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'■',

NARRATIVE

OF THE

LIEE AND SUFFERINGS

WILLIAM B. LIGHTON;

COXTAINLVS
AJT rXTERESTINa AXD FArTHFCL ACCOU.VT OF niS EVRTV rrrr

ESCAPE FKOM CAPXIVITV. AND SETTlii^ '

MENT IN Tire UNITED STATES.

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

God is my Guide-^Virtue and Ht

eaven my reward.

NEW AND REVISED EDITION,

EMBELLISHED WITH TExN STEFT rw^

ibJS STEEL ENGRAVINGS.

TROY: -

PRINTED BY J. C. KNEELAND, & GO.
- 184C. "

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Eiitoreil accordinc: to Act of Contj'reP3, in the year 1840,

By Wii.MAM Beebev Lighton,

In the Clerk's Oflloe of the District Court of Ma^sichusetta.

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PREFACE.

Many of the virtuous and the icood, whose lives have heen distin-
guished for usefulness, hnve contributed to the literature of the -vorld
by publishinj? their biographies; thereby promoting the rause of truth,
morality, and reliirion, and perpetuating their memories among the
living. Though the writer may shine with far inferior lustre, in the
scale of intellectual and moral greatness, to many who have written,
yet he would meekly present to the public a narniiivi- nf his young and
eventful career ; a rareer which has been marked with soiiic of the
njost remarkable ocrurreneef,an(l which are not less inti^resiing from hav-
ing t)een snifered a' so early hh age. Of the merits of these assertions
the impartial reader is left to judge.

The writer trusts that he possesses nothing of assumptive arrogance,
nor the work any thing of fietieions novelty. It is a plain, unvarnished
statement of real facts as they have occurred, and of sutlerings as they
have been endured. The reader, then, must pardon its errors ; and,
rather than pierce it with a dagger of criticism, he will cover all its
faults with a mantle of mercy.

The object of wrilina it will be obtained, if it .shall exhibit the good-
neas of (iod, correct the' evil pa.ssions of the heart, enforce jjarental
obedience, promote generous sentiments, elevate the standard of mo-
rality, and purify the taste of the youth, to whom it is most sincerely
dedicated.

It was not originally the design qf the author to publish his Narra-
tive at so early a period of his life, but to have withheld it from the
world until (if he lived) lie was further advanced in years, or have left it
in manuscript, to be pul>lishi.'d after his decease. But the ardent solici-
tude felt by his bereaved and afHJcted parents, who have for a number
of years suffered severe mental an.xiety and grief, from the author's sutl-
den St!paration from them in the bud of early youth, and his absence in
n foreign land, ignorant of the dangers and sufferings to which he was
exposed, — probably never to meet them again on the shores of time, —
and the earnest, importunate desire expressed in their letters to have it
immediately put to press, when they learned its general events by a
correspondence ; — these were reasons too powerful in their claims not
to be acceded to with sentiments of childlike afTection and gratitude.
Added to this is the conviction that the events inibodied in the work
ore of sufficient mterest to justify their publication.

The author feels that all his suflerings have arisen from disobedience
to his parents, and a reckless spirit of adventure. He has, therefore,

*
i

tT'

■■liii^-v

(

ll!

4 ^ PREFACE.

written this ns a wnriiinc; to the risinir {rcnorntion, liopjnc it "i»»y prove
Ji f'lu'ck to lln' violent passionfl of the yoiinir »nil th<»ii).'htlfss, ami (fo
pood ; iiiid thai it may, on thcae accounts, !)!.• sanclion«.Hi by every
Christian and j>hilanthropist.

These being the motives from which the foUowmff paiDfcs have been
coni[)iled, lie would present them to the candid public, in unison with
the ticntiments and wishes of friends and kindred, vho are far separated
from him by the mighty deep, with a desire that tin y may be rendered
a blessing both to tliem and to every American youth.

That the bk'ssing of God may rest upon the work, is the sincere
yravrr v(

'the author.

