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Wilson's
Tales of the Borders
AND OF SCOTLAND.
HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE,
WITH A GLOSSARY.
REVISED BY
ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,
_One of the Original Editors and Contributors_.
VOL. XVII.
LONDON
WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE,
AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.
1884.
CONTENTS.
Page
ROGER GOLDIE'S NARRATIVE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 1
HOGMANAY; OR, THE LADY OF BALOOCHGRAY, (_Alexander Leighton_), 33
GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT, (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)--
X. SERGEANT WILSON, 65
XI. HELEN PALMER, 72
XII. THE CAIRNY CAVE OF GAVIN MUIR, 80
XIII. PORTER'S HOLE, 92
THE RECLUSE, (_Alexander Campbell_), 95
A HIGHLAND TRADITION, (_Alexander Campbell_), 125
THE SURGEON'S TALES, (_Alexander Leighton_)--
THE BEREAVED, 129
THE CONDEMNED, 145
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 161
THE SIMPLE MAN IS THE BEGGAR'S BROTHER, (_John M. Wilson_), 170
TALES OF THE EAST NEUK OF FIFE, (_Matthew Forster Conolly_)--
THE ROBBERY AT PITTENWEEM AND THE PORTEOUS MOB, 194
STORY OF CHARLES GORDON AND CHRISTINA CUNNINGHAM, 220
A LEGEND OF CALDER MOOR, (_John Howell_), 237
HUME AND THE GOVERNOR OF BERWICK, (_Alexander Leighton_), 269
WILSON'S
TALES OF THE BORDERS,
AND OF SCOTLAND.
ROGER GOLDIE'S NARRATIVE.
A TALE OF THE FALSE ALARM.
Ye have heard of the false alarm, (said Roger Goldie,) which, for the space
of wellnigh four and twenty hours, filled the counties upon the Border with
exceeding great consternation, and at the same time called forth an example
of general and devoted heroism, and love of country, such as is nowhere
recorded in the annals of any nation upon the face of the globe. Good cause
have I to remember it; and were I to live a thousand years, it never would
be effaced from my recollection. What first gave rise to the alarm, I have
not been able clearly to ascertain unto this day. There was a house-heating
up beside Preston, with feasting and dancing; and a great light, like that
of a flambeau, proceeded from the onstead. Now, some say that the man that
kept the beacon on Hownamlaw, mistook the light for the signal on Dunselaw;
and the man at Dunselaw, in his turn, seeing Hownam flare up, lighted his
fires also, and speedily the red burning alphabet of war blazed on every
hill top--a spirit seemed to fly from mountain to mountain, touching their
summits with fire, and writing in the flame the word--_invasion!_ Others
say that it arose from the individual who kept watch at Hume Castle being
deceived by an accidental fire over in Northumberland; and a very general
supposition is, that it arose from a feint on the part of a great
sea-admiral, which he made in order to try the courage and loyalty of the
nation. To the last report, however, I attach no credit. The fable informs
us, that the shepherd laddie lost his sheep, because he cried, "The wolf!"
when there was no wolf at hand; and it would have been policy similar to
his, to have cried, "_An invasion!_" when there was no invasion. Neither
nations nor individuals like such practical jokes. It is also certain that
the alarm was not first given by the beacons on the sea-coast; and there
can be no doubt that the mistake originated either at Hownamlaw or Hume
Castle.
I recollect it was in the beginning of February 1804. I occupied a house
then about half a mile out of Dunse, and lived comfortably, and I will say
contentedly, on the interest of sixteen hundred pounds which I had invested
in the funds; and it required but little discrimination to foresee, that,
if the French fairly got a footing in our country, funded property would
not be worth an old song. I could at all times have risked my life in
defence of my native land, for the love I bore it; though you will perceive
that I had a double motive to do so; and the more particularly, as, out of
the interest of my funded capital, I maintained in competence an
affectionate wife and a dutiful son--our only child. The name of my wife
was Agnes, and the name of my son--who, at the time of the alarm, was
sixteen--was Robert. Upon their account it often caused me great
uneasiness, when I read and heard of the victories and the threatenings of
the terrible Corsican. I sometimes dreamed that he had marched a mighty
army on a bridge of boats across the straits of Dover, and that he had not
only seized my sixteen hundred pounds, but drawn my son, my only son,
Robie, as a conscript, to fight against his own natural and lawful country,
and, perhaps, to shoot his father! I therefore, as in duty bound, as a true
and loyal subject, had enrolled myself in the Dunse volunteers. Some joined
the volunteers to escape being drawn for the militia, but I could give my
solemn affidavit, that I had no motive but the defence of my country--and
my property, which, as I have said, was a double inducement.
I did not make a distinguished figure in the corps, for my stature did not
exceed five feet two inches. But although my body was small, no man was
more punctual on the parade; and I will affirm, without vanity, none more
active, or had a bolder heart. It always appeared to me to be the height of
folly to refuse to admit a man into a regiment, because nature had not
formed him a giant. The little man is not so apt to shoot over the head of
an enemy, and he runs less risk of being shot himself--two things very
necessary to be considered in a battle; and were I a general, I would have
a regiment where five feet two should be the maximum height even for the
grenadier company.
