Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume VI Part 7

"I was half mad with fever, and the effects of my late draught; and, under the persuasion that our lives were in danger, I fired. The bowman of the gig fell, and we rapidly left her. We came at last to a narrow lagune, close to the low sh.o.r.e of which lay a small schooner at anchor, with sails bent, and every preparation for a start.

"'Welcome on board the little Spitfire, my man!' said the young stranger; 'we want hands--will you s.h.i.+p?'

"'What colours do you sail under,' replied I.

"'Oh, not particular to a shade,' said he; 'any that happens to suit us for the time being: black is rather a favourite.'

"'Black!' exclaimed I; 'I thought you were king's men. I won't go with you.'

"'It is too late, my lad--go you must! Besides, there is no safety for you on sh.o.r.e now; you shot one of the crew of the cruiser's gig, and they will have life for life, depend upon it.'

"The whole horror of my situation now burst upon me. I was in a fearful strait; but I made up my mind at once, to deceive the pirates, by appearing to be contented with my situation, and to take advantage of the first opportunity that presented itself to escape.

"'Well,' said I, 'if that's the case, I had better die fighting bravely like a man, than hang like a dog from the yard-arm of a man-of-war.'

"'Bravely said, my hearty!' replied the young leader; 'but we must be moving--the blue jackets will be after us; that shot of yours will bring the whole hornet's nest about our ears.'

"We got under way; and, after rounding the east end of Jamaica, we stood away for the Cuba sh.o.r.e. The very first time we came to an anchor, I made an attempt to escape; I had saved part of my provisions for some days before, and concealed it, in readiness to take with me. We were lying close to the sh.o.r.e, and the darkness of the night would, I thought, conceal my movements; I was just slipping over the schooner's side, to swim ash.o.r.e, when I felt a touch upon my shoulder, and, turning round, a dark lantern flashed in my face, and I saw the young pirate standing beside me. He held a c.o.c.ked pistol to my head. 'One touch of this trigger,' said he, 'and you would require no more looking after. My eye has been upon you all along; you cannot escape me; do not attempt it again--the consequences may be fatal.'

"From that hour I was aware that I was constantly and narrowly watched.

Except in the one instance of the gig's man, whom I had fired at under a delusion, it was my good fortune as yet to have escaped imbruing my hands in blood. During the action with the Albion, I was sent in the boat, under the particular charge of the mate. 'Keep your eye on this fellow,' said the captain; 'If he flinches for a moment, blow his brains out instantly; we must _glue him_ to us with blood. I will keep her in play till you creep alongside; and, once on board, cut every one down before you--give no quarter.'

"My blood ran cold at this horrible order, and I determined upon doing all in my power to counteract its execution. I was delighted when you discovered our approach and the blue light flashed from your stern; for I dreaded the scene of ma.s.sacre that must have ensued, if we had boarded you unawares. I sprang on deck with the rest, in hopes that I might be able to prevent some bloodshed; but, when I was violently attacked, my pa.s.sions were aroused, and I fought desperately for my life. Just as you tumbled me over the gangway, the gleam of moons.h.i.+ne showed me your face. I recognised you immediately; and, when I rose to the surface of the water again after my plunge, I blessed heaven that I had been spared the guilt of murder. I reached the boat which was still hanging under your quarter, cut the painter, and in the confusion, escaped unnoticed. I immediately made for the sh.o.r.e; and after many hair-breadth escapes from my old a.s.sociates, I volunteered on board one of the cruisers on the Jamaica station. At length she returned home, the crew were paid off, and I determined to seek you out. On inquiring at the office of the owners of the Albion, in Liverpool, they told me that the late chief mate had settled, some years before, in the neighbourhood of Rothesay, in the Isle of Bute, and was still alive. Thank heaven! I have found you at last! I should like to live, Charles, to prove to you my sorrow and repentance for the past; but, as heaven has willed it otherwise, the blessed a.s.surance of your forgiveness will lighten death of half its terrors."

The poor fellow breathed his last a few days afterwards. Douglas mourned long and deeply for his brother's death; but after time had soothed his grief, he became quite an altered man. His mind and spirits recovered their elasticity, after the load which had so long weighed them down was removed. He did not resume his own name; but lived many years afterwards, contented and happy, in the humble station of a fisherman; and it was not till after his death that his old companions discovered how justly the name of "Gentleman Douglas" had been applied to him. His tombstone bore the simple inscription, "Charles Douglas Ponsonby, eldest son of the late Reverend T. Ponsonby."

I often wander, in the calm summer evenings, to the quiet churchyard, and return a sadder, but, I hope, a better man, after meditating upon the troublous and adventurous life, and peaceful and Christian death of the ROTHESAY FISHERMAN.

LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF AN AGED SPINSTER.