• . ' !:'•.> ■

r ■ >l

rii

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

The nutlior's hirtli. Parents. Family afHktions. A mother In-law. Supersti-
tious ro!»nr(l nf the roUin. Ednnitlon. Love of amuscincnt. DisobfiUence. —
Detected :n robMng n giirUcn. Pouching iinil {{iiiuc Inws of Eiighinil. Parental
Hovernaient. Preparntion for a sea \t)yaKo. Disaintointuient. Emigration. —
A Inzy emigrant. Iiuitortanco of the period of you'.h p. i>

CHAPTER 11.

New situations. Ill usage. The author hecomas a wanderer. Tho drover's
Infiratitudc. Becomes a groom. The discovery. Returns home. Kindness of
parents. Goes to service amiin. Unkind and cruel treatment. Runs away.— •
A wicived companion. Ohliged to heg. Cli.ats the inn-k'-cpcr. Lincoln de-
scribed. Returns homo in aflliction. Cold reception. Filial duty, l-caves
home again. The separation. A mother's afl'ection. New situation. A scold-
Becomes a wanderer again. Mote troubles. (Jll'ers to enlist. A cunning
trick. Enlists in the York militia. A dishonorable gentleman, ttctaliution.—
Enlists in the riflo corps p. 35

CHAPTER IIL

March of recruits to tho Isle of Wight. Canute the Great. Arrival at Newport.
Military discipline. Short rations. The theft. Its discovery and cruel pun-
ishment. Uneasiness of mind. Visit to an old castle. Drumming out. Letter
from home, i^ickness. Recovery. Orders for marching. Sejiaration of soldiers
from tlieir wive.s. English aristocracy. The maimed sohher. The cmbarka.
tlon. Apostrophe to home p. 51

CHAPTER IV.

The voj'age. Its prosperous beginning. The storm. Approach to land. Nar-
row cscniKJs from shipwreck. Sufferings for want of water. Tyranny of offi-
cers. Arrival at Quebec. Exultation of the troops. Sails to Montreal. Lands.
The barracks. Character and apjtearance of the old troops. Urbanity of
offieers. Early privileges. Visits buildings of Montreal. Desires for homo.—
An extract p. 68

CHAPTER V.
Commencement of active military duties. The drill. Annoyance from iniects. —
An expedient. Punishment of the vicious. Amiable character of our colonel.

fmmm

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■ if III

', f ',

I I
I

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6 C0NTK5fTS.

nil removal. Charncter of tilfi aupcossor. Do'ortloin. A llnpiglnK «r«>n«
desrrlbi'd. Tho ivit-n'-nlno tills. <'onllriiiiit:oii of iheso crufUit^. Anccdotp.
Hecrncy nf thr.sp piiiiUhinenU. Tho pnriulu pround. Kna|mnck drill. The
dOHcrlor punishod. A trnltor to lutmanlty. Escape of DackenhoiHcn Ptiiio
of author's mind. IntclltTtual purfiiUi. Desires for dischnrtse. DccnineH an
offlcor'H sorv.int. Ciiliniiry ntinfortunoH. Desrrlion. Sutl'iTinjti hy cold. Do-
tected by n selflih landlord, and rurriodto 8t. John^s. R«;turnod to Montreal.—
Confiiiod in the city Jail. Trial. Bentunced to death. Vbitcd in tho condem-
ned cell liy clergymen. Tho reprieve p. 77

CnAPTKR VI.

Tho visit to tlin condcmiu'd pcH. The execution. A my"<tcrlou« visit. A Hiidden
removal. The author Is (-onrnicd f<jr five yenrt to (luchcc jail. The trend
whrol. Surtbrlncs of the prisoners. Thoy cut a nit. Filth of the pi ison. A
tunning dovico. lis discovery. Deslgno of osriipc. Tho onkum-Karrut. Fail-
ure of a di'sipned elopcmiMit from prison. Another attempt to break Jail, and
another defeat. The dungeon. Tlic prisoners engage to escaia; in a body. —
Plan of o|M.>ratUms described. The discovery. Tho author's regiment. Dl«ap-
pointed liopcH. The prisoners plan their escape throuuh the roiumon aewer. —
The cliort, and the abortion of the plan. They are thr«i\vn into a ilungeun and
Ironed, llosignation p. 11-.'