But, as I was saying, it was early in the February of 1804, on the second
night, if I recollect aright--I had been an hour abed, and was lying about
three parts asleep, when I was started with a sort of bum, bumming, like
the beating of a drum. I thought also that I heard people running along the
road, past the door. I listened, and, to my horror, I distinctly heard the
alarm drum beating to arms. It was a dreadful sound to arouse a man from
his sleep in our peaceful land.
"Robie!" cried I to my son, "rise, my man, rise, and run down to the town,
and see what is the matter, that they are beating the alarm drum at this
time of night. I fear that"--
"Oh, dearsake, Roger!" cried Agnes, grasping my arm, "what do ye fear?"
"That--that there's a fire in the town," said I.
"Weel," quoth she, "it canna reach us. But on dear me! ye have made my
heart beat as if it would start from my breast--for I thought ye was gaun
to say that ye was feared the French were landed!"
"I hope not," said I. But, in truth, it was that which I did fear.
Robie was a bold, spirited laddie; and he rushed out of the house, cold as
it was, half-dressed, and without his jacket; but he had not been absent a
minute, when he hurried back again, and cried breathlessly as he
entered--"Faither! faither! the Law is a' in a lowe!--the French are
landed!"
I was then standing in the middle of the floor, putting on my clothes; and,
starting as though I had seen an apparition, I exclaimed--"The French
landed!--rise, Agnes! rise, and get me my accoutrements. For this day I
will arm and do battle in defence of my native land."
"Roger! Roger!" cried my wife, "wherefore will ye act foolishly. Stop at
home, as a man ought to do, to preserve and protect his ain family and his
ain property. Wherefore would ye risk life or limb withouten cause. There
will be enough to fight the French without you--unmarried men, or men that
have naebody to leave behint them and to mourn for them."
"Agnes," said I, in a tone which manifested my authority, and at the same
time shewed the courageousness of my spirit--"get me my accoutrements. I
have always been the first upon the parade, and I will not be the last to
shew my face upon the field of battle. I am but a little man--the least
battalion man in the whole corps--but I have a heart as big as the biggest
of them. Bonaparte himself is no Goliath, and a shot from my musket might
reach his breast, when a taller man would be touching the cockade on his
cocked hat. Therefore, quick! quick!--get me my accoutrements."
"Oh, guidman!" cried she, "your poor, heart-broken wife will fall on her
knees before ye--and I implore ye, for my sake, and for the sake o' our
dear bairn, that ye winna fling away life, and rush upon destruction. What
in the name of fortune, has a peaceable man like you to do wi' war or wi'
Bonaparte either? Dinna think of leaving the house this night, and I myself
will go down to the town and procure a substitute in your stead. I have
fifteen pounds in the kist, that I have been scraping thegither for these
twelve years past, and I will gie them to ony man that will take your place
in the volunteers, and go forth to fight the French in your stead."
"Guidwife," said I, angrily, "ye forget what ye are talking about. The
French are landed, and every man, auld and young, must take up arms. Ye
would have me to become the laughing-stock of both town and country.
Therefore get me my accoutrements, and let me down to the cross."
"O Robie, my bairn!--my only bairn!" cried she, weeping, and addressing our
son, "try ye to prevail upon your faither to gie up his mad resolution. If
he leave us, he will mak you faitherless and me a widow."
"Mother," said the laddie, gallantly, "the French are landed, and my
faither maun help to drive them into the sea. I will tak my pistol and gang
wi' him, and if ony thing happens, I will be at hand to assist him."
"Haud, haud your tongue, ye silly callant!" she exclaimed, in great
tribulation, "ye are as great a fool as your faither is. He sees what he
has made o' you. But as the auld cock craws the young ane learns."
I felt a sort of glow of satisfaction warming my heart at the manifestation
of my son's spirit; but I knew that in one of his age, and especially at
such a time, and with such a prospect before us, it was not right to
encourage it, and it was impossible for a fond parent to incite his only
son to the performance of an act that would endanger his life. I therefore
spoke to him kindly, but, at the same time, with the firmness necessary to
enforce the commands of a father, and said--"Ye are too young, Robin, to
become a participator in scenes of war and horror. Your young bosom, that
is yet a stranger to sorrow, must not be exposed to the destroying bullet;
nor your bonny cheek, where the rose-bud blooms, disfigured with the sabre
or the horse's hoof. Ye must not break your mother's heart, but stay at
home to comfort and defend her, when your father is absent fighting for ye
both."
The boy listened to me in silence, but I thought that sullenness mingled
with his obedience, and I had never seen him sullen before. Agnes went
around the house weeping, and finding that I was not to be gainsayed, she
brought me my military apparel and my weapons of war. When, therefore, I
was arrayed and ready for the field, and while the roll of the drum was
still summoning us to muster, I took her hand to bid her farewell--but, in
the fulness of my heart, I pressed my lips to hers, and my tears mingled
with her own upon her cheek.
"Farewell, Agnes," said I, "but I trust--I hope--I doubt not, but we shall
soon return safe, sound, and victorious. But if I should not--if it be so
ordered that it is to be my lot to fall gloriously in defence of our
country, our son Robert will comfort ye and protect ye; and ye will find
all the papers relating to the sixteen hundred pounds of funded property in
my private drawer; although, if the French gain a footing in the country, I
doubt it will be but of small benefit to ye. And, in that case, Robin, my
man," added I, addressing my son, "ye will have to labour with your hands
to protect your mother! Bless you, doubly bless you both."
