CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
READ IT.
I hastened to the black hole where Tom was confined, and the order formy admission having arrived before me, I was permitted by the sergeantof the guard to pass the sentry. I found Tom sitting on a benchnotching a stick with his knife, whistling a slow tune.
"This is kind, Jacob, but not more than I expected of you--I made surethat I should see you to-night or to-morrow morning. How's poor Mary?I care only for her now--I am satisfied--she loves me, and--I knockedout the sergeant's eye--spoilt his wooing, at all events."
"But, Tom, are you aware of the danger in which you are placed?"
"Yes, Jacob, perfectly; I shall be tried by a court-martial and shot.I've made up my mind to it--at all events, it's better than being hunglike a dog, or being flogged to death like a nigger. I shall die like agentleman, if I have never been one before, that's some comfort. Nay, Ishall go out of the world with as much noise as if a battle had beenfought, or a great man had died."
"How do you mean?"
"Why there'll be more than one _bullet-in_."
"This is no time for jesting, Tom."
"Not for you, Jacob, as a sincere friend, I grant; not for poor Mary, asa devoted girl; not for my poor father and mother--no, no," continuedTom. "I feel for them, but for myself I neither fear nor care. I havenot done wrong--I was pressed against the law and Act of Parliament, andI deserted. I was enlisted when I was drunk and mad, and I deserted.There is no disgrace to me; the disgrace is to the government whichsuffers such acts. If I am to be a victim, well and good--we can onlydie once."
"Very true, Tom; but you are young to die, and we must hope for thebest."
"I have given up all hope, Jacob. I know the law will be put in force.I shall die and go to another and a better world, as the parson says,where, at all events, there will be no muskets to clean, no drill, andnone of your confounded pipe-clay, which has almost driven me mad. Ishould like to die in a blue jacket--in a red coat I will not, so Ipresume I shall go out of the world in my shirt, and that's more than Ihad when I came in."
"Mary and her father are coming down to you, Tom."
"I'm sorry for that, Jacob; it would be cruel not to see her--but sheblames herself so much that I cannot bear to read her letters. But,Jacob, I will see her, to try if I can comfort her--but she must notstay; she must go back again till after the court-martial, and thesentence, and then--if she wishes to take her farewell, I suppose I mustnot refuse." A few tears dropped from his eyes as he said this."Jacob, will you wait and take her back to town?--she must not stayhere--and I will not see my father and mother until the last. Let usmake one job of it, and then all will be over."
As Tom said this the door of the cell again opened, and Stapletonsupported in his daughter. Mary tottered to where Tom stood, and fellinto his arms in a fit of convulsions. It was necessary to remove her,and she was carried out. "Let her not come in again, I beseech you,Jacob; take her back, and I will bless you for your kindness. Wish mefarewell now, and see that she does not come again." Tom wrung me bythe hand, and turned away to conceal his distress. I nodded my head inassent, for I could not speak for emotion, and followed Stapleton andthe soldiers who had taken Mary out. As soon as she was recoveredsufficiently to require no further medical aid, I lifted her into thepost-chaise, and ordered the boys to drive back to Brentford. Marycontinued in a state of stupor during the journey; and when I arrived atmy own house, I gave her into the charge of the gardener's wife, anddespatched her husband for medical assistance. The application of MrWharncliffe was of little avail, and he returned to me withdisappointment in his countenance. The whole of the next week was themost distressing that I ever passed; arising from my anxiety for Tom, mydaily exertions to reason Mary into some degree of submission to thewill of Providence--her accusations of herself and her own folly--herincoherent ravings, calling herself Tom's murderer, which alarmed me forher reason; the distress of old Tom and his wife, who, unable to remainin their solitude, came all to me for intelligence, for comfort, and forwhat, alas! I dare not give them--hope. All this, added to myseparation from Sarah during my attendance to what I considered my duty,reduced me to a debility, arising from mental exertion, which changed meto almost a skeleton.