CHAVTER VIK * >

A now prisoner. Modes of tJio Spirit's operations. A pious visitor. Delay of
duly. A strange preacher. An elfectual sermon. A confession. Good advice.
Temptations to delny. Serious stale of mind, rowcrlul convictions. Tho
conversion. Dfiightful state of mind. The young convert. Favorable impres-
sions. Persccntion. A Patnnic invention. Disappointed hatred. The i)eace-
maker. A prisoner alarmed. The Holy Ghost resisted. Departure of a friend.
The prison school. A gift. A plentiful provi-ion. Dr. Morula. Plan of es-
cape. A disinterested friend. Facilities for escape. An auspicious moment. —
Groundless alarm. A night's excitement. The crisis. The escape. Farewell
to ray prison p. 13tf

CHAPTER VIII.

Tho ecstasy of freedom. The journey. Proceeds towards tho back country. —
Travels as servant to the doctor. St. Ann's. St. Ann's church. Interior of the
church. Tho rofuJ-slde crosses. Sui)erstllion. The doctor and author resolve
lu part. The author lets himself. Duluess of situation. Character of the
jHJople. Antagonism of intelligence and jioiwry. Fears of discovery. A visit-
or from Cluebec. A fullow prisoner. The prison bnkcr. Resolv<!s to leave. —
New causes of fear. An agreeable surprise. The doctor relates his adventures.
Arrival at Orleans. The author and doctor separate. Groundless alarm. —
Passes Quebec. A pleasant renconter. A disagreeable visitant. Becomes a
hired man. A narrow escape. The hornet's nest. Reaches the United States.
An old desire gratitied •, • ..p. 153.

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CONTENTS.

!{; scene
iHCcdole.
III. The

roine« an
(iltl. Do.
Dntreal.—
) comlcm-
. p. 77

A suiUlcn
rUe trend
|iiisoii. A
ret. Fiill-
kk jail, antl

a botJy. —
nt. Dloap-
in sewer,—

CHAPTRR IX.

The niithnr l»rcfiin»"« nn npprrntice. Serious fiTlliij.'!. Tho cnrnp-niiTtlrc- Tho
liiirk>llil('r rrstorrd. lieri iiics ti MtllKiilli^t. ItciiinvrM to ISr:iiltuiil. |ti'.«li«>!« to
|iri;irli. Tlie lir>^t ^i^•rlll((|l. Rcnidvnl to I.i-lioii. Hlinliei. 'r»iii|'t;iii(iiix. 'J'ho
(' inikiirU. Hilly rrpurls. I.<iiicliiie^s. W'ritps honio. A love Hcqii lintaiice. —
MarriiiBc A Icttor Iroin England. Hec(i|ii«*M ft furnn-r. I)uiiii'>iu' luippinpss. —
Aiiiiilicr Idler trmii tlip Mullmr's I'liticr. 'I'lic aiithur Is lliTn-etl in pre;irh.
Urciivcs several letliTs I'rniii Kii^laiid. The aullmr perNiiinlcs his pii rents to
cnii^'rate. Thi'ir ret'u.sal, and the reasons, A iiea\y loss*. Moral eil'rct of tent*
piiraltriiH. KeHf-ctions. What W dctttli f Drlijilits tif iiiiiiinrtality. Addrer'S
to the ri'adtr. Study ol' the Ihlde Hri,'<il. 'i'ln' (.'liri ,iiaii addri'-^.il. Cuiirlii-
sion p. 170

Delay of
ood advice,
tions. Tho
ibic iiupres-
Thc peace-
oi" a friend,
rian of es-
uiuQiont. —
Farewell

. . p. 13a

country.—
Iteriorof the
thnr resolvo
[ctcr of the
[y. A visit-
Ito leave. —
idvontures-
[iS alarm.—
Becomes a
kited States.
. ..p. 155.

I' ill

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t, - N

LIFE

WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

CHAPTER I .

" His early days
Were with him in his heart."

Hemans.