I saw my son fall upon his mother's neck, and it afforded me a consolation.
With great difficulty I got out of the house, and I heard Agnes sobbing
when I was a hundred yards distant. I still also heard the roll of the drum
rolling and rattling through the stillness of midnight, and, on arriving at
the cross, I found a number of the volunteers and a multitude of the
townspeople assembled. No one could tell _where_ the French had landed, but
all knew that they _had_ landed.
That, I assure ye, was a never-to-be-forgotten night. Every person
naturally looked anxious, but I believe I may safely say, that there was
not one face in a hundred that was pale with fear, or that exhibited a
trace of cowardice or terror upon it. One thought was uppermost in every
bosom, and that was--to drive back the invaders, yea to drive them into,
and drown them in the German ocean, even as Pharaoh and his host were
encompassed by the Red Sea and drowned in it. Generally speaking, a spirit
of genuine, of universal heroism was manifested. The alacrity with which
the volunteers assembled under arms, was astonishing; not but that there
were a few who fell into the ranks rather slowly and with apparent
reluctance; but some of those, like me, had perhaps wives to cling round
their necks, and to beseech them not to venture forth into the war. One of
the last who appeared upon the ground, was my right-hand comrade, Jonathan
Barlowman. I had to step to the left to make room for Jonathan, and, as he
took his place by my side, I heard the teeth chattering in his head. Our
commanding officer spoke to him rather sharply, about being so slow in
turning out in an hour of such imminent peril. But I believe Jonathan was
insensible to the reprimand.
The drums began to beat and the fifes to play--the word "March!" was
given--the townspeople gave us three cheers as we began to move--and my
comrade Jonathan, in his agitation, put his wrong foot foremost, and could
not keep the step. So we marched onward, armed and full of patriotism,
towards Haddington, which in case of the invasion, was appointed our
head-quarters or place of rendezvous.
I will not pretend to say that I felt altogether comfortable during the
march; indeed, to have done so was impossible, for the night was bitterly
cold, and at all times there is but little shelter on the bleak and wild
Lammermoors; yet the cold gave me but small concern, in comparison of the
thoughts of my Agnes and my son Robin. I felt that I loved them even better
than ever I had imagined I loved them before, and it caused me much silent
agony of spirit when I thought that I had parted with them--perhaps for
ever. Yet, even in the midst of such thoughts, I was cheered by the
glorious idea of fighting in defence of one's own native country; and I
thought of Wallace and of Bruce, and of all the heroes I had read about
when a laddie, and my blood fired again. I found that I hated our invaders
with a perfect hatred--that I feared not to meet death--and I grasped my
firelock more firmly, and a thousand times fancied that I had it levelled
at the breast of the Corsican.
I indulged in this train of thoughts until we had reached Longformacus, and
during that period not a word had my right-hand neighbour, Jonathan
Barlowman, spoken, either good, bad, or indifferent; but I had frequently
heard him groan audibly, as though his spirit were troubled. At length,
when we had passed Longformacus, and were in the most desolate part of the
hills--"O Mr Goldie! Mr Goldie!" said he, "is this no dismal?"
"I always consider it," answered I, "one of the dreariest spots on the
Lammermoors."
"O sir!" said he, "it isna the dreariness o' the road that I am referring
to. I would rather be sent across the hills from Cowdingham to Lander,
blindfold, than I would be sent upon an errand like this. But is it not a
dismal and a dreadfu' thought that Christian men should be roused out of
their beds at the dead of night, to march owre moor and mountain, to be
shot, or to cut each other's throats? It is terrible, Mr Goldie!"
Now, he was a man seven inches taller than I was, and I was glad of the
opportunity of proving to him that, though I had the lesser body, I had the
taller spirit of the two--and the spirit makes the man. Therefore I said to
him--"Why, Mr Barlowman, you surprise me to hear you talk; when our country
demands our arms in its defence, we should be ready to lay down our lives,
if necessary, by night or by day, on mountain or in glen, on moor or in
meadow--and I cannot respond your sentiments."
"Weel," said he, "that may be your opinion, and it may be a good opinion,
but, for my own part, I do confess that I have no ambition for the honours
of either heroism or martyrdom. Had a person been allowed a day to make a
sort of decent arrangement of their worldly affairs, it wadna have been sae
bad; but to be summoned out of your warm bed at midnight, and to take up an
instrument of death in the dark, and go forth to be shot at!--there is, in
my opinion, but a small share of either honour or glory in the transaction.
This, certainly, is permanent duty now, and peremptory duty also, with a
witness! But it is a duty the moral obligation of which I cannot perceive;
and I think that a man's first duty is to look after himself--and family."
He mentioned the word "family" with a peculiarity of emphasis which plainly
indicated that he wished it to work an effect upon me, and to bring me over
to his way of thinking. But, instead of its producing that effect, my
spirit waxed bolder and bolder as I remained an ear-witness of his
cowardice.
"Comrade Jonathan--I beg your pardon, Mr Barlowman I mean to say," said
I--"the first duty of every man, when his country is in danger, is to take
up arms in its defence, and to be ready to lay down his life, if his body
will form a barrier to the approach of an enemy."