At last the court-martial was held, and Tom was condemned to death. Thesentence was approved of, and we were told that all appeals would beunavailing. We received the news on the Saturday evening, and Tom wasto suffer on the Tuesday morning. I could no longer refuse the appealsof Mary; indeed, I received a letter from Tom, requesting that all ofus, the Dominie included, would come down and bid him farewell. I hireda carriage for old Tom, his wife, Stapleton, and Mary, and putting theDominie and myself in my own chariot, we set off early on the Sundaymorning for Maidstone. We arrived about eleven o'clock, and put up atan inn in close proximity to the barracks. It was arranged that theDominie and I should see Tom first, then his father and mother, andlastly, Mary Stapleton.
"Verily," said the Dominie, "my heart is heavy, exceeding heavy; my soulyearneth after the poor lad, who is thus to lose his life for a woman--awoman from whose toils I did myself escape. Yet is she exceeding fairand comely, and now that it is unavailing, appeareth to be penitent."
I made no reply; we had arrived at the gate of the barracks. Irequested to be admitted to the prisoner, and the doors were unbarred.Tom was dressed with great care and cleanliness in white trousers andshirt and waistcoat, but his coat lay on the table; he would not put iton. He extended his hand towards me with a faint smile.
"It's all over now, Jacob; and there is no hope that I am aware of, andI have made up my mind to die; but I wish these last farewells wereover, for they unman me. I hope you are well, sir," continued Tom tothe Dominie.
"Nay, my poor boy, I am as well as age and infirmity will permit, andwhy should I complain when I see youth, health, and strength about to besacrificed; and many made miserable, when many might be made so happy?"And the Dominie blew his nose, the trumpet sound of which re-echoedthrough the cell, so as to induce the sentry to look through the bars.
"They are all here, Tom," said I. "Would you like to see them now?"
"Yes; the sooner it is over the better."
"Will you see your father and mother first?"
"Yes," replied Tom, in a faltering tone.
I went out, and returned with the old woman on my arm, followed by oldTom, who stumped after me with the assistance of his stick. Poor oldMrs Beazeley fell on her son's neck, sobbing convulsively.
"My boy--my boy--my dear, dear boy!" said she at last, and she looked upsteadfastly in his face. "My God! he'll be dead to-morrow!"
Her head again sank on his shoulder, and her sobs were choking her. Tomkissed his mother's forehead as the tears coursed down his cheeks, andmotioned me to take her away. I placed her down on the floor, where sheremained silent, moving her head up and down with a slow motion, herface buried in her shawl. It was but now and then that you heard aconvulsive drawing of her breath. Old Tom had remained a silent butagitated spectator of the scene. Every muscle in his weather-beatencountenance twitched convulsively, and the tears at last forced theirway through the deep furrows on his cheeks. Tom, as soon as his motherwas removed, took his father by the hand, and they sat down together.
"You are not angry with me, father, for deserting?"
"No, my boy, no; I was angry with you for 'listing, but not fordeserting. What business had you with the pipeclay? But I do think Ihave reason to be angry elsewhere, when I reflect that after having lostmy two legs in defending her, my country is now to take from me my boyin his prime. It's but a poor reward for long and hard service--poorencouragement to do your duty; but what do they care? they have had mysarvices, and they have left me a hulk. Well, they may take the rest ofme if they please, now that they--Well, it's no use crying; what's donecan't be helped," continued old Tom, as the tears ran down in torrents;"they may shoot you, Tom; but this I know well, you'll die game,
andshame them by proving to them they have deprived themselves of thesarvices of a good man when good men are needed. I would not have somuch cared," continued old Tom, after a pause--"(look to the old woman,Jacob, she's tumbling over to port)--if you had fallen on board a king'sship in a good frigate action; some must be killed when there's hardfighting; but to be drilled through by your own countrymen, to die bytheir hands, and, worst of all, to die in a red coat, instead of a trueblue--"
"Father, I will not die in a red coat--I won't put it on."
