death before them, exclaimed, "Lord have mercy upon us," and at that moment
the vessel rose upon a mountain wave to a tremendous height, from whose
summit she descended with the velocity of lightning, as if she were going
to bury herself in the remorseless deep. By this rapid movement she was
precipitated beyond the reach of the breakers, which now rolled behind her
stern, and burst in impotence, as if incensed at the loss of their destined
prey. "We are safe!" exclaimed Captain Dundas; "jump, men, from the yards,
and make sail." This they did with tumultuous joy, which Mr Gordon checked,
and said to them, "Whilst you are working silently, thank God for your
miraculous preservation." The sea upon which the vessel rose was the means
of her preservation and that of her crew. Probably there was not, if the
sea had been calm, a depth of two feet water on the Carr Rock, for it was
that dangerous reef she had passed; but the mighty wave carried her safe
over at a moment when every hope but that of immortality was gone from the
minds of the ship's company.[I]
The tempest having somewhat abated, and the wind veered round to a more
favourable quarter, the vessel rode more smoothly, and the hour of eight
being arrived, all hands were enabled to sit up and take coffee for
breakfast.
For about three hours the ship had been working up the Firth, and had come
off Anstruther, into which port she entered shortly afterwards, in order
to undergo a survey, and get all necessary repairs completed in hull and
rigging; and as the vessel had been seen from the _Windmill Tower_ and the
_Brae_ all the morning to be in great distress, the eastern pier (for the
west pier had not then been built) was crowded with spectators to witness
her arrival.
Amongst others who had gone down the pier was Captain John Cunningham, the
provost or chief magistrate of the burgh, who, being a sea captain himself,
deeply sympathised both as a sailor and a man with the officers and crew of
the _Arethusa_, on seeing them in such a miserable plight, and proffered to
afford them all the aid and assistance in his power. He got into
conversation with Mr Gordon, and found him so intelligent and gentlemanly
in his manners, that he invited him to his house (which stood in the Shore
Street, and on the east side of the Pend Wynd, and was that which formerly
belonged to the late Mr Willis, collector of customs, and is presently
possessed by Mrs Rodger, Mr Imrie, and others), until the vessel was
repaired and made ready for sea. Mr Gordon thanked him for his kindness,
and cordially accepted his hospitable invitation.
Anstruther is a small country town, pleasantly situated on the banks of the
Forth. It is a favourable specimen of a good old Scottish town. There is an
old town-hall, and an old burgh school, (lately rebuilt,) an old jail, and
an old bridge, besides an old church, now completely renewed and repaired,
and forming, with the steeple, a handsome edifice, situated on the ridge or
high ground above the town. The manse, a fine old building, placed on the
summit of the same ridge near the church, was built by James Melville,
minister of the place in the reign of James VI. It afterwards became the
property of the Anstruther family, who, it is supposed, presented it to the
town, or exchanged it for a house in the _Pend Wynd_, now belonging to Mr
John Darsie, which was occupied for some time as the manse. At the time of
which we write, there was a fine old baronial mansion, called "Anstruther
Place," which stood near the present junction of the Crail and St Andrews
roads. It belonged to the above-mentioned ancient family, the Anstruthers
of Anstruther, whose progenitor was a Norman warrior that came to Britain
with William the Conqueror. It was a mansion as large as Balcaskie,
surmounted by a tower, and surrounded by fine old ancestral trees. A
magnificent hall graced its interior, large enough to contain a company of
volunteers, or local militiamen at drill, within its four corners. In
addition to these old buildings, which gave a peculiar character to the
place, there were a good many handsome new houses in the town of
Anstruther, for it was far from being in a state of decay. Many wealthy and
intelligent families chose it for their residence. It was the seat of a
custom-house and excise-office. There was a branch of the Paisley Bank
established in the town, under the management of a Mr Henry Russell, of the
customs, and the bank office was kept in that shop now belonging to Mr
James Reddie, ironmonger.[J] There was also a Greenland Whale Fishing
Company connected with the town, of which a Bailie Johnston was manager.