"It may be sae," said he; "but I would just as soon think of my body being
eaten by cannibals, as applied to any such purpose. It will take a long
time to convince me that there is any bravery in a man volunteering to 'be
shot at for sixpence a-day;' and it will be as long before fighting the
French prepare my land for the spring seed. If I can get a substitute when
we reach Haddington, they may fight that likes for me."
As we marched along, his body became the victim of one calamity after
another. Now his shoes pinched his feet and crippled him, and in a while he
was seized with cramp pains in his breast, which bent him together twofold.
But, as it was generally suspected by the corps that Jonathan was, at best,
hen-hearted, he met with little, indeed I may say no sympathy on account of
his complaints, but rather with contempt; for there was not a man in our
whole regiment, save himself, that did not hate cowardice with his whole
heart, and despise it with his whole soul. Whether he actually was
suffering from bodily pain, in addition to the pain of his spirit, or not,
it is not for me to judge. The doctor came to the rear to see him, and he
said that Mr Barlowman certainly was in a state of high fever, that would
render him incapable of being of much service. But I thought that he made
the declaration in an ironical sort of tone; and whether it was a fever of
fear, of spiritual torment, or of bodily torment, he did not tell. One
thing is certain, the one frequently begets the other.
The words of the doctor gave a sort of license to bold Jonathan Barlowman,
and his moaning and his groaning, his writhing and complaining, increased.
He began to fall behind, and now stood fumbling with his pinching shoes, or
bent himself double with his hands across his breast, sighing piteously,
and shedding tears in abundance. At length we lost sight and hearing of
him, and we imagined that he had turned back, or peradventure, lain down by
the way; but there was no time for us to return to seek him, nor yet to
look after one man, when, belike a hundred thousand French had landed.
Well, it was about an hour after the final disappearance of Jonathan, that
a stranger joined our ranks in his stead. He took his place close by my
side. He carried a firelock over his shoulder, and was dressed in a
greatcoat; but so far as I could judge from his appearance in the dark, I
suspected him to be a very young man. I could not get a word out of him,
save that in answer to a question--"Are ye Mr Barlowman's substitute?"
And he answered--"Yes."
Beyond that one word, I could not get him to open his mouth. However, I
afterwards ascertained that the youth overtook Jonathan, while he was
writhing in agony upon the road, and declaring aloud that he would give any
money, from ten to a hundred guineas, for a substitute, besides his arms
and accoutrements. The young man leaped at the proposal, or rather at a
part of it, for he said he would take no money, but that the other should
give him his arms, ammunition, and such like, and he would be his
substitute. Jonathan joyfully accepted the conditions; but whether or not
his pains and groanings left him, when relieved from the weight of his
knapsack, I cannot tell. Our corps voted him to be no man who could find
time to be ill, even in earnest, during an invasion.
My attention, however, was now wholly taken up with the stranger, who, it
appeared, had been dropped, as if from the clouds, in the very middle of a
waste, howling wilderness, to volunteer to serve in the place of my craven
comrade, Jonathan Barlowman. The youth excited my curiosity the more,
because, as I have already informed ye, he was as silent as a milestone,
and not half so satisfactory; for beyond the little word "Yes," which I
once got out of him, not another syllable would he breathe--but he kept his
head half turned away from me. I felt the consciousness and the assurance
growing in me more and more that he was a French spy; therefore I kept my
musket so that I could level it at him, and discharge it at half a moment's
warning; and I was rejoicing to think that it would be a glorious thing if
I got an opportunity of signalizing myself on the very first day of the
invasion. I really began to dream of titles and rewards, the thanks of
parliament, and the command of a regiment. It is a miracle that, in the
delirium of my waking dream, I did not place the muzzle of my musket to my
strange comrade's head.
But daylight began to break just as we were about Danskin, and my curiosity
to see the stranger's face--to make out who he was or what he was, or
whether he was a Frenchman, or one of our own countrymen--was becoming
altogether insupportable. But, just with the first peep of day, I got a
glimpse of his countenance. I started back for full five yards--the musket
dropped out of my hands!
"Robie! Robie, ye rascal!" I exclaimed, in a voice that was heard from the
one end of the line to the other, and that made the whole regiment
halt--"what in the wide world has brought you here? What do ye mean to be
after?"
"To fight the French, faither!" said my brave laddie; "and ye ken ye always
said, that in the event of an invasion, it wad be the duty of every one
capable of firing a musket, or lifting a knife, to take up arms. I can do
baith; and what mair me than another?"
This was torturing me on the shrine of my own loyalty, and turning my own
weapons upon myself, in a way that I never had expected.
"Robie! ye daft, disobedient, heart-breaker ye!" continued I, "did I not
command ye to remain at home with your mother, to comfort her, and, if it
were necessary, and in your power, to defend her; and how, sirrah, have ye
dared to desert her, and leave her sorrowing for you?"
"I thought, faither," answered he, "that the best way to defend her, would
be to prevent the enemy approaching near to our dwellings."