I WAS born at Frampton, neai* Boston, in the county ot

Lincolnshire, England, on the seventh day of September,

1805. My father was the owner of a small but fertile

farm, from which, by honest industry, he obtained a com-

tbrtable support for himself and family, consisting of a wife

and seven children. He possessed a sound judgment, an

active, vigorous mind, and a moral character that even

malice could not sully with a stain. Blessed with compe-

' tence and health, beloved and respected by his townsmen,

his life i^assed smoothly on, unmarked by those mental

^ afflictions and anxieties which perplex the wealthy and

ii; distract the poor. His was tlic middle walk in life, which,

;? beyond all disputation, aftbrds the largest share of cnjoy-

; ment to man.

M Of my mother I can say but little, as she died while I

'^was yet a child. A spark of recollection, however, yet re-

;^: mains glimmering in my memory, and reflecting its faint

% rays upon her character. She was a deeply-affectionate

|mother, whose affections were reg'dated by the sterner

\ I

:'.-

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

RHcnIlcctions of my mother.

dictates of maternal dutyy and by t)»e voice of Christianity.
Her last sickness was protracted and painfully severe ; but
with Christian fortitude she endured it without a murmer
or complaint. Upon the near approach of dissolution, she
summoned the whole famih- into her chamber of affliction,
when, with great firmness and deep-gushing affection, she
bade them a long farewell, committing them to the care of
her merciful and beloved Master. Shortly after, the death-
summons came. Its sound fell welcome on her ears, and,
shaking off dull mortality, she flew with a spirit's wings to
God, to share with the redeemed a glorious immortality.

" Thither may we repair,
That glorious bliss to share."

A few days subsequent to my mother's death, two of my
sisters (twins) followed her to the . calms of peace — sweet
babes of paridise, called early to their home.

These painful strokes, from the chastening rod of divine
Providence, made deep wounds in the heart of my father,
teaching him that " man is born unto trouble," and that the
smoothest walks in life have here and there a thorn, with
which to pierce the traveler's foot. Still he murmured not,
but labored to unite with the patriarch in the submissive
exclamation of, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

There is — there must be — something peculiarly melan-
choly in the family of the widower ; and, notwithstanding
the assiduity and care of attending relatives, the place of
the departed, the fond, the beloved wife and mother, is not,
cannot be, filled. There is a family vacuum. The hus-
band feels it. He has lost the tried and faithful object of
his dearest affections ; and, though he may now possess

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

The widower.

An inscnitiiblc I'rovidence.

A Step Mother.

iristianity.
ivere; but
a muvmcr
)lution, slie
f affliction,
fection, she
the care of
, the death-
: ears, and,
it's wings to
mortality.

1, two of my
>cace— sweet

•od of divine
,f my ftither,
and that the
thorn, with
lurmured not,
Ic submissive
Id hath taken

Lliarly melan-
|t withstanding
the place of
Jiother, is not,
The hus-
iful object ol'
now possess

ahnost a maternal solicitude for his babes, yet there is an
aching in liis bereaved heart. Does he return from his
place of daily toil? How the tearful eye gazos on the
vacant place she used to fill ! Associations are connected
with that glance, which rend his mournful bosom, and send
a thrill of agony to the lowest fountain of feeling. Docs
lie retire to his solitary chamber ? It is but to spend the
slecidoss hours in r.gouizing remembrances of the past.
Every thing around him serves for a temptation to his bus)'
memory to bring up anew the images of scenes long since
departed.

How keenly, too, is the mother's lo?s felt by the survivinir
children ! IIow tliev recoil from the cold attention of
strangers, and sigh for the warmth and kindness of a moth-
er's love ! They mis,?, too, those instructions which they
were wont to receive from her beloved and willing lips, and
which used to allbrd them innocent amusement, while it
jn'omoted their intellectual and moral improvement. But
though erring and sliort-siglitcd man may wonder at that
inscrutable Providence which cuts off a devoted mother
from her infant progeny ; yet He, who holds tlie destinies
of creation in his mighty grasp, and sways an irresistible
sceptre over the universe, acts not without a reason ; and
faitli teaches patient submission to his doings ; believing,
wlien tlie veil is removed, and God's ways revealed to man,
that the most offlicted of earth's frail sons will joyfully
sini,

" My Jesus halh done all things well."