The company's place of business was situated in the East Green, and is now
the property of Mr Robert Todd, and it is still known to old people by the
name of the Greenland Close. There is, or was lately, an old stone placed
over the door at the southern entrance into the yard, indicating the
nature of the manufacture formerly carried on therein.[K] And before the
Reform Bill was passed, Anstruther-Easter joined with the other four
burghs of the district in sending a member to Parliament. Many thriving
and respectable trades-people, whose forefathers had resided there for
generations, and who looked upon the old buildings of their native town
with something of the same sort of feeling as the landowner surveys the
oaks which encircle his paternal hall, regarded it with pride and
veneration. Perhaps no town of its size in Scotland could be named where
so much good feeling prevailed among all classes. An eminent physician,
who came to settle in the place, expressed his astonishment at the amount
of private charity distributed. If a poor man met with any accident, every
kind assistance was given him by his wealthier neighbours. If a small
tradesman suffered a loss, or a carter his horse, or a widow's cow died, a
subscription was set on foot, and the accident often turned out a gain,
rather than a loss.
The old Castle of Dreel, another ancient seat of the Anstruther family,
stood on the east side of the Dreel Burn, at its entrance into the sea.
Several curious traditions are in circulation respecting this old baronial
residence and its proprietors. The castle has entirely disappeared, and its
site is now partly occupied by fish-curing premises, and partly by a large
antiquated tenement called Wightman's house. Some eminent men have been
born in Anstruther, among whom may be mentioned Drs Chalmers and Tennant,
and Professor Goodsir.
Such is a brief description of Anstruther at the time of which we write.
It is unnecessary to give a particular account of it at the present day,
because its trade and commerce, its fishing, farming, and shipping
interests--its new buildings and projected undertakings--its Sunday
schools and provident societies, and savings' banks and subscription
libraries, are familiar to the most of my readers.
Captain Cunningham, the chief magistrate of Anstruther, was a wealthy and
respectable shipowner, and his family consisted of a son about twenty, and
a daughter about seventeen years of age, besides some younger children. Mr
Gordon, their guest, then in his twenty-fifth year, was a light-hearted and
rising young officer. He was, at first, a little impatient of the delay
occasioned by the repairs of the vessel, the superintendence of which fell
to be his duty; but circumstances soon occurred which checked this
impatience, and more than reconciled him to his present quarters.
As Christina Cunningham is destined to occupy no unimportant position in
this narrative, some description of her will therefore be necessary.
Let us endeavour to draw her portrait.
She was not only beautiful, but full of life and animation, her smiling
face being the true index of a cheerful, happy disposition. Gentle,
amiable, affectionate, good-natured, she was beloved by all who knew her;
although, from a maidenly modesty and a natural reserve, she was really
known by few. With the figure of a sylph, and the face of a Hebe, she had
luxuriant hair of the darkest possible chestnut, wreathed generally in
thick cable plaits round her beautifully-shaped head, which, owing to the
fashion of that day, as well as of the present, of wearing the bonnets on
the shoulders, enabled her well-formed head to be seen to the greatest
advantage. In the delicate outline of her faultless features, there was a
harmony that made of her whole face a concerted loveliness of form, colour,
and expression, that was irresistible. Hackneyed as the simile is, her skin
was literally like snow, upon which blush rose-leaves seemed to have
fallen. Her long-cut oriental-looking eyes, were "deeply, darkly,
beautifully blue," while their heavy, snowy lids were fringed with long
black silken lashes, that seemed to be continually trying to salute her
cheeks, for which no one could possibly blame them. Her nose was, to say
the least, irreproachable. Then came the rich red pouting under, and the
short chisselled upper lip; the beautiful pearly arched teeth within them;
the little round velvety chin, and the perfectly oval peach-like cheeks. In
short, so pretty a creature was seldom to be seen.
But Miss Cunningham was something _more_ than beautiful, she was amiable,
and gentle, and affectionate; and besides, she was a Christian in the full
and true sense of the word; and, young as she was, she had learned to look
upon herself as a sinner, however innocent and pure she might appear in the
eyes of men. While enjoying the blessings of health, peace, and competence,
that providence had poured upon her, she looked upon them all as undeserved
mercies, marks and tokens of her heavenly Father's love--a love manifested
in man's redemption, in a way surpassing all understanding. Where on earth
can there be found a more lovely character than that in which are blended
true religion and natural amiability, rectitude of conduct, and tenderness
of disposition?