My comrades round about that heard this answer, could not refrain from
giving three cheers in admiration of the bravery of the laddie's spirit;
and the cheering attracting the attention of the officers, one of them came
forward to us, to inquire into its cause; and, on its being explained to
him, he took Robin by the hand, and congratulated me upon having such a
son. I confess that I did feel an emotion of pride and gratification
glowing in my breast at the time; nevertheless, the fears and the anxiety
of a parent predominated, and I thought what a dreadful thing it would be
for me, his father, to see him shot or pierced through the body with a
bayonet, at my very side; and what account, thought I, could I give of such
a transaction to his bereaved and sorrowing mother? For I felt a something
within my breast, which whispered, that, if evil befell him in the warfare
in which we were about to engage, I would not be able to look her in the
face again. I fancied that I heard her upbraiding me with having instilled
into his mind a love of war, and I fancied that I heard her voice requiring
his life at my hands, and crying--"Where is my son?"
At length we arrived at Haddington; and there, in the course of the day, it
was discovered, to the gratification of some and the disappointment of
many, that our march had originated in a _false alarm_. I do confess that I
was amongst those who felt gratified that the peace of the land was not to
be endangered, but that we were to return every man to his own fireside,
and to sit down beneath our vine and our fig tree, with the olive branches
twining between them. But amongst those who were disappointed, and who
shewed their chagrin by the gnashing of their teeth, was my silly laddie,
my only son Robert. When he saw the people laughing in the marketplace, and
heard that the whole Borders had been aroused by an accidental light upon a
hill, his young brow lowered as black as midnight--his whole body trembled
with a sort of smothered rage--and his eyebrows drew together until the
shape of a horse-shoe was engraven between them.
"Robie, my captain," said I, "wherefore are ye looking sae dour? Man, ye
ought to rejoice that no invader as yet has dared to set his foot upon our
coast, and that you and I will return to your mother, who, no doubt, will
be distracted upon your account beyond measure. But, oh, when she meets you
again, I think that I see her now springing up from the chair, where she is
sitting rocking and mourning, and flinging her arms round your neck,
crying--'Robie!--Robie, my son! where have ye been?--how could ye leave
your mother?' Then she will sob upon your breast, and wet your cheek with
her tears; and I will lift her arms from your neck, and say--'Look ye,
Agnes, woman, your husband is restored to ye safe and sound, as well as
your son?' And then I will tell her all about your bravery, and your
following us over the moors, and the cowardice of Jonathan Barlowman, and
of your coming up to him, where he groaned behind us on the road--of your
becoming his substitute, and of your getting his greatcoat, his knapsack,
and his gun--and of your marching an hour by your father's side without him
finding out who you were. I will tell her all about my discovering you, and
about your answers, and the cheering of the volunteers; and the officers
coming up and taking your hand, and congratulating me upon having such a
son. O Robie, man! I will tell her everything! It will be such a meeting as
there has not been in the memory of man. Therefore, as the French are
neither landed nor like to land, I will speak to the superior officer, and
you and I Will set off for Dunse immediately."
We went into a public-house, to have a bottle of ale and baps; and I think
I never in my life partook of anything more refreshing or more delicious.
Even Robie, notwithstanding the horse-shoe of angry disappointment on his
brow, made a hearty repast; but that was natural to a growing laddie, and
especially after such a tramp as we had had in the death and darkness of
night, over moor and heather.
"Eat well, Robie, lad," said I; "it's a long road over again between here
and Dunse, and there is but little to be got on it. Take another glass of
ale; ye never tasted anything from Clockmill to match that. It is as
delicious as honey, and as refreshing as fountain water."
That really was the case; though whether the peculiar excellence of the ale
arose from anything extraordinarily grateful in its flavour, or from my
long march, my thirst, and sharp appetite--added to the joy I felt in the
unexpected prospect of returning home in peace and happiness with my son,
instead of slaughtering at enemies, or being slaughtered by them--I cannot
affirm. There might be something in both. Robin, however, drank an entire
bottle to his own head--that was three parts of a choppin, and a great deal
too much for a laddie of his years. But in the temper he was in, and
knowing by myself that he must be both thirsty and hungry, I did not think
it prudent to restrain him. It was apparent that the liquor was getting
uppermost in his brain, and he began to speak and to argue in company, and
to strike his hand upon the table like an angry man; in short, he seemed
forgetful of my presence, and those were exhibitions which I had never
observed in him before.
I was exceedingly anxious to get home, upon his mother's account; for she
was a woman of a tender heart and a nervous temperament; and I knew that
she would be in a state bordering on distraction on account of his absence.
I therefore said to him--"Robin, I am going to speak to the commanding
officer; ye will sit here until I come back, but do not drink any more."
"Very weel, faither," said he.
So I went out and spoke to the officer, and told him my reasons for wishing
to return home immediately; urging the state of anxiety and distress that
Agnes would be in on account of the absence of our son.
"Very well, Mr Goldie," said he; "it is all very right and proper; I have a
regard to the feelings of a husband and a parent; and as this has proved
but a false alarm, there is no obstacle to your returning home
immediately."
I thanked him very gratefully for his civility, and stepped away up to the
George Inn, where I took two outside places on the heavy coach to Dunbar,
intending to walk from there to Broxmouth, and to strike up there by the
west to Innerwick, and away over the hills, down by Preston, and home.
I am certain I was not twenty minutes or half an hour absent at the
farthest. When I entered the public-house again, I looked for my son, but
he was not there.
"What have ye made of Robie?" said I to my comrades.
"Has he no been wi' ye?" answered they; "he left the house just after ye."
Mortal man cannot describe the fear, agony, and consternation that fell
upon me. The sweat burst upon my brow as though it had been the warmest day
in summer. A thousand apprehensions laid their hands upon me in a moment.