After the lapse of several months, my father married, a
second time, to an amiable woman of prepossessing ai)pear-
ance and agreeable disposition. She was kind and indu^

LIFK OF WILLIAM B. LIC HTON.

Early instruction.

Anecdote.

gent ; and from her I received that care and attention which
iu a great degree atoned lor my former lots.

My parents were strict observers of ^he rules of the
Enghsh Episcopal Church. For the truths of the Bible
they possessed a deep reverence and a sincere regard ; and
they spared no pains in striving to impress its eternal truths
upon the minds of their offspring at the earliest periods of
mental development.

This pious instruction made deep impressions on my
youthful licart, leading me to regard the character of God
with the greatest veneration, and inspiring me with a con-
stant fear of offending him by a breach of his holy law.
The folIoAving tuiocdote, thougli simple, will serve to show
the operations of these moral impressions on my juNcnile
mind.

One of the remaining superstitions of the pesantry of
England is the belief that the robin red-brest, for some
unknown reason, is the i)ccullar favorite of the Deit}' ; that
its red breast is the mark by which it is known as such,
and that to destroy it is an act of peculiar and abhorrent
wiclcedness. In conmion with other children, I had been
laught this superstition, and had ever regarded the I'obin as
a sacred bird. One day by mistake, 1 destroyed a brood of
the.-^c chirping innocents. Upon discovering that they be-
longed to the kind designated by superstition, I became the
subject of the most bitter and painful sensations. Convic-
tion that I had done wrong fastened on my mind. 1 felt
guilty and unhapi)y, and Avas filled with tormenting fear, on
account of the supposed wickedness of the deed. I tried
to forget the act. but the effort was utterly vain. My
burden grew heavier ; it became almost insupportable ; I
wept aloud, and cried to God for mercy and pardon, prom-

LlfE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

1 **

■cdote.

ion which

L'S of the
the Bible
vard ; and
•nal truths
periods oi

>ns on my
er of God
vith a con-
1 holy law.
■ve to show
ny juvenile

lesantry of
:, for some
city; that
n as such,
abhorrent
had been
le robin as
u brood of
liat they be-
1 became the
Convic-
[nd. 1 fell
ling fear, on
id. I tried
vain. My
[portable; I
Irdon, prom-

The Sabbath School.

ising, if he would forgive me, never to be guilty of the
like offence again. In the midst of my importunate cries,
I obtained as sensible relief as I ever experienced in my
life. ]My guilt was rolled from my heart, and peace re-
turned to my bosom, insomuch that I hastened to my amuse-
ments Avith all the transports of youthful delight. Would
that my moral sensitiveness, though better instructed, had
ahvsiys remained ecpuiUy sharp !

That I might be more efficiently instructed in those
SL'riptares which make " wise unto salvation," I was, at an
early age, sent to one of those nurseries of the church, a
Sabbath school. It was conducted by some Christian ladies
and gentlemen, whose souls, filled with a Savior's love,
yearned with compassion for the youth of our village.
From their plnlauthropic labors the seed my parents sowed
was watered ; earlier impressions were deepened, and others
lixed in my youthful heart, which served as powerful re-
straints in after life, and, under God, were the means of
preventing me from j)lunging headlong into the unfjithomed
depths of vice. O, tlie blesssed and happy effects of Sab-
bath schools I Surely they are seats of mercy. How
vitally important are they to the interests of the church!
and liow earnestly is it to be wished, that Christians were
more awake to a consideration of their value ; that they
labored more perseveringly and steadily at this mighty
engine of piety and reformation I May the omnipotent
Jehovah awaken them.

My father, aware of the value of education, placed me
under the tuition of Mr. Joshua Dent, a gentleman fitted,
both by learning and judgment, to superintend the instruc-
tion of youth. By his assistance I acquired a knowledge
of the common branches of education ; and had I been

w I'

•1

)

I-

LIKE OF WILLIAM B. LIOftTO.V.

Love of amusement.

Orchard rubbing.