Residing under the same roof with Miss Cunningham, who can wonder that,
before many weeks had elapsed, Mr Gordon was as devoted to Captain
Cunningham's daughter as any young and ardent lover could be. Miss
Cunningham was not conscious of any deeper feeling than that of
affectionate friendship, nor was it till some time after that her heart
told her, that Charles Gordon occupied a place in her affections, which
could be held by one, and by one only.
Several weeks had passed away, the repairs of the _Arethusa_ had been
nearly completed, and the time was fast approaching when Charles Gordon
would be obliged to depart from Anstruther. It happened, however, that a
day or two previously to his leaving, a party of pleasure was planned for
visiting Kellie Law, near Carnbee, and Macduff's Cave, near Earlsferry. The
party consisted of Mr John Cunningham, junior, and his sister, and Mr
Gordon and Miss Anderson, the daughter of an opulent merchant in the town.
A vehicle having been hired for the occasion, a drive of about an hour
brought the excursionists to Kellie Law. Having put up the horse and
equipage at Gillingshill, and partaken of the hospitality of the occupants,
they ascended this beautiful conical eminence, which is 800 feet above the
level of the sea, and about four miles distant from it, and rises from the
ridge running eastward from Largo Law. From the summit of Kellie Law, on
which there is a large cairn of stones, one of the most magnificent views
in Scotland is obtained. Immediately below, to the south, is a rich and
beautiful stretch of country, all enclosed and highly cultivated; an
extensive range of sea-coast, studded with numerous little towns and
villages; the ample bosom of the Firth of Forth, enlivened with shipping
and fishing-boats; and in the extreme distance, the coast of the Lothians,
from St Abb's Head to Edinburgh. Near the south base of this hill stands
Kellie Castle, a fine baronial seat of the Earls of Kellie, surrounded by
old trees, and containing some princely apartments. Sir Thomas Erskine of
Gogar was one of those who rescued James VI. from the attempt of the Earl
of Gowrie to assassinate him at Perth in 1600, and killed the earl's
brother with his own hand. He was created Viscount Fenton in 1606, and Earl
of Kellie in 1619. The earldom merged into that of Marr on the death of
Methven, tenth Earl of Kellie, who was great-grand-uncle to Sir Thomas
Erskine of Cambo, the present baronet. It is said these earldoms may, and
probably will, be again disjoined, and the titles and honours of Marr and
Kellie inherited by two distinct noblemen.
After enjoying the splendid prospect from Kellie Law, the party set off for
Elie, on their way to view the caves in Kincraig Hill. The drive between
Gillingshill and Elie is delightful. The turnpike road passes in some
places through a long line of tall trees, arching high overhead, and
showing, at the termination, picturesque vistas. It skirts Kilconquhar
Loch, and affords not very distant views of Charlton and Balcarres,
Colinsburgh and Cairnie House; and passing through Kilconquhar, the
beautiful church of the parish and manse (which do credit to the heritors)
are close by. The noble mansions of Elie and Kilconquhar, in the immediate
neighbourhood, are also seen, surrounded with fine old trees, and standing
in a rich and fertile district.
On arriving at Elie, the party gave the horse and vehicle in charge of the
hostler, and set out on foot for Kincraig. Immediately from the beach, at
the south-west end of the parish, Kincraig Hill rises to the height of
about two hundred feet above the level of the sea. Its southern front
presents a nearly perpendicular rugged wall of trap rock, of the most
picturesque appearance, and in these rocks are several caves, called
Macduff's Cave, the Hall Cave, and the Devil's Cave. There is a tradition
that Macduff, the Maormar or Earl of Fife, in his flight from the vengeance
of Macbeth, was concealed in the cave which still bears his name, and was
afterwards ferried across the Firth to Dunbar by the fishermen of the
place, from which circumstance it was called "Earlsferry;" and, besides
being constituted a royal burgh by Malcolm III, about 1057, it obtained the
privilege, that the persons of all, in flight, who should cross the Firth
from thence, should be for a time inviolable--no boat being allowed to
leave the shore in pursuit, till those who were pursued were half-seas
over.