"With me!" said I; "he's not been with me: have none of you an idea where
he can have gone?"
"Not the smallest," said they; "but he canna be far off--he will soon cast
up. He will only be out looking at the town."
"Or showing off gallant Jonathan Barlowman's gun, big-coat, and knapsack,"
said one.
"Keep yoursel at ease, Mr Goldie," said another, laughing; "there is no
danger of his passing the advanced posts, and falling into the hands of the
French."
It was easy for those to jest who were ignorant of a father's fears and a
father's feelings. I sat down for the space of five minutes, and to me they
seemed five hours; but I drank nothing, and I said nothing, but I kept my
eyes fixed upon the door. Robin did not return. I thought the ale might
have overcome the laddie, and that he had gone out and lain down in a state
of sickness; and "That," thought I, "will be a _becoming_ state for me to
take him home in to his distressed mother. Or it will cause us to stop a
night upon the road."
My anxiety became insupportable, and I again left my comrades, and went out
to seek him. I sought him in every street, in every public-house in the
town, amongst the soldiers, and amongst the townspeople; but all were too
much occupied in discussing the cause of the alarm, to notice him who was
to me as the apple of my eye. For three hours I wandered in search of him,
east, west, north, and south, making inquiries at every one I met; but no
one had seen or heard tell of him. I saw the coach drive off for Dunbar. I
beheld also my comrades muster on the following morning, and prepare to
return home, but I wandered up and down disconsolate, seeking my son, but
finding him not.
The most probable, and the fondest conjecture that I could indulge in, was,
that he had returned home. I, therefore, shouldered my musket, and followed
my companions to Dunse, whom I overtook upon the moors. It would be
impossible for me to describe my feelings by the way--they were torture
strained to its utmost extremity, and far more gloomy and dreary than the
gloomiest and dreariest parts of the moors over which we had to pass. Every
footstep increased my anxiety, every mile the perturbation and agony of my
spirit. Never, I believe, did a poor parent endure such misery before, and
I wished that I had never been one. I kept looking for him to the right and
to the left every minute; and though it was but few travellers that we met
upon the road, every one that we did meet I described him to them, and
asked them if they had seen him. But, "No!" "No!" was their unvaried
answer, and my wretchedness increased.
At length we arrived at Dunse, and a great crowd was there to meet
us--wives to welcome their husbands, parents to greet their children, and
children their parents. The first that my eyes singled out, was a sister of
my Agnes. She ran up to me.
"Roger," she cried, "hae ye seen onything o' Robie?"
The words went through my breast as if it had received the fire of a whole
French battalion. I stood stock-still, petrified with despair. My looks
told my answer to her question.
"Oh, dear me! dear me!" I heard her cry; "what will his puir mother do
noo--for she already is like ane clean out o' her judgment about him."
I did not stop for the word "halt," or for the breaking of the lines; and I
went home, I may say by instinct, for neither bird, bush, house nor tree,
man nor bairn, was I capable of discerning by the road. Grief and
heart-bursting anxiety were as scales upon my eyes. I remember of rushing
into the house, throwing down my gun, and crying--"O Agnes! Agnes!" And as
well do I remember her impatient and piteous inquiry--"Where is my
Robie?--Oh, where is my son?--hae ye no seen him?"
It was long before I could compose myself, so as to tell her all that I
knew concerning him; and it was even longer before she was sufficiently
calm to comprehend me. Never did unhappy parents before experience greater
bitterness of soul. I strove to comfort her, but she would not listen to my
words; for oh, they were as the blind leading the blind; we both were
struggling in the slough of despair--both were in the pit of dark,
bewildering misery. We sometimes sat looking at each other, like criminals
whose last hour is come; and even when our grief wore itself into a "calm
sough," there was something in our silence as dismal and more hopeless than
the silence of the grave itself. But, every now and then, she would burst
into long, loud lamentations, mourning and crying for "her son!--her son!"
Often, too, did we sit, suppressing our very breath, listening to every
foot that approached, and as one disappointment followed another, her
despair became deeper and deeper, louder and louder, and its crushing
weight sank heavier and heavier upon my spirit.
Some of his young companions informed us, that Robin had long expressed a
determination to be a soldier; and, on the following day, I set out for
Edinburgh to seek for him there, and to buy him off at any price, if he had
enlisted.
There, however, I could gather no tidings concerning him; and all that I
could learn was, that a regiment had left the Castle that morning at two
o'clock, and embarked at Leith for Chatham, from whence they were to
proceed direct abroad; and that several recruits were attached to it, some
of them only sworn in an hour before they embarked; but whether my poor
Robie was among them or not, no one could tell.
I left Edinburgh no wiser, no happier, and in no way more comforted than I
entered it, and returned to his mother a sad and sorrowing-hearted man. She
wrung her hands the instant she beheld me, and, in a tone that might have
touched the heart of a stone, cried aloud--"Oh, my lost! lost bairn! Ye hae
made a living grave o' yer mother's breast."
I would have set off immediately for London, and from thence down to
Chatham, to inquire for him there; but the wind was favourable when the
vessel sailed, and it was therefore certain, that, by the time I got back
to Dunse, she was at the place of her destination; and moreover, I had no
certainty or assurance that he was on board. Therefore, we spent another
day in fruitless lamentations and tears, and in vain inquiries around our
own neighbourhood, and amongst his acquaintances.
