bairns!--and bonny bairns they were. He kamed their hair, and washed
the bit faces and hands, and keepit them aye as trig and clean as their
ain mither could hae dune. There was a wee bit shuffling luftennan on
board, wha likit his glass weel, and aye lookit twa inches taller after
denner, and as proud as a wee bantam cock. Weel, ae day the puir
serjeant, what wi' the heat o' the day and the strength o' the grog, was
a thocht the waur o' drink, and was maybe no exactly sae respectfu to
the bit offisher as he sud hae been; and--I kenna hoo it was, but he was
had afore a court-martial, and the stripes were taen aff the airm o' his
coat, and he was reduced to the ranks to do duty as a common sentry.
Puir fallow! we were a' terrible ill-pleased about it, and nane mair
than the vera offishers that condemned him.
Eight days after cam the 23d of April, when the king's birth-day, that's
dead, was keepit. At daylicht in the morning, in place o' the drums and
fifes striking up what the sodgers ca' the revilly, the hail band o'
music--twenty-twa instruments, forby drums--beguid playing, "God Save
the King," the colours o' the regiment were fleeing on the poop, and the
offishers a' dressed oot in their gran coats. After breakfast, the
leddies--bless their blithe looks and bonny faces!--war a' walking up
and doun the poop, when the bugles sounded to parade, and a' the sodgers
fell in on the quarterdeck. A grand set o' fallows they war--as neat and
clean as if they'd just turned oot o' a barrack-yard, wi' their belts as
white as snaw, and their brass muntings glinting in the sun, quite
dazzling to look at. They war formed into three sides o' a square, as
near as micht be, and the colonel and a' the offishers were standing at
the open end, a' in full dress. The colonel's breast was just covered a'
owre wi' orders.
When the men war a' settled, there was a dead silence; and the onlookers
wondered what was coming neist.
"Call Private George Hastie of Captain Thomas's company to the front,"
said the colonel. And oot afore them a' steppit puir Hastie, pale as a
sheet, but firm, erect, and sodger-like.
"George Hastie," said the colonel, "I have been induced, by the
solicitations of the ladies, and of the captain and officers of the
ship, as well as by the wishes of your own officers, to pardon the
transgression of military discipline of which you have been guilty, and
to restore you to the rank of flag-serjeant. I hope your temporary
degradation will act as a warning to you for the future, and that you
will not again run the risk of forfeiting the good opinion which, I am
happy to say, your officers have hitherto had of you."
Wi' that, oot whiskit the regimental tailor, and in a jiffey the bit
stripes war on Geordie's arm, and he was a made man again.
He just touched his cap to the colonel, puir chiel, and said nought; but
a tear cam intil his ee, and gaed stealing owre his cheek, that spak
mair and better than words could hae dune. Everybody was delighted at
his restoration; it was an act o' mercy wordy o' the occasion;--the
king's birth-day couldna hae been better celebrated. The sodgers war
then dismissed, and gaed below; and in the evening the band was up, and
an extra pint o' grog, to drink the king's health, was served out; and
there was naething but joy and diversion from ae end o' the ship to the
ither. Sae much for George Hastie! And noo I maun tell ye aboot puir
Geordie.
One evening we war comin near ane o' the shoals that's put doun in the
chart--but it wasna weel kent whether there really was ane there or
no--and the captain cam oot aboot sax in the evening, and tell't the
offisher o' the watch to shorten sail, and hae a' ready for lowering the
larboard cutter. I was standing on the poop at the time, and heard him
gie the order.
Weel, sir, we beguid to shorten sail, while the cutter's crew were
clearing awa the boat. We took in a' the stun-sails, and hauled up the
courses, and furled the royals; then the mainyard was laid aback, and
the boat was lowered and hauled up to the gangway. Geordie Gordon was
ane o' the crew o' the boat--and sax o' the finest young lads in the
ship they war. Ane o' the mates and a midshipman were sent in the boat,
wi' orders to mak sail, and keep ahead o' the ship, sounding for the
shoal. They had a compass, twa or three muskets, and some blue lichts
for signals, wi' them.
It was a fine evening; a licht, steady breeze was blawing, and the ship,
under her topgallantsails, was gaun aboot four knots an hour through the
water; and the wee boat danced merrily owre the waves a gey bit ahead,
wi' her white sails glinting in the sun, like the wings o' a bonny
sea-bird.
Whan the darkening cam on, the captain, afore he _turned in_, said to
the offisher o' the watch, "Keep your eye on the boat, Mr Bowline, and
on no account let the ship go faster through the water than she does at
present. Let me know if the boat makes any signal, or if the breeze
should freshen."