"That's some comfort, Tom, anyhow, and comfort's wanted."
"And I'll die like a man, father."
"That you will, Tom, and that's some comfort."
"We shall meet again, father."
"Hope so, Tom, in heaven--that's some comfort."
"And now, father, bless me, and take care of my poor mother."
"Bless you, Tom, bless you!" cried the old man, in a suffocating voice,extending both his hands towards Tom, as they rose up; but theequilibrium was no longer to be maintained, and he reeled back in thearms of me and Tom. We lowered him gently down by the side of his wife;the old couple turned to each other, and embracing, remained sobbing ineach other's arms.
"Jacob," said Tom, squeezing me by the hand, with a quivering lip, "byyour regard for me, let now the last scene be got over--let me see Mary,and let this tortured heart once more be permitted a respite." I sentout the Dominie. Tom leant against the wall, with his arms folded, inappearance summoning up all his energy for the painful meeting. Marywas led in by her father. I expected she would have swooned away, asbefore; but, on the contrary, although she was pale as death, andgasping for breath, from intensity of feeling, she walked up to Tomwhere he was standing, and sat down on the form close to him. Shelooked anxiously round upon the group, and then said, "I know that all Inow say is useless, Tom; but still I must say it--it is I who, by myfolly, have occasioned all this distress and misery--it is I who havecaused you to suffer a--dreadful death--yes, Tom, I am your murderer."
"Not so, Mary, the folly was my own," replied Tom, taking her hand.
"You cannot disguise or palliate to me, dearest Tom," replied Mary; "myeyes have been opened, too late it is true, but they have been opened;and although it is kind of you to say so, I feel the horrid convictionof my own guilt. See what misery I have brought about. There is afather who has sacrificed his youth and his limbs to his country,sobbing in the arms of a mother whose life is bound up with that of heronly son. To them," continued Mary, falling down upon her knees, "tothem I must kneel for pardon, and I ask it as they hope to be forgiven.Answer me--oh! answer me! can you forgive a wretch like me?"
A pause ensued. I went up to old Tom, and kneeling by his side, beggedhim to answer.
"Forgive her, poor thing--yes; who could refuse it, as she kneels there?Come," continued he, speaking to his wife, "you must forgive her. Lookup, dame, at her, and think that our poor boy may be asking the same ofheaven to-morrow at noon."
The old woman looked up, and her dimmed eyes caught a sight of Mary'simploring and beautiful attitude; it was not to be withstood.
"As I hope for mercy to my poor boy, whom you have killed, so do Iforgive you, unhappy young woman."
"May God reward you, when you are summoned before Him," replied Mary."It was the hardest task of all. Of you, Jacob, I have to askforgiveness for depriving you of your early and truest friend--yes, andfor much more. Of you, sir," addressing the Dominie, "for my conducttowards you, which was cruel and indefensible--will you forgive me?"
"Yes, Mary, from my heart, I do forgive you," replied I.
"Bless thee, maiden, bless thee!" sobbed the Dominie.
"Father, I must ask of you the same--I have been a wilful child--forgiveme!"
"Yes, Mary; you could not help it," replied old Stapleton, blubbering;"it was all human natur'."
"And now," said Mary, turning round on her knees to Tom, with a lookexpressive of anguish and love, "to you, Tom, must be my last appeal. Iknow _you_ will forgive me--I know you have--and this knowledge of yourfervent love makes the thought more bitter that I have caused yourdeath. But hear me, Tom, and all of you hear me. I never loved butyou; I have liked others much; I liked Jacob; but you only ever did makeme feel I had a heart; and alas, you only have I sacrificed. When ledaway by my folly to give you pain, I suffered more than you--for youhave had my only, you shall have my eternal and unceasing love. To yourmemory I am hereafter wedded, to join you will be my only wish--and ifthere could be a boon granted me from heaven, it would be to die withyou, Tom--yes, in those dear arms."