But my own heart yearned continually, and his mother's moaning was
unceasing in my ear, as the ticking of a spider, or the beating of a
stop-watch to a person that is doomed to die. I could find no rest. I
blamed myself for not proceeding direct from Edinburgh to Chatham; and,
next day, I went down to Berwick, to take my place in the mail to London.
By the way I met several of the yeomanry, who were only returning from
Dunbar, where they had been summoned by the alarm; and I found that Berwick
also had been in arms. But taking my place on the mail, I proceeded,
without sleep or rest, to London, and from thence hastened to Chatham.
There again I found that the regiment which I sought was already half way
down the Channel; but I ascertained also that my poor thoughtless boy was
one of the recruits, and even that was some consolation, although but a
poor one.
Again I returned to his mother, and told her of the tidings. They brought
her no comfort, and, night and day, she brooded on the thought of her fair
son lying dead and mangled on the field of slaughter, or of his returning
helpless and wounded to his native land. And often it was wormwood to my
spirit, and an augmentation of my own sorrows, to find that, in secret, she
murmured against me as the author of her bereavement, and as having
instilled into my son a liking for a soldier's life. She said it was all
owing to my getting him, from the time that he was able to read, to take
the newspaper in his hand and read it aloud to my cronies, and in which
there were accounts of nothing but wars and battles, of generals and
captains, and Bonaparte, of whom enough was foretold and enough could be
read in the Revelations. These murmurings grieved me the more, inasmuch as
my mind was in no way satisfied that they were without foundation. No man
knew better than I did, how easily the twig is bent; a passing breeze, the
lighting of a bird upon it, may do it; and as it is bent, so the branch or
the tree will be inclined. I, therefore, almost resolved not to permit
another newspaper to be brought within my door. But, somehow or other, it
became more necessary than ever. Every time it came it was like a letter
from Robie; and we read it from beginning to end, expecting always to hear
something of him or of his regiment. Even Agnes grew fond of it, and was
uneasy on the Saturdays if the postman was half-an-hour behind the time in
bringing it.
Full twelvemonths passed before we received a letter from him; and never
will I forget the delightful sensations that gushed into my bosom at the
sight of that letter. I trembled from head to foot with joy. I knew his
handwriting at the first glance, and so did his mother--just as well as if
he had begun "_dear parents_" on the back of it. It was only to be a penny,
and his mother could hardly get her hand into her pocket to give the copper
to the postman, she shook so excessively with joy and with agitation, and
kept saying to me--"Read, Roger! read! Oh, let me hear what my bairn says."
I could hardly keep my hand steady to open it; and, when I did break the
seal, I burst into tears at the same moment, and my eyes became as though I
were blind; and still his mother continued saying to me--"Oh, read! read!"
Twice, thrice, did I draw my sleeve across my eyes, and at last I read as
follows:--
"MY DEAR PARENTS,--I fear that my conduct has caused you many a miserable
day, and many a sleepless night. But, even for my offence, cruel as it has
been, I trust there is forgiveness in a parent's breast. I do not think
that I ever spoke of it to you, but, from the very earliest period that I
could think, the wish was formed in my mind to be a soldier. When I used to
be spelling over the History of Sir William Wallace, or the lives of the
Seven Champions of Christendom, I used to fancy myself Wallace or Saint
George; and I resolved, that when I lived to be a man, that I would be a
soldier and a hero like them; and I used to think what a grand thing it
would be for you and my mother, and all my acquaintances, to be reading
about me and my exploits! The continual talking about the war and the
French, and of their intention to invade Britain, all strengthened my early
desires. Often when I was reading the newspapers to you and your friends,
and about the gallant deeds of any particular individual, though I used to
read _his name_ aloud to you, I always read it in to myself as though it
were my own. I had resolved to enlist before the false alarm took place;
and, when you and the other volunteers marched out of Dunse to Haddington,
I could not resist the temptation which it offered of seeing and being
present at a battle. About half-an-hour after you left the town, I followed
ye, and, as ye are already aware, overtook poor Jonathan Barlowman, who had
fallen behind the corps, in great distress, apparently both of body and
mind. He seemed to be in a swither whether to return home, to follow ye, or
to lie down and die by the road. I knew him by the sound of the lamentation
he was making, and, accosting him, I inquired--'What is the matter wi' ye,
Jonathan! Has ony o' the French, concealed aboot the moors, shot ye
already?' 'Oh,' he replied, 'I am ill--I am dying!--I am dying!--I will
give any money for a substitute!' 'Gie me yer gun,' said I, 'and I will be
yer substitute without money.' 'A thousand blessings upon yer head, Robie,
lad!' said he; 'ye shall hae my gun, and ye may tak also my greatcoat and
knapsack, for they only encumber me. Ye hae rescued a dying man.' I was
nearly as tall as he; and, though his coat was loose about me, when I got
it on, and his musket over my shoulder, and felt that I was marching like
an armed knight of old against the invaders of my country, I felt as proud
as an emperor; I would not have changed situations with a king. I overtook
you, and you know the rest. At Haddington, the strong ale was too strong
for me. I was also sorely mortified to find all my prospects of becoming a
hero blasted. When, therefore, you went out to take our places in the
coach to Dunbar, I slipped out of the room, and hiding Mr Barlowman's coat
and gun in a closet, in the house, I took the road for Edinburgh; which
city I reached within less than three hours; and before I had been in it
twenty minutes I was a soldier. I was afraid to write home, lest ye would
take steps to buy me off. On the fourth day after my enlisting I was landed
at Chatham, where I was subjected to a perpetual drill; and within thirty
hours after landing, I again embarked with my regiment; and when I wished
to have written, I had not an opportunity. Since then, I have been in two
general engagements and several skirmishes, in all of which I have escaped
unwounded. I have found that to read of a battle, and to be engaged in a
battle, are two very different things. The description is grand, but the
sight dismal. I trust that my behaviour as a soldier has been
unimpeachable. It has obtained for me the notice of our colonel, who has
promoted me to the rank of corporal, with the promise of shortly making me
a sergeant; and I am not without hopes, before the war is over, (of which
there at present is no prospect), of obtaining a commission; though it
certainly is not one in a thousand that has such fortune. Hoping,
therefore, my dear parents, that, under the blessing of Providence, this
will find you well, as it leaves me, and that I will live to return to ask
your forgiveness, I remain your affectionate and dutiful son,
"ROBERT GOLDIE."