"Ay, ay, sir!--Keep a good look-out for the boat there, forward!"
Weel, sir, the breeze keepit steady, and the ship gaed cannily through
the water, and the boat was easy to be seen--till aboot
seven-bells--that's half-past eleven--the sky beguid to be o'ercast, and
the breeze to freshen; but still through the darkness the bit white sail
was seen.
At eight-bells, that's twal o'clock, the watch was relieved, and anither
officer came up to tak charge o' the ship.
"A cloudy night, Bowline. What are the orders?"
"You're to keep the ship the same course" (I dinna just min' what it
was), "and not to lose sight of the boat on any account."
"Very well. But where _is_ the _boat_?"
"There she is, just under that dark cloud. Good-night!"
"Don't be in such a hurry. I can't see the boat!"
"Why, there she is!"
"I can't see her," said the other; "and what's more, I won't take charge
of the deck till I do."
"I'm sure I saw her two minutes ago," said Bowline.
Weel, sir, they lookit and lookit, and we a' lookit, and they gat up
their nicht-glasses; but a' in vain, for the boat wasna to be seen.
The offisher o' the deck was maist demented, and ran in to the
captain--"We've lost sight of the boat, sir!"
"The devil!" said he, starting oot o' his cot, and rinning on
deck--"burn a blue light directly!"
The gunner's mate ran doun for a blue licht; and, in a minute, it was
fizzing awa on the quarter, throwing a bricht glare o' licht a' owre the
ship. The nicht was dark by this time; but you could see every rape in
her, and the faces o' the men at the far end looking a' blue and
ghaist-like.
Lang and sair we lookit for an answer to the signal; ye micht hae heard
a whisper, we war sae quiet wi' fear and hope; but there was nowther
sicht nor sound in reply. Anither was burned--but still nae answer.
A gloom fell upon us a', a fear o' we didna ken what. We durstna speak
our thochts to ane anither; and, as for our captain, I thocht he wad hae
gane clean oot o' his mind--for a kinder-hearted man never steppit a
quarterdeck. We hove the ship to, as they ca't, and fired guns every two
or three minutes, in hopes the lads in the boat wad hear; and sair and
sadly we langed for the morning licht.
It cam at last; but there was naething to be seen but the lift and the
water. The ship was hauled to the wind; and the hail o' that day we made
short tacks backward and forward across our auld course, wi' signals
fleeing at our mastheads, and firing guns every hauf-hour, and a' the
men straining their een to get a gliff o' the boat--but a' for nocht--we
never saw them mair! Whether the boat was capsised in a sudden squall,
or the ship had struck her, or whatever it was, will never be kent till
the sea gies up her dead!
Oh, sir, was it no an awfu thing to think that sae mony fine lads, wha
had left us a few hours afore, fu' o' life and speerit, should be
hurried awa at a moment's warning, and buried in the waves o' the sea!
There was an unco gloom owre the ship a' that day and the neist--the men
gaed about whispering to ilk ither, as if they were feared to hear the
sound o' their ain voices--and the bauldest amang them were sobered for
a time. But oh, sir, to see how sune the dearest and best are forgotten!
In a few days the maist o' the men were as heartsome and blithe as if
naething had happened. Puir Geordie! aft hae I thocht o' you when it was
my look-out on deck, and o' the merry ee and the heartsome laugh that
I'll ne'er see or hear mair. But it's getting weel on in the day, sir;
so I maun cut short my yarn, as we sailors say, and leave ye. I left the
ship in China, and volunteered on board a man-o'-war, and, after being
three years on a forran station, I was paid aff a fort-nicht past, and
am now on my way hame, to share my savings wi' my wee lass, if she hasna
forgotten me. Guid afternoon, sir. I'll maybe meet ye again ere lang,
and then, if ye like to listen to them, I'll gie ye mair o' my cracks. I
maun awa to puir Geordie's faither.
And, before I had time to question him as to the whereabouts of his
home, and how or when I was to meet him again, he bounded over the gate,
and disappeared.
That same evening, I was sitting in Edward Thompson's comfortable
parlour, reading my favourite, Burns; Elsie was knitting near me, and
Ellen was preparing some of the trout that I had brought home for
supper. The sun had long set, and the twilight was only just beginning
to fade into night; the window was open to admit the mild evening air;
and the song of the thrush and blackbird had usurped the place of all
other sounds with sweet melody.