Mary held out her arms to Tom, who falling down on his knees, embracedher, and thus they remained with their faces buried in each other'sshoulders. The whole scene was now at its climax; it was toooppressive, and I felt faint, when I was aroused by the voice of theDominie, who, lifting up both his arms, and extending them forth,solemnly prayed, "O Lord, look down upon these Thy servants inaffliction; grant to those who are to continue in their pilgrimagestrength to bear Thy chastening--grant to him who is to be summoned toThee that happiness which the world cannot give; and O God most mighty,God most powerful, lay not upon us burdens greater than we can bear.--Mychildren let us pray."
The Dominie knelt down and repeated the Lord's prayer; all followed hisexample, and then there was a pause.
"Stapleton," said I, pointing to Mary. I beckoned to the Dominie. Weassisted up old Tom, and then his wife, and led them away; the poor oldwoman was in a state of stupefaction, and until she was out in the airwas not aware that she had quitted her son. Stapleton had attempted todetach Mary from Tom, but in vain; they were locked together as if indeath. At last Tom, roused by me, suffered his hold to be loosened, andMary was taken out in a happy state of insensibility, and carried to theinn by her father and the Dominie.
"Are they all gone?" whispered Tom to me, as his head reclined on myshoulder.
"All, Tom."
"Then the bitterness of death is past; God have mercy on them, andassuage their anguish; they want His help more than I do."
A passionate flood of tears, which lasted some minutes, relieved thepoor fellow; he raised himself, and drying his eyes, became morecomposed.
"Jacob, I hardly need tell my dying request, to watch over my poorfather and mother, to comfort poor Mary--God bless you, Jacob! you haveindeed been a faithful friend, and may God reward you. And now, Jacob,leave me; I must commune with my God, and pray for forgiveness. Thespace between me and eternity is but short."
Tom threw himself into my arms, where he remained for some minutes; hethen broke gently away, and pointed to the door. I once more took hishand and we parted.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
IN WHICH, AS USUAL IN THE LAST CHAPTER OF A WORK, EVERYTHING IS WOUND UPMUCH TO THE READER'S SATISFACTION, AND NOT A LITTLE TO THE AUTHOR'S, WHOLAYS DOWN HIS PEN, EXCLAIMING, "THANK GOD!"
I went back to the inn, and ordering the horses to be put to, Iexplained to all but Mary the propriety of their now returning home.Mary was lifted in, and it was a relief to my mind to see them alldepart. As for myself, I resolved to remain until the last; but I wasin a state of feverish agitation, which made me restless. As I paced upand down the room, the newspaper caught my eye. I laid hold of itmechanically, and looked at it. A paragraph rivetted my attention."His Majesty's ship _Immortalite_ Chatham, to be paid off." Then ourship has come home. But what was that now? Yet something whispered tome that I ought to go and see Captain Maclean, and try if anything couldbe done. I knew his commanding interest, and although it was now toolate, still I had an impulse to go and see him, which I could notresist. "After all," said I to myself, "I'm of no use here, and I mayas well go." This feeling, added to my restlessness, induced me toorder horses, and I went to Chatham, found out that Captain Maclean wasstill on board, and took boat off to the frigate. I was recognised bythe officers, who were glad to see me, and I sent a message to thecaptain, who was below, requesting to see him. I was asked into
thecabin, and stated to him what had occurred, requesting his assistance,if possible.
"Faithful," replied he, "it appears that Tom Beazeley has desertedtwice; still there is much extenuation; at all events, the punishment ofdeath is too severe, and I don't _like_ it--I can save him, and I will.By the rule of the services, a deserter from one service can be claimedfrom the other, and must be tried by his officers. His sentence is,therefore, not legal. I shall send a party of marines, and claim him asa deserter from the Navy, and they must and shall give him up--makeyourself easy, Faithful, his life is as safe as yours."
