonged to the Prince; so that, without taking leave, we left our
landlord in the night; and, crossing at Kincardine, got into Fife, and
travelled down the shores of the Forth until we reached Dysart, where
your father was confined to bed, by fever, for some days. Here we
received the heart-breaking intelligence of Culloden Field, and the
massacre of the friends of royalty. Scotland was no longer a country for
us. My master had acted too open and conspicuous a part to hope for
pardon. I would, perhaps, on Mary's account and yours, have ventured my
life in a return to Edinburgh; but I could not leave your father in his
present situation. As yet no one suspected we had belonged to the
Highland army; for I had so adroitly concealed my master's wound, that
he was thought to be only sick of a fever. Fortunately, there was a
vessel about to sail for Rotterdam. We embarked for Holland without
interruption, and arrived safe. During your father's convalescence we
were reduced to great straits; for our supply of cash was, when we left
Scotland, much reduced, and here it entirely failed. My master had
written to his brother for assistance; but he had found it for his
advantage to change sides; and, so far from sending a remittance, he
never answered one of his letters. Had it not been for the disinterested
aid of a Scottish merchant, who was established in the place of our
retreat, and who had been a college friend of your father, we must have
been reduced to absolute want. Through his influence, he obtained for
him a commission in the Scottish Brigade, then in the service of the
States; and thus relieved him from the humiliation of dependence; but
this was not accomplished until nearly the end of the second year after
I had left my peaceful home. During all this time we were in the
greatest anxiety--he about his son, I about my dear wife. Yet we had no
means of ascertaining your fates; and the consciousness of the poverty
you must be plunged in embittered all our thoughts. As soon as my master
joined the division of the brigade, which was quartered in
Bergen-op-Zoom, he borrowed a sum of money for my use. At all hazards I
had resolved to return to Edinburgh, use all the precaution I could to
avoid being recognised, and bring over with me to Holland you and my
dear Mary.
"All being prepared, I bade adieu to your father, and embarked, in the
dress of a Dutch skipper, on board of a vessel bound for Dysart,
principally loaded with old iron, for the nailers of Pathhead. She was a
Fife vessel; and the captain knew me only as William Speare, a Dutchman.
Upon our arrival, I crossed, with the first Kinghorn boat, for Leith,
and hurried up to Edinburgh. Our passage across the Frith had been very
tedious; and the shades of evening were just coming on when I reached
the Abbey Hill. With a heart equally divided between hope and fear, I
walked up the Canongate, through the Netherbow Port, and up the High
Street. I saw many that I had known in happier days, and my heart
yearned to address them; but, alas! I was a proscribed outlaw, shut out
from the society I loved. When I reached Mary King's Close, my heart
beat so ardently, that I was forced to pause for breath as I climbed the
stair to my old door. I took the rasp in my hand, and gave my wonted
tirl. A female opened the door, about the same height as her I loved. It
was very dusky. That it was my wife I had no doubt. I threw my arms
around her, crying, 'Dear Mary!' The female pushed me from her, and
screamed out for help. I thought I would have sunk to the ground, and
leaned against the door for support. An elderly female came in haste
with a light. I attempted to speak, but could only sob, and felt sick
almost to death. The women looked upon me in amazement, for the tears
were silently stealing down my face. After whispering a few words, I was
kindly invited into the house which I had expected to have been my own.
It was tidily furnished; but everything in it was strange to me, and
wore a look of desolation and loneliness. Neither my wife nor you were
there. Not to betray myself, I told them that I had not been in
Edinburgh for a long time; but that, when I left it last, a very dear
friend had resided there, whom I had hoped to find where I left her, and
that my mistake must plead my excuse for any apparent rudeness. Their
answers to my inquiries crushed all my hopes. Mary was in her silent
grave, and you had disappeared. Nothing now remained to me in Scotland
that I cared for; and, after in vain offering a reward to any one who
could give any information concerning you, and shedding a few tears over
the grave of my wife, I returned to Holland with my sorrowful
intelligence. Your father, quite sunk with your uncertain fate, fell
into a lowness of spirits that preyed upon his health, and continually
reflected upon himself as the cause of your mother's early death, and
your destitution.