Just as we were about to seat ourselves at the plain but comfortable
board, we heard some one at a short distance whistling the air of
"Dinna think, bonny lass,
I'm gaun to leave you."
And immediately afterwards, a fine, clear, manly voice sang--
"I'll tak my stick into my hand,
And come again and see you."
Ellen started, and turned pale.
"What ails the lass?" said her father, when the door burst open, and,
glowing with health and exercise, my friend of the morning stood before
us.
The old people stared with surprise; their memory was at fault. Not so
Ellen: she blushed, turned pale; and burst into tears.
"Faither, d'ye no mind Tam?--Tam Wilson?" And the next moment Tom--_her_
Tom--was at her side, and fondling her to his heart.
That was a happy night at Fairyknowe. Tom was in all his glory; the old
man indulged in an extra glass of toddy while listening to his _yarns_;
and Ellen _looked_ the joy she felt--there was no shade on her features
now. Next Sunday, which was only two days afterwards, the gossips of the
parish were quite astonished when they heard the names of Tom Wilson and
Ellen Thompson cried three times in the kirk.
"Whatna Tam Wilson can that be, I wonder?" Nobody knew. But next
Sabbath-day all their "wonderings" were satisfactorily silenced, by
witnessing the gay kirking party, with Tom and Ellen at their head--the
handsomest couple, so they all said, they had seen this "mony a lang
day." I was present at the wedding, which took place on the Friday
preceding, and a happy scene it was. Tom has left ploughing the sea, to
follow the plough on shore, and he and Ellen are settled in a small and
comfortable farm with every prospect of happiness before them.
PERSEVERANCE;
OR, THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF RODERIC GRAY.
Courteous reader, thou must be aware that there is no virtue which
conferreth greater benefits upon its possessor than the virtue of
perseverance. It can scale precipices, overtop mountains, encompass
seas. Perseverance is a mighty conqueror; it fighteth against odds, and
neither turneth its back nor is dismayed. Its progress may be slow, but
in the end it is sure. As a snail ascendeth a perpendicular wall, it may
fall or be driven back to the ground, but it will renew the attempt. It
suffereth longer than charity, and hence came the adage, that "they who
look for a silk gown always get a sleeve o't." It has been said, "Great
is truth, and it will prevail;" and in addition thereunto, I would say,
"Great is perseverance, for it also will prevail." The motto of every
man should be, "_nil desperandum_." Every one should remember that real
honour and esteem do not seek a man on whom they are to alight--the man
must seek them; he must win them, and then wear them.
Instead, however, of detaining the reader with dull and general remarks
on perseverance, I shall at once lay before them a copy of the
autobiography of Roderic Gray, whose history will illustrate its effects
in particulars:--
I was the son of poor but of honest parents. (With this stereotyped
piece of history concerning poverty and honesty, Roderic Gray began his
autobiography.) Yes, I repeat that my father and my mother were very
poor, but they were sterlingly honest. They had a numerous family, and
many privations to contend with; and the first thing I remember of my
father was a constant, I may say a daily, expression of his, "Set a
stout heart to a stey brae." Another great phrase of his, when any of us
were like to be beaten by ought that we were attempting, was, "Try it
again--never be beat--step by step brings the mountain low." My mother
was of a disposition precisely similar to my father. Almost the first
thing I remember of her is, what was her favourite expression, "Try it
again, as your faither says--practice makes _perfiteness_."[7]
[Footnote 7: Perfection]
These expressions of my honoured parents were the rudiments of my
education. They left an impression upon my heart and upon my brain,
before I was sensible of what an impression was. There is often a great
deal more conveyed through a single sentence, than we are apt to
imagine. Our future destiny may be swayed by the hearing of one little
word, and that word may be spoken in our hearing at a very early period
of our lives. Many a father, when years began to sober down the buoyant
tumult of his spirits, has wondered at and grieved over the disposition
and actions of his son, marvelling whence they came; whereas the son
received the feelings which gave birth to such actions, while he was but
an infant, from the lips of his father, as he heard that father recount
the deeds, the exploits, the feats of bravery of his young manhood. From
the hour that a child begins to notice the objects around it, or to be
sensible of kind or of harsh treatment, from that moment every one who
takes it in their arms, every object around it, become its instructors.
I find I am digressing from my autobiography, but I shall go on with it
by and by, and as I have mentioned the subject of education, I shall say
a few more words upon that topic, and especially on the education of the
young, which, though it detain the reader for a short space from my
history, will neither be uninstructive, nor without interest.