* * * * *
Such was Robin's letter. "Read it again," said mother--and I read it again;
and when I had done so, she took it in her hand and pressed it to her lips
and to her breast, and wept for "her poor bairn." At last, in a tone of
despondency, she said--"But, oh, he doesna once particularly mention his
mother's name in't."
"He surely does," said I; "I think he mentions us both."
So I took the letter again into my hand, and, at the foot corner of the
third page, I saw what I had not observed before, the letters and
words--"_P.S. Turn over_."
"P.S." said his mother; "who does that mean?"
"Oh!" said I, "it means nobody. It means that we have not read all the
letter."
"Read it a', then--read it a'!" she cried.
And I turned to the last page, on the fold above the direction, and read--
"P.S.--But how am I to ask the forgiveness of my dear mother, for all the
distress and anxiety that my folly and disobedience must have occasioned
her. I start in my very sleep, and think that I hear her yearning and
upbraiding. If she knew how deep my repentance is, and how keen my misery
for the grief which I have caused her, I would not have to ask her
forgiveness twice. Dear father! dear mother!--both, both of you forgive
your thoughtless son."
These last lines of his letter drowned us both in tears, and, for the space
of several minutes, neither of us were able to speak. I was the first to
break silence, and I said--"Agnes, our dear Robin is now a soldier, and he
seems to like that way of life. But I dislike the thought of his being only
a corporal, and I would wish to see him an officer. We have nobody in the
world but him to care for. He is our only son and heir, and I trust that
all that we have will one day be his. Now, I believe that the matter of
four or five hundred pounds will buy him a commission, and make him an
officer, with a sword by his side, a sash round his waist, and a gold
epaulette on his shoulder, with genteel pay and provision for life; besides
setting him on the high road to be a general. Therefore, if ye approve of
it, I will sell out stock to the amount that will buy him commission."
"Oh," replied she, "ye needna ask me if I approve, for weel do ye ken that
I will approve o' onything that will be for my bairn's benefit."
I accordingly lifted five hundred pounds, and through the influence of a
Parliament man, succeeded in procuring him a commission as an ensign. I
thought the money well spent, as it tended to promote the respectability
and prospects of my son.
Four years afterwards, his mother and I had the satisfaction of reading in
the public papers, that he had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant upon
the field, for his bravery. On the following day we received a letter from
himself, confirming the tidings, which gave us great joy. Nevertheless, our
joy was mingled with fears; for we were always apprehensive that some day
or other we would find his name among the list of killed and wounded. And
always the first thing that his mother said to me, when I took up the
papers, was--"Read the list of the killed and wounded." And I always did
so, with a slow, hesitating, and faltering voice, fearful that the next I
should mention would be that of my son, Lieutenant Goldie.
There was very severe fighting at the time; and every post was bringing
news concerning the war. One day, (I remember it was a King's fast-day,)
several neighbours and myself were leaning upon the dike, upon the footpath
opposite to my house, and waiting for the postman coming from Ayton, to
hear what was the news of the day. As he approached us, I thought he looked
very demure-like, which was not his usual; for he was as cheerful,
active-looking a little man as you could possibly see.
"Well, Hughie," said I to him, holding out my hand for the papers, "ye look
dull like to-day; I hope ye have no bad news?"
"I would hope not, Mr Goldie," said he; and, giving me the paper, walked
on.
The moment that Agnes saw that I had got it, she came running out of the
house, across the road, to hear as usual, the list of the killed and
wounded read, and my neighbours gathered round about me. There had been, I
ought to tell ye, a severe battle, and both the French and our army claimed
the victory; from which we may infer, that there was no great triumph on
either side. But, agreeably to my wife's request, I first read over the
list of the killed, wounded, and _missing_. I got over the two first
mentioned; but, oh! at the very sight of the first name upon the missing
list, I clasped my hands together, and the paper dropped upon the ground.
"O Robie! my son! my son!" I cried aloud.
Agnes uttered a piercing scream, and cried, "O my bairn--what has happened
my bairn? Is he dead! Tell me, is my Robie dead?"