The party now resolved that they should partake of luncheon on the
greensward, to fortify themselves for their proposed expedition among the
cliffs. While the viands were being produced, Mr Gordon set forth of
himself in quest of a very rare plant, which he was informed grew in this
locality.
On observing a group of persons gazing anxiously upwards at the overhanging
cliffs, he joined them, inquiring on what their attention was so earnestly
fixed. The persons addressed spoke not, but pointed to a spot about
half-way up the face of the rock. Mr Gordon looked in the direction
indicated, when, to his horror, he beheld a boy, apparently of about
fifteen years of age, climbing along a stony ledge, which was so narrow as
to be hardly visible from the spot where the group of terrified beholders
was stationed. Scarcely had there been time for Mr Gordon to fix his eye on
the human form that had reached so perilous a position, when a portion of
the ledge of rock on which the unhappy boy was standing gave way--a loud
scream rent the air, echoing through the cliffs--and in another instant all
that remained of him was a lifeless, mangled corpse. The poor fellow's
story is soon told. He was an idiot, and having wandered from his mother's
side, had reached the fatal spot, no one knew how, and thus met a fearful
death.
His poor mother witnessed the dreadful catastrophe, and agonizing was her
grief as she followed the body of her child, which was borne on the
shoulders of the awe-struck villagers to her home. Mr Gordon also followed
the body to the house, and, feeling that at such a time any attempt at
comforting the childless widow would be of no avail, he merely placed a sum
of money in the hands of a respectable-looking person, a bystander, for her
use, and slowly and sick at heart he was in the act of returning to his
friends, when he met Christina Cunningham, who was in search of him, for
the purpose of bringing him back to luncheon. She saw that he was deadly
pale, and hurriedly asked if he felt ill. He told her all that had
happened.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "if it had been _you_!"
"Well, Miss Cunningham," he replied, carelessly, "and if it had, few would
have missed me. I should probably have had fewer mourners than that poor
idiot boy."
"Oh, how can you say so?" she returned, and bending down her head, became
visibly agitated. And yet poor Christina knew not, even now, that she loved
Charles Gordon: she understood not the true cause of the beatings of her
disturbed heart. He looked at her. As he looked, a momentary smile passed
over his features, which was soon exchanged for an expression of deep
sorrow, as he thought of the lonely widow, bending over the lifeless form
of her lost son. The sad story was related to the rest of the party, and
all cheerfulness for the time was at an end.
This was destined to be an eventful day. Another calamity--and one that,
although it was not attended with fatal results, affected Charles more than
that which had occurred--was yet to take place. We have said that there
were some remarkable caves at this place, which had long been objects of
interest to the traveller and excursionist. One there is in particular,
called the Devil's Cave, which penetrates far into the heart of the rock,
on the face of which lies its entrance. From the steepness of the path
which leads into this cavern, it is rarely visited by tourists. The party,
however, with perhaps more curiosity than prudence, determined to explore
and visit this cave. A female guide was procured, and a candle supplied to
each person. All being ready, in single file they entered the mouth of the
cavern, carefully groping their way, not without difficulty. Miss Anderson
soon lost courage, and turned back, stating that she and Mr Cunningham
would return to the inn at Elie, and prepare tea; the other two resolved to
proceed along with the guide. The aperture through which they had to pass
became at length so low, and so narrow, that a consultation was held, and
it was agreed that it would be prudent to return. Charles now led the way
as they retraced their steps. He had not proceeded far when he heard a
heavy fall, and turning quickly round, beheld, to his horror, Christina
stretched upon the humid soil of the cavern; her eyes were closed, and her
candle had fallen from her hand. Whether bad air had struck her down or
not, he could not tell. For an instant he believed her to be dead, but,
bending over her, he perceived that she breathed. What was now to be done?
Only one plan lay before him which he could adopt. Giving his candle to the
guide, and directing her to keep in front of him, holding the light so as
he could see, he raised Miss Cunningham in his arms, and with all the
strength he was master of, bore her along in the direction of the entrance.