I could have fallen on my knees and thanked him, though I could hardlybelieve that such good news was true.
"There is no time to lose, sir," replied I, respectfully; "he is to beshot to-morrow at nine o'clock."
"He will be on board here to-morrow at nine o'clock, or I am not CaptainMaclean. But, as you say, there is no time to lose. It is now nearlydark, and the party must be off immediately. I must write a letter onservice to the commanding officer of the depot. Call my clerk."
I ran out and called the clerk. In a few minutes the letter waswritten, and a party of marines, with the second lieutenant, despatchedwith me on shore. I ordered post-chaises for the whole party, andbefore eleven we were at Maidstone. The lieutenant and I sat up allnight, and, at daylight, we summoned the marines and went to thebarracks, where we found the awful note of preparation going forward,and the commanding officer up and attending to the arrangements. Iintroduced the lieutenant, who presented the letter on service.
"Good heavens, how fortunate! You can establish his identity, Ipresume."
"Every man here can swear to him."
"'Tis sufficient, Mr Faithful. I wish you and your friend joy of thisreprieve. The rules of the service must be obeyed, and you will sign areceipt for the prisoner."
This was done by the lieutenant, and the provost marshal was ordered todeliver up the prisoner. I hastened with the marines into the cell; thedoor was unlocked. Tom, who was reading his Bible, started up, andperceiving the red jackets, thought that he was to be led out toexecution.
"My lads," exclaimed he, "I am ready; the sooner this is over thebetter."
"No, Tom," said I, advancing; "I trust for better fortune. You areclaimed as a deserter from the _Immortalite_."
Tom stared, lifted the hair from his forehead, and threw himself into myarms; but we had no time for a display of feelings. We hurried Tom awayfrom the barracks; again I put the whole party into chaises, and we soonarrived at Chatham, where we embarked on board of the frigate. Tom wasgiven into the charge of the master-at-arms as a deserter, and a letterwas written by Captain Maclean, demanding a court-martial on him.
"What will be the result?" inquired I of the first lieutenant.
"The captain says, little or nothing, as he was pressed as anapprentice, which is contrary to Act of Parliament."
I went down to cheer Tom with this intelligence, and taking my leave,set off for London with a light heart. Still I thought it better not tocommunicate this good news until assurance was made doubly sure. Ihastened to Mr Drummond's, and detailed to them all that had passed.The next day Mr Wharncliffe went with me to the Admiralty, where I hadthe happiness to find that all was legal, and that Tom could only betried for his desertion from a man-of-war; and that if he could provethat he was an apprentice, he would, in all probability, be acquitted.The court-martial was summoned three days after the letter had beenreceived by the Admiralty. I hastened down to Chatham to be present.It was very short; the desertion was proved, and Tom was called upon forhis defence. He produced his papers, and proved that he was pressedbefore his time had expired. The court was cleared for a few minutes,and then re-opened. Tom was acquitted on the ground of illegaldetention, contrary to Act of Parliament, and he was _free_. I returnedmy thanks to Captain Maclean and his officers for their kindness, andleft the ship with Tom in the cutter, ordered for me by the firstlieutenant. My heart swelled with gratitude at the happy result. Tomwas silent, but his feelings I could well analyse. I gave to the men ofthe boat five guineas to drink Tom's health, and, hastening to the inn,ordered the carriage, and with Tom, who was a precious deposit, for uponhis welfare depended the happiness of so many, I hurried to London asfast as I could, stopped at the Drummond's to communicate the happyintelligence, and then proceeded to my own house, where we slept. Thenext morning I dressed Tom in some of my clothes, and we embarked in thewherry.
"Now, Tom," said I, "you must keep in the background at first, while Iprepare them. Where shall we go first?"
"Oh, to my mother," replied Tom.