The poet of THE ELEGY _par excellence_, hath written two lines, which run thus--

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

Now, I never can think of these lines but they remind me of the tender, delicate, living, breathing, and neglected flowers that bud, blossom, shed their leaves, and die, in cold unsunned obscurity--flowers that were formed to shed their fragrance around a man's heart, and to charm his eye--but which, though wandering melancholy and alone in the wilderness where they grow, he pa.s.seth by with neglect, making a companion of his loneliness. But, to drop all metaphor--where will you find a flower more interesting than a spinster of threescore and ten, of sixty, of fifty, or of forty? They have, indeed, "wasted their sweetness on the desert air." Some call them "old maids;" but it is a malicious appellation, unless it can be proved that they have refused to be wives.

I would always take the part of a spinster; they are a peculiar people, far more "sinned against than sinning." Every blockhead thinks himself at liberty to crack a joke upon them; and when he says something, that he conceives to be wondrous smart, about Miss Such-an-One and her cat or poodle dog, he conceives himself a marvellous clever fellow; yea, even those of her own s.e.x who are below what is called a "certain age" (what that age is, I cannot tell), think themselves privileged to giggle at the expense of their elder sister. Now, though there may be a degree of peevishness (and it is not to be wondered at) amongst the sisterhood, yet with them you will find the most sensitive tenderness of heart, a delicacy that quivers, like the aspen leaf, at a breath, and a kindliness of soul that a mother might envy--or rather, for envy, shall I not write _imitate_? But ah! if their history were told, what a chronicle would it exhibit of blighted affections, withered hearts, secret tears, and midnight sighs!

The first spinster of whom I have a particular remembrance, as belonging to her caste, was Diana Darling. It is now six and twenty years since Diana paid the debt of nature, up to which period, and for a few years before, she rented a room in Chirnside. It was only a year or two before her death that I became acquainted with her; and I was then very young.

But I never shall forget her kindness towards me. She treated me as though I had been her own child, or rather her grandchild, for she was then very little under seventy years of age. She had always an air of gentility about her; people called her "a betterish sort o' body." And, although _Miss_ and _Mistress_ are becoming general appellations now, twenty or thirty years ago, upon the Borders, those t.i.tles were only applied to particular persons or on particular occasions; and whether their more frequent use now is to be attributed to the schoolmaster being abroad or the dancing-master being abroad, I cannot tell, but Diana Darling, although acknowledged to be a "betterish sort o' body,"

never was spoken of by any other term but "auld Diana," or "auld Die."

Well do I remember her flowing chintz gown, with short sleeves, her snow-white ap.r.o.n, her whiter cap, and old kid gloves, reaching to her elbows; and as well do I remember how she took one of the common _blue cakes_ which washer-women use, and tying it up in a piece of woollen cloth, dipped it in water, and daubed it round and round the walls of her room, to give them the appearance of being papered. I have often heard of and seen _stenciling_ since; but, rude as the attempt was, I am almost persuaded that Diana was the first who put it in practice. To keep up gentility putteth people to strange s.h.i.+fts, and often to ridiculous ones--and to both of these extremities she was driven. But I have hinted that she was a kind-hearted creature; and, above all, do I remember her for the fine old ballads which she sang to me. But there was one that was an especial favourite with her, and a verse of which, if I remember correctly, ran thus--

"Fie, Lizzy Lindsay!

Sae lang in the mornins ye lie, Mair fit ye was helping yer minny To milk a' the ewes and the kye."

Diana, however, was a woman of some education; and to a relative she left a sort of history of her life, from which the following is an extract:--

"My father died before I was eighteen (so began Diana's narrative), and he left five of us--that is, my mother, two sisters, a brother, and myself--five hundred pounds a-piece. My sisters were both younger than me; but, within six years after our father's death, they both got married; and my brother, who was only a year older than myself, left the house also, and took a wife, so that there was n.o.body but me and my mother left. Everybody thought there was something very singular in this; for it was not natural that the youngest should be taken and the auldest left; and, besides, it was acknowledged that I was the best faured,[C] and the best tempered in the family; and there could be no dispute but that my siller was as good as theirs.

[C] Best-looking, or most beautiful.

I must confess, however, that, when I was but a la.s.sie o' sixteen, I had drawn up wi' one James Laidlaw--but I should score out the word _one_, and just say that I had drawn up wi' _James Laidlaw_. He was a year, or maybe three, aulder than me, and I kenned him when he was just a laddie, at Mr. Wh----'s school in Dunse; but I took no notice o' him then in particular, and, indeed, I never did, until one day that I was an errand down by Kimmerghame, and I met James just coming out frae the gardens.

It was the summer season, and he had a posie in his hand, and a very bonny posie it was. 'Here's a fine day, Diana,' says he. 'Yes, it is,'

says I.

