Слике страница
PDF
ePub

ground to the other side of it, where I knew the rest-house to be situated. The latter part of the way was through a path in the jungle for about 100 yards; and I confess I was so alarm ed, that I could not face the risk of this, and therefore steered my course down towards the sea-coast. At last my way was happily stopped by the river which flows there, and I laid myself down on my face, and satisfied my thirst by drinking, as you may conceive, most inordinately. Quite dark as it was, there was little chance of my being able to find the solitary clay-built rest-house, which I knew to be thereabouts. So I stretched myself on the sand, and slept there till the moon rose soon after midnight, when I resumed my search successfully, and finished my sleep on its earthen floor. In the morning at the first dawn, I endeavoured to find the hut of the let ter-carriers, but to ne purpose, though I actually viewed one of them for a moment; but he, instead of obeying my loud summons to come to my assistance, fled and concealed himself. This, I am ashamed to say, is but too often the conduct of the natives under similar circumstances, knowing full well beforehand, that they are only required to act as guide, or to carry luggage, for either of which services they are frequently but inade quately rewarded. I again, therefore, started on my way to Pallitopanie, over twelve miles of deep sand, where I arrived with difficulty at three o'clock, almost dead from the scorching rays of the sun, fatigue, and hunger; having ate nothing from the morning of my embarkation till I reached this place, a space of time of about fifty-three hours. Luckily it had rained, and I occasionally found water to drink in the holes made by the feet of the wild elephants and buffaloes. The kind care of the only European at the post, an honest corporal of the 19th regiment, soon brought me round, by pre paring a hot bath for me, and a good currie, not to mention a share of his brandy bottle, to compensate for the

one which the bear had cost me. Next day he escorted me with his musket on his shoulder to Hambantotte, where my labour ended, as I got housed with my friend the Collector, and found my servants and baggage arrived. I must not finish without remarking on the brandy bottle. It was actually forced upon me in spite of my refusal, by a gentleman who saw me embark on board of the Dhoney, and it was nearly broken from want of a cork-screw to open it, in order to relieve the wife of a soldier who was on board going to join her husband, and who being sea-sick, took a longing for this panacea. It was by the merest accident that after this I retained it in my hand, when I gave up my portmanteau to the ele phant, and it seems almost to have been so arranged by an interposition of Providence.

"So much for our friend H—, To you, or indeed to any who know his gallant soldier-like bearing and perfect modesty, it is needless to say how thoroughly every word of his narrative may be relied upon. Though he never mentioned the circumstance beyond a few very particular friends, it is now well known to many in this country, particularly to the family of the late most worthy Governor of the colony, who was there when it happened.'

Here ends our correspondent, and here ends our anecdote. We hope our readers won't find it tedious, and that such of them to whom it may ever happen to travel through so much jungle alone, will by no means neglect to carry a bottle of cogniac, as the most efficient pocket-pistol with which they can be provided. We give this recommendation from brandy being more generally procurable than good Highland whisky, but where the latter is to be had, all good men and true will prefer it as a cordial; and we venture to affirm, it will prove at least equal to the Frenchman as a weapon of defence.

A TALE OF THE MARTYRS.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

RED TAM HARKNESS came into the farm-house of Garrick, in the parish of Closeburn, one day, and began to look about for some place to hide in, when the goodwife, whose name was Jane Kilpatrick, said to him in great alarm, "What's the matter, what's the matter, Tam Harkness?"

"Hide me, or else I'm a dead man : that's the present matter, goodwife," said he. "But yet, when I have time, if ever I hae mair time, I have heavy news for you. For Christ's sake, hide me, Jane, for the killers are hard at hand."

Jane Kilpatrick sprung to her feet, but she was quite benumbed and powerless. She ran to one press, and opened it, and then to another; there was not room to stuff a clog into either of them. She looked into a bed; there was no shelter there, and her knees began to plait under her weight with terror. The voices of the troopers were by this time heard fast approaching, and Harkness had no other shift, but in one moment to conceal himself behind the outer door, which stood open, yet the place where he stood was quite dark. He heard one of them say to another, "I fear the scoundrel is not here after all. Guard the outhouses."

On that three or four of the troopers rushed by him, and began to search the house and examine the inmates. Harkness that moment slid out without being observed, and tried to escape up a narrow glen called Kinrivvah, immediately behind the house; but unluckily two troopers, who had been in another chase, there met him in the face. When he perceived them he turned and ran to the eastward; on which they both fired, which raised the alarm, and instantly the whole pack were after him. It was after wards conjectured that one of the shots had wounded him, for, though he, with others, had been nearly surrounded that morning, and twice waylaid, he had quite outrun the soldiers; but now it was observed that some of them began to gain ground on him, and they still continued firing, till at length he fell in a kind of slough east from the farm-house of Locherben, where

they came up to him, and ran him through with their bayonets. The spot is called Red Tam's Gutter to this day.