We passed through Putney Bridge, and Tom's bosom heaved as he lookedtowards the residence of Mary. His heart was there, poor fellow! and helonged to fly to the poor girl and dry her tears; but his first duty wasto his parents.
We soon arrived abreast of the residence of the old couple, and Idesired Tom to pull in, but not turn his head round, lest they shouldsee him before I had prepared them; for too much joy will kill as wellas grief. Old Tom was not at his work, and all was quiet. I landed andwent to the house, opened the door, and found them both sitting by thekitchen fire in silence, apparently occupied in watching the smoke as itascended up the spacious chimney.
"Good morning to you both," said I; "how do you find yourself, MrsBeazeley?"
"Ah, deary me!" replied the old woman, putting her apron up to her eyes.
"Sit down, Jacob, sit down," said old Tom; "we _can_ talk of him now."
"Yes, now that he's in heaven, poor fellow!" interposed the old woman.
"Tell me, Jacob," said old Tom, with a quivering lip, "did you see thelast of him? Tell me all about it. How did he look? How did hebehave? Was he soon out of his pain? And--Jacob--where is he buried!"
"Yes, yes;" sobbed Mrs Beazeley; "tell me where is the body of my poorchild."
"Can you bear to talk about him?" said I.
"Yes, yes; we can't talk too much; it does us good," replied she. "Wehave done nothing but talk about him since we left him."
"And shall, till we sink down into our own graves," said old Tom, "whichwon't be long. I've nothing to wish for now, and I'll never sing again,that's sartain. We shan't last long, either of us. As for me,"continued the old man with a melancholy smile, looking down at hisstumps. "I may well say that I've _two_ feet in the grave already. Butcome, Jacob, tell us all about him."
"I will," replied I; "and my dear Mrs Beazeley, you must prepareyourself for different tidings than what you expect. Tom is not yetshot."
"Not dead!" shrieked the old woman.
"Not yet, Jacob;" cried old Tom, seizing me by the arm, and squeezing itwith the force of a vice, as he looked me earnestly in the face.
"He lives; and I am in hopes he will be pardoned."
Mrs Beazeley sprang from her chair and seized me by the other arm.
"I see--I see by your face. Yes, Jacob, he is pardoned; and we shallhave our Tom again."
"You are right, Mrs Beazeley; he is pardoned, and will soon be here."
The old couple sank down on their knees beside me. I left them, andbeckoned from the door to Tom, who flew up, and in a moment was in theirarms. I assisted him to put his mother into her chair, and then wentout to recover myself from the agitating scene. I remained about anhour outside, and then returned. The old couple seized me by the hands,and invoked blessings on my head.
"You must now part with Tom a little while," said I; "there are othersto make happy besides yourselves."
"Very true," replied old Tom; "go, my lad, and comfort her. Come,missus, we mustn't forget others."
"Oh, no. Go, Tom; go and tell her that I don't care how soon she is mydaughter."
Tom embraced his mother, and followed me to the boat; we pulled upagainst the tide, and were soon at Putney.
"Tom, you had better stay in the boat. I will either come or send foryou."
It was very unwillingly that Tom consented, but I overruled his
entreaties, and he remained. I walked to Mary's house and entered. Shewas up in the little parlour, dressed in deep mourning; when I enteredshe was looking out upon the river; she turned her head, and perceivingme, rose to meet me.
"You do not come to upbraid me, Jacob, I am sure," said she, in amelancholy voice; "you are too kind-hearted for that."
"No, no, Mary; I come to comfort you, if possible."
"That is not possible. Look at me, Jacob. Is there not a worm--acanker--that gnaws within?"
The hollow cheek and wild flaring eye, once so beautiful, but tooplainly told the truth.
"Mary," said I, "sit down; you know what the Bible says--`It is good forus to be afflicted.'"
"Yes, yes," sobbed Mary, "I deserve all I suffer; and I bow in humility.But am I not too much punished, Jacob? Not that I would repine; but isit not too much for me to bear, when I think that I am the destroyer ofone who loved me so?"