The roof of the cave was so low, that it was impossible to maintain an
upright position, and his strength so entirely failed him that he was
obliged to stop and take a rest before he could proceed with his precious
burden. On reaching the mouth or entrance of the now detested cave, signs
of returning consciousness began to appear in the poor sufferer. On
breathing the fresh air of heaven, she opened her eyes for a moment, then
closed them again, drawing several long and apparently painful
respirations. Charles placed her on a grassy bank, and seating himself
beside her, supported her by placing his arm round her waist. The guide was
despatched for water. By and by, Christina, looking round, said with her
own sweet smile, "I am better now." Charles pressed the form of her whom he
already loved so well, to himself, and then assisting her to rise, with
slow and measured steps they returned to Elie.
"You are very tired, I fear, and I am the cause," said Christina, as she
leaned on Charles's arm, turning her face to his.
For a moment their eyes met, those of Christina fell, while a shade of
colour tinged her still pallid face. She had met a look in Charles's face
that she had never seen there before. She again relapsed into silence.
Charles, in reply to her remark, uttered something that was inaudible; the
name of "Christina," however, was substituted for that of "Miss
Cunningham."
Any endeavour to conceal what had occurred would have been useless. The
pale face of the sufferer plainly told that she had been ill, and general
was the consternation of all on hearing what had happened. Charles resigned
her to the care of Miss Anderson and the hostess, and, passing to the
little parlour of the village inn, flung himself on the sofa in a state of
complete exhaustion.
Long he remained buried in thought. At length his good nature and
compassion prompted him to visit once more the poor, childless widow, while
preparations were being made for their return to Anstruther. She was alone
with the body of her idiot son. Carefully had she cleansed away the blood
and dust from his face, which now appeared to exhibit more intelligence in
death than it had done in life.
As Charles entered, the poor Irish widow exclaimed,--"May the blessing of
the Great God, who is above us this day, be about ye, and wid ye for ever
and ever, my jewel young gentleman!" She held in her hand the money that he
had left for her, and added, "Sure isn't there enough here for the poor
lone widow, to buy her darlint son a dacent coffin for to lay him in the
could earth, in the land of the stranger, before she goes far, far away, to
a land beyant the rowling say (referring to America). You've given me money
when I wanted it sore, an' the blessin' of the lone widow woman will be wid
you wherever ye go; but none can give me back my boy! Oh, Patrick, jewel!
why did ye die? Och, my poor boy! my poor boy! my poor boy!"
The tears came into Charles's eyes as he listened to this pathetic
lamentation, but longer he could not remain. He succeeded, however, in
learning that she had resolved to accede to a proposal of her sister's, to
join her in America, which his gift had provided her with the means of
accomplishing.
The drive to Anstruther was speedily made out, and in few days Miss
Cunningham was quite restored to her usual state of health and enjoyment.
Time rolled on. The _Arethusa_ has sailed. Mr Gordon has returned to
Deptford, and resumed his ordinary duties. Has all intercourse ceased
between him and Miss Cunningham? Assuredly not. Many a kind letter has
passed between them. She has been to England visiting his sister, at that
sister's kind invitation, and is come back to Anstruther. Charles has
proposed to her, and been accepted, and has obtained a special licence for
their marriage. He comes back to Anstruther to claim his bride.
If you, my reader, were at this moment greedily perusing a modern novel,
you would here be gratified by a very romantic and touching account, three
or four pages long at least, of the meeting of the two ardent lovers after
a long separation; smiles and tears, sighs and sobs, broken accents,
protestations of eternal love and fidelity, and all that sort of thing.
Here you will find nothing of the kind. I very much doubt myself as to
whether anything of the kind took place in this instance at all; I rather
imagine the meeting was a calm and quietly happy one, without anything
strikingly romantic or stage-like about it. But even suppose there had
been, and that I had been present to see, (which, by the by, would have
been an awkward enough situation for me, or any other third party, to have
found himself in) ought we to have disclosed it? Certainly not; such a
scene, every one knows, ought to be strictly private and confidential
Suffice it then to say, that doubtless both, parties found themselves
extremely comfortable and happy.
Let me now convey you, in thought, backwards one hundred and fourteen
years, and place you in the street of Pittenweem, opposite the Scottish
Episcopal Chapel. We see a crowd; let us inquire what is the occasion of
it.
"What is this crowd collecting for, so early this morning?"
"There's going to be a wedding, ma'am."
"Do you know whose wedding it is?"
"No ma'am, I don't; I'm only here to keep order--nothing else to do with
it."