Jane Kilpatrick was one of the first who went to his mangled corpse,-a woful sight, lying in the slough, and sore did she lament the loss of that poor and honest man. But there was more; she came to his corpse by a sort of yearning impatience to learn. what was the woful news he had to communicate to her. But, alas, the intelligence was lost, and the man to whose bosom alone it had haply been confided was no more; yet Jane could scarcely prevail on herself to have any fears for her own husband, for she knew him to be in perfectly safe hiding in Glen-Gorar; still Tam's last words hung heavy on her mind. They were both suspected to have been at the harmless rising at Enterkin, for the relief of a favourite minister, which was effected; and that was the extent of their crime. And though it was only suspicion, four men were shot on the hills that morning, without trial or examination, and their bodies forbidden Christian burial.

One of these four was John Weir of Garrick, the husband of Jane Kilpatrick, a man of great worth and honour, and universally respected. He had left his hiding-place in order to carry some intelligence to his friends, and to pray with them, but was entrapped among them and slain. Still there was no intelligence brought to his family, save the single expression that fell from the lips of Thomas Harkness in a moment of distraction. Nevertheless Jane could not rest, but set out all the way to her sister's house in Glen-Gorar, in Crawford-muir, and arrived there at eleven o'clock on a Sabbath evening. The family being at prayers when she went, and the house dark, she stood still behind the hallan, and all the time was convinced that the voice of the man that prayed was the voice of her husband, John Weir. All the time that fervent prayer lasted the tears of joy ran from her eyes, and her heart beat with gra

titude to her Maker as she drank into her soul every sentence of the peti tions and thanksgiving. Accordingly, when worship was ended, and the candle lighted, she went forward with a light heart and joyful countenance, her sister embraced her, though manifestly embarrassed and troubled at seeing her there at such a time. From her she flew to embrace her husband, but he stood still like a statue, and did not meet her embrace. She gazed at him-she grew pale, and, sitting down, she covered her face with her apron. This man was one of her hus band's brothers, likewise in hiding, whom she had never before seen, but the tones of his voice, and even the devotional expressions that he used, were so like her husband's, that she mistook them for his.

All was now grief and consternation, for John Weir had not been seen or heard of there since Wednesday evening, when he had gone to warn his friends of some impending danger; but they all tried to comfort each other as well as they could, and, in particular, by saying, they were all in the Lord's hand, and it behoved him to do with them as seemed to him good, with many other expressions of piety and submission. But the next morning, when the two sisters were about to part, the one says to the other, "Jane, I cannot help telling you a strange confused dream that I had just afore ye wakened me. Ye ken I pit nae faith in dreams, and I dinna want you to regard it; but it is as good for friends to tell them to ane anither, and then, if ought turn out like it in the course o' providence, it may bring it to baith their minds that their spirits had been conversing with God."

"Na, na, Aggie, I want nane o' your confused dreams. I hae other things to think o', and mony's the time an' oft ye hae deaved me wi' them, an' sometimes made me angry."

"I never bade ye believe them, Jeanie, but I likit ay to tell them to you, and this I daresay rase out o' our conversation yestreen. But I thought I was away, ye see, I dinna ken where I was; and I was fear'd an' confused, thinking I had lost my way. And then I came to an auld man, an' he says to me, 'Is it the road to heaven that you are seeking, Aggie?' An' I said, 'Aye,' for I didna like to deny't.

VOL. XXVI. NO. CLIV.

Then I'll tell you where ye maun gang,' said he, " ye maun gang up by the head of yon dark, mossy cleuch, an' you will find ane there that will show you the road to heaven;' and I said, 'Aye,' for I didna like to refuse, although it was an uncouth-looking road, and ane that I didna like to gang. But when I gangs to the cleuch head, wha does I see sitting there but your ain goodman, John Weir, and I thought I never saw him look sae weel; and when I gaed close up to him, there I sees another John Weir, lying strippit to the sark, an' a' beddit in blood. He was cauld dead, and his head turned to the ae side; and when I saw siccan a sight, I was terrified, an' held wide off him. But I gangs up to the living John Weir, and says to him, Gudeman, how's this?'

'Dinna ye see how it is, sister Aggie?' says he, 'I'm just set to herd this poor man that's lying here.'