"You have not been the destroyer, Mary."
"Yes, yes; my heart tells me that I have."
"But--I tell you that you have not. Say, Mary, dreadful as thepunishment has been, would you not kiss the rod with thankfulness, if itcured you of your unfortunate disposition, and prepared you to make agood wife?"
"That it has cured me, Jacob, I can safely assert; but it has alsokilled me as well as him. But I wish not to live; and I trust, in a fewshort months, to repose by his side."
"I hope you will have your wish, Mary, very soon, but not in death."
"Merciful heavens! what do you mean, Jacob?"
"I said you were not the destroyer of poor Tom--you have not been; hehas not _yet_ suffered; there was an informality, which has induced themto revise the sentence."
"Jacob," replied Mary, "it is cruelty to raise my hopes only to crushthem again. If not yet dead, he is still to die. I wish you had nottold me so," continued she, bursting into tears; "what a state of agonyand suspense must he have been in all this time, and I--I have causedhis sufferings! I trusted he had long been released from this cruel,heartless world."
The flood of tears which followed assured me that I could safely impartthe glad intelligence. "Mary, Mary, listen to me."
"Leave me, leave me," sobbed Mary, waving her hand.
"No, Mary, not until I tell you that Tom is not only alive, but--pardoned."
"Pardoned!" shrieked Mary.
"Yes, pardoned, Mary--free, Mary--and in a few minutes will be in yourarms."
Mary dropped on her knees, raised her hands and eyes to heaven, and thenfell into a state of insensibility. Tom, who had followed me, andremained near the house, had heard the shriek, and could no longerretain himself; he flew into the room as Mary fell, and I put her intohis arms. At the first signs of returning sensibility, I left themtogether, and went to find old Stapleton, to whom I was more brief in mycommunication. Stapleton continued to smoke his pipe during mynarrative.
"Glad of it, glad of it," said he, when I finished. "I were justthinking how all these senses brought us into trouble, more than all,that sense of love; got me into trouble, and made me kill a man--got mypoor wife into trouble, and drowned her--and now almost shot Tom, andkilled Mary. Had too much of HUMAN NATUR' lately--nothing but moisteyes and empty pipes. Met that sergeant yesterday, had a turn up; Tomsettled one eye, and, old as I am, I've settled the other for a time.He's in bed for a fortnight--couldn't help it--human natur'."
I took leave of Stapleton, and calling in upon Tom and Mary, shakinghands with the one, and kissing the other, I despatched a letter to theDominie, acquainting him with what had passed, and then hastened to theDrummonds and imparted the happy results of my morning's work to Sarahand her mother.
"And now, Sarah, having so successfully arranged the affairs of otherpeople, I should like to plead in my own behalf. I think that afterhaving been deprived almost wholly of your dear company for a month, Ideserve to be rewarded."
"You do, indeed, Jacob," said Mrs Drummond, "and I am sure that Sarahthinks so too, if she will but acknowledge it."
"I do acknowledge it, mamma; but what is this reward to be?"
"That you will allow your father and mother to arrange an early day forour nuptials, and also allow Tom and Mary to be united at the samealtar."
"Mamma, have I not always been a dutiful daughter?"
"Yes, my love, you have."
"Then I shall do as I am bidden by my parents, Jacob; it will beprobably the last command I receive from them, and I shall obey it; willthat please you, dear Jacob?"
That evening the day was fixed, and now I must not weary the reader witha description of my feelings, or of my happiness in the preparations forthe ceremony. Sarah and I, Mary and Tom, were united on the same day,and there was nothing to cloud our happiness. Tom took up his abodewith his father and mother; and Mary, radiant with happiness, even morebeautiful than ever, has settled down into an excellent, doting wife.For Sarah, I hardly need say the same; she was my friend from childhood,she is now all that a man could hope and wish for. We have been marriedseveral years, and are blessed with a numerous family.