So we said nae mair for some time; but he keepit walking by my side, and at last he said--'What do ye think o' this posie?' 'It is very bonny, James,' said I. 'I think sae,' quoth he; 'and if ye will accept it, there should naebody be mair welcome to it.' 'Ou, I thank ye,' said I, and I blushed in a way--'why should ye gie me it?' 'Never mind,' says he, 'tak it for auld acquaintance sake--we were at the school together.'

So I took the flowers, and James keepit by my side, and cracked to me a'

the way to my mother's door, and I cracked to him--and I really wondered that the road between Kimmerghame and Dunse had turned sae short. It wasna half the length that it used to be, or what I thought it ought to be.

But I often saw James Laidlaw after this; and somehow or other I aye met him just as I was coming out o' the kirk, and weel do I recollect that, one Sabbath in particular, he said to me--'Diana, will ye no come out and tak a walk after ye get your dinner?' 'I dinna ken, James,' says I; 'I doubt I daurna, for our folk are very particular, and baith my faither and my mother are terribly against onything like gaun about stravaigin on the Sundays.' 'Oh, they need never ken where ye're gaun,'

says he. 'Weel, I'll try,' says I, for by this time I had a sort o'

liking for James. 'Then,' said he, 'I'll be at the Penny Stane at four o'clock.' 'Very weel,' quoth I.

And, although baith my faither and mother said to me, as I was gaun out--'Where are ye gaun, la.s.sie?'--'Oh, no very far,' said I; and, at four o'clock, I met James at the Penny Stane. I shall never forget the grip that he gied my hand when he took it in his, and said--

'Ye hae been as good as your word, Diana.'

We wandered awa doun by Wedderburn d.y.k.e, till we came to the Blackadder, and then we sauntered down by the river side, till we were opposite Kelloe--and, oh, it was a pleasant afternoon. Everything round about us, aboon us, and among our feet, seemed to ken it was Sunday--everything but James and me. The laverock was singing in the blue lift--the blackbirds were whistling in the hedges--the mavis chaunted its loud sang frae the bushes on the braes--the lennerts[D] were singing and chirming among the whins--and the shelfa[E] absolutely seemed to follow ye wi' its three notes over again, in order that ye might learn them.

[D] Linnets

[E] Chaffinch

It was the happiest afternoon I ever spent. James grat, and I grat. I got a scolding frae my faither and my mother when I gaed hame, and they demanded to ken where I had been; but the words that James had spoken to me bore me up against their reproaches.

Weel, it was very shortly (I daresay not six months after my faither's death), that James called at my mother's, and as he said, to bid us _farewell!_ He took my mother's hand--I mind I saw him raise it to his lips, while the tears were on his cheeks; and he was also greatly put about to part wi' my sisters; but to me he said--

'Ye'll set me down a bit, Diana.'

He was to take the coach for Liverpool--or at least, a coach to take him on the road to that town, the next day; and from there he was to proceed to the West Indies, to meet an uncle who was to make him his heir.

I went out wi' him, and we wandered away down by our auld walks; but, oh, he said little, and he sighed often, and his heart was sad. But mine was as sad as his, and I could say as little as him. I winna, I canna write a' the words and the vows that pa.s.sed. He took the chain frae his watch, and it was o' the best gold, and he also took a pair o' Bibles frae his pocket, and he put the watch chain and the Bibles into my hand, and--'Diana,' said he, 'take these, dear--keep them for the sake o' your poor James, and, as often as ye see them, think on him.' I took them, and wi' the tears running down my cheeks--'O James,' cried I, 'this is hard!--hard!'

Twice, ay thrice, we bade each other '_farewell_,' and thrice, after he had parted frae me, he cam running back again, and, throwing his arms round my neck, cried--

'Diana! I canna leave ye!--promise me that ye will never marry onybody else!'

And thrice I promised him that I wouldna.

But he gaed awa, and my only consolation was looking at the Bibles, on one o' the white leaves o' the first volume o' which I found written, by his own hand, '_James Laidlaw and Diana Darling vowed, that, if they were spared, they would become man and wife; and that neither time, distance, nor circ.u.mstances, should dissolve their plighted troth.

Dated, May 25th, 17--_.'

These were cheering words to me; and I lived on them for years, even after my younger sisters were married, and I had ceased to hear from him. And, during that time, for his sake, I had declined offers which my friends said I was waur than foolish to reject. At least half a dozen good matches I let slip through my hands, and a' for the love o' James Laidlaw who was far awa, and the vows he had plighted to me by the side o' the Blackadder. And, although he hadna written to me for some years, I couldna think that ony man could be so wicked as to write words o'

falsehood and bind them up in the volume o' everlasting truth.