Then I think ye'll no hae a sair post, John,' says I, for he disna look as he wad rin far away.' It was a very unreverend speak o' me, sister, but these were the words that I thought I said; an' as it is but a dream, ye ken ye needna heed it.

'Alas, poor Aggie!' says he, 'ye are still in the gall o' bitterness yet. Look o'er your right shoulder, an' you will see what I hae to do.' An' sae I looks o'er my right shoulder, an' there I

sees a haill drove o' foxes an' wulcats, an' fumarts an' martins, an' corbey craws, an' a hunder vile beasts, a' stannin round wi' glarin een, eager to be at the corpse o' the dead John Weir; an' then I was terribly astoundit, an I says to him, 'Goodman, how's this?'

I am commissioned to keep these awa,' says he. Do ye think these een that are yet to open in the light o' heaven, and that tongue that has to syllable the praises of a Redeemer far within yon sky, should be left to become the prey o' siccan vermin as these!"

'Will it make sae verra muckle difference, John Weir,' says I, 'whether the carcass is eaten up by these or by the worms?'

[ocr errors]

Ah, Aggie, Aggie! worms are worms; but ye little wat what these are,' says he. But John Weir has warred with them a' his life, an' that to some purpose, and they maunna get the advantage o' him now.'

But which is the right John

D

[ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors]

I am the right John Weir,' says he. Did you ever think the goodman o' Garrick could die? Na, na, Aggie; Clavers can only kill the body, an' that's but the poorest part of the man. But where are you gaun this wild gate?'

I was directed this way on my road to heaven,' says I.

Ay, an' ye were directed right then,' says he. For this is the direct path to heaven, and there is no

other.'

That is very extraordinary,' says 1. And, pray, what is the name of this place, that I may direct my sister Jane, your wife, and all my friends, by the same way?'

This is Faith's Hope,' says he." But behold, at the mention of this place, Jane Kilpatrick of Garrick arose slowly up to her feet and held up both her hands. "Hold, hold, sister Aggie," cried she," you have told enough. Was it in the head of Faith's Hope that you saw this vision of my dead husband?"

"Yes; but at the same time I saw your husband alive."

"Then I fear your dream has a double meaning," said she. "For though it appears like a religious allegory, you do not know that there real ly is such a place, and that not very far from our house. I have often laughed at your dreams, sister, but this one hurries me from you to-day with a heavy and a trembling heart."

Jane left Glen-Gorar by the break of day, and took her way through the wild ranges of Crawford-muir, straight for the head of Faith's Hope. She had some bread in her lap, and a little bible that she always carried with her, and without one to assist or comfort her, she went in search of her lost husband. Before she reached the head of that wild glen, the day was far spent, and the sun wearing down. The valley of the Nith lay spread far below her, in all its beauty, but around

her there was nothing but darkness, dread, and desolation. The mist ho vered on the hills, and on the skirts of the mist the ravens sailed about in circles, croaking furiously, which had a most ominous effect on the heart of poor Jane. As she advanced farther up, she perceived a fox and an eagle sitting over against each other, watching something which yet they seemed terrified to approach; and right between them in a little green hollow, surrounded by black haggs, she found the corpse of her husband in the same manner as described by her sister. He was stripped of his coat and vest, which it was thought, he had thrown from him when flying from the soldiers, to enable him to effect his escape. He was shot through the heart with two bullets, but nothing relating to his death was ever known, whether he died praying, or was shot as he fled; but there was he found lying, bathed in his blood, in the wilderness, and none of the wild beasts of the forest had dared to touch his lifeless form.

The bitterness of death was now past with poor Jane. Her staff and shield was taken from her right hand, and laid low in death by the violence of wicked men. True, she had still a home to go to, although that home was robbed and spoiled; but she found that without him it was no home, and that where his beloved form reposed, that was the home of her rest. She washed all his wounds, and the stains of blood from his body, tied her napkin round his face, covered him with her apron, and sat down and watched be side him all the live-long night, praying to the Almighty, and singing hymns and spiritual songs alternately. The next day she warned her friends and neighbours, who went with her on the following night, and buried him privately in the north-west corner of the churchyard of Morton. The following verses are merely some of her own words versified, as she was sitting by his corpse in the wild glen, or rather the thoughts that she described as having passed through her heart.

JOHN WEIR, A BALLAD.

1.

I canna greet for thee, my John Weir,
O, I canna greet for thee;
For the hand o heaven lies heavy here,
And this sair weird I maun dree.

They harried us first o' cow and ewe,

With curses and crueltye,

And now they hae shed thy dear life blood,

An' what's to become o' me?

I am left a helpless widow here,

O, what's to become o' me?

[blocks in formation]
« ПретходнаНастави »