I am now almost at a conclusion. I have only to acquaint the readerwith a few particulars relative to my early friends. Stapleton is stillalive, and is wedded to his pipe, which, with him, although the tastefor tobacco has been considered as an acquired one, may truly beasserted to be human nature. He has two wherries with apprentices, andfrom them gains a good livelihood, without working himself. He saysthat the boys are not as honest as I was, and cheat him not a little;but he consoles himself by asserting that it is nothing but humannatur'. Old Tom is also strong and hearty, and says that he don'tintend to follow his legs for some time yet. His dame, he says, ispeaking, but Mary requires no assistance. Old Tom has left off mendingboats, his sign is taken down, for he is now comfortable. When Tommarried, I asked him what he wished to do; he requested me to lend himmoney to purchase a lighter; I made him a present of a new one, justlaunched by Mr Drummond's firm. But old Stapleton made over to him the200 pounds, left to him by Mr Turnbull, and his mother brought out anequal sum from her hoards. This enabled Tom to purchase anotherlighter, and now he has six or seven, I forget which; at all events heis well off, and adding to his wealth every year. They talk of removingto a better house, but the old couple wish to remain. Old Tom,especially, has built an arbour where the old boat stood, and sits therecarolling his songs, and watching the crafts as they go up and down theriver.
Mr and Mrs Wharncliffe still continue my neighbours and dearestfriends. Mrs Turnbull died a few months back, and I am now inpossession of the whole property. My father and mother-in-law are welland happy. Mr Drummond will retire from business as soon as he canwind up his multifarious concerns. I have but one more to speak of--theold Dominie. It is now two years since I closed the eyes of this worthyman. As he increased in years so did he in his abstractions of mind,and the governors of the charity thought it necessary to superannuatehim with a pension. It was a heavy blow to the old man, who assertedhis capabilities to continue to instruct; but people thought otherwise,and he accepted my offer to take up his future residence with us, uponthe understanding that it was necessary that our children, the eldest ofwhom, at that time, was but four years old, should be instructed inLatin and Greek. He removed to us with all his books, etcetera, notforgetting the formidable birch; but as the children would not take tothe Latin of their own accord, and Mrs Faithful would not allow the rodto be made use of, the Dominie's occupation was gone. Still, such wasthe force of habit, that he never went without the Latin grammar in hispocket, and I have often watched him sitting down in the poultry-yard,fancying, I presume, that he was in his school. There would he decline,construe, and conjugate aloud, his only witnesses being the poultry, whowould now and then raise a gobble, gobble, gobble, while the ducks withtheir _quack, quack, quack_, were still more impertinent in theirreplies. A sketch of him, in this position, has been taken by Sarah,and now hangs over the mantel-piece of my study, between two of MrTurnbull
's drawings, one of an iceberg, on the 17th of August '78, andthe other showing the dangerous position of the _Camel_ whaler, jammedbetween the floe of ice, in latitude ---, and longitude ---.
Reader, I have now finished my narrative. There are two morals, Itrust, to be drawn from the events of my life, one of which is, that insociety we naturally depend upon each other for support, and that he whowould assert his independence throws himself out of the current whichbears to advancement; the other is, that with the advantages of goodeducation, and good principle, although it cannot be expected thateveryone will be so fortunate as I have been, still there is everyreasonable hope, and every right to expect, that we shall do well inthis world. Thrown up, as the Dominie expressed himself, as a tangledweed from the river, you have seen the orphan and charity-boy rise towealth and consideration; you have seen how he who was friendlesssecured to himself the warmest friends; he who required everything fromothers became in a situation to protect and assist in return; he whocould not call one individual his relation, united to the object of hisattachment, and blessed with a numerous family; and to amass all theseadvantages and this sum of happiness, the only capital with which heembarked was a good education and good principles.
Reader, farewell!
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