Birds-nesting.

less indolent, the higher branches of literature might have
been added to my attainments. Such were my indolence
and love of amusement, however, that, despite all the
efforts of my teacher, I made but little progress, to thf
great grief of my parents, and to my own subsequent
sorrow.

Such was the intensity of my love of amusement, that
ji frequently involved me in trouble and perplexity, wasted
a large proportion of my precious time, and, in some cases,
made me amenable to the laws of the laud. My favorite
amusements were the robbing of orchards and gardens,
trapping game, and hunting for birds' nests. In pursuing
these Avicked practices, J not unfrequently exposed myselt
to the imminent danger of breaiving a limb, and even oi
losing my life. In climbing the lofty hedges which surround
the ample fields of the English farmer, my flesh often car-
ried away abundant in-ooiS of the sharpncsb of the haw-
tfiorn's point ; nor did my clothes escape, but were usually
lianging in rags, occasioned by a rent from the bough of a
tree or the point of a thorn. This naturally excited the
dlsi>leasui'c of my parents, especially of my mother, whose
needle and thread Avere kept in continual demand through
my perseverance in tearing. But neither the displeasure
of i)arents, nor the coi^ioral inflictions with whicli they saw
tit to punish me, deterred me from my follies. A deep-
rooted, innate love of indolent and idle pursuits bore down
e\'ery restraint, and urged mc onwards in the career of
wrong-doing.

These things are mentioned, chiefly, to point my youthful
readers to the great and first causes which led to the numer-
ous sufferings of my after life ; that they may regard my
fault as a beacon light gleaming forth on the sea of lifcr

LIFE Of WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

iicstinR.

ight have
indolence
3 all the
ss, to tlu-
Libsequent

ment, that
tv, -Nva.stetl
ome cases,
[y favorite
1 gardens.
,1 pursuhig
sed myselt
id even ot
ch surround
I often car-
»f the haw-
ere usuallv
bough of a
xcited th(*
ler, whose
Ind through
displeasure
;li thev saw
A deep-
bore down
Ic career ot

hiiy youthful

the numer-

regard my

sea of life*

The thieves discovered.

and, by its faint radiency, directing their attention to the
dangerous rock on whicli I and thousands more have
wrecked tlieir infant hopes, viz., disobedience to ^>«re/?^A\
J lad I viekled to their commands, and abstained from idle-
ness and folly, I sliould have escaped that censure and
puiiisluncnt which made my home an unpleasant place, and
sent me, a wandering bov, out on the hijiliwavs of the un-
generous and unfeeling world. Two or three instances o\'
inv misconduct may not be unnrolitable.

^ly father, being an experienced and [)ractical horticuhu-
I'ist, had, by great effort and expense, brought his garden
to a very high degree of perfection. Knowing the rude-
ness and thoughtlessness of cliiklren, he i)eremptorily for-
l>ade them from entering it, without some adult member of
the family as a companion, Tiiis pj'ohibition, so evidently
reasonable, ought to ha^e been implicitly and readily
obeyed. To my shame I violated it, and made frequent
secret visits to its richly-laden trees, and wickedly enjoyed
tlie guilty pleasure of feasting on its thousand SAveets. On
one occasion, in company with my eldest brother, unsus-
picious of danger or discovery, I was ladlnn- mvself with
the forbidden s[)oil, when approaching footsteps warned us
that we Averc in danger of detection. Conscious jjuilt
alarmed us greatly, and hastily hiding our fruit, like our
tirst parents in Eden, we secreted ourselves among the
trees and bushes of the garden.

The disturbers of our guilty pleasure proved to be my
mother and grandmother, who, informed of our proceedings
by a neighbor, were come to drive us plunderers aAvay.
Approaching our hiding-place, one of them exclaimed,

" Then you are here, you villans, are you ? Come out
immediately !"

mxiJ II 1 , 1 1

MFi: OF WILLIAM B. LIOIITOJl.

ill I

Ktiglish pi me laws.

We rcmaind as silent as our heavy breathing wouM
permit; they commenced a regular search, and soon dis-
lodged us from our retreat, and drove us from the garden.

It has been stated, that I was extremely fond of trapping
game. Now, it mny not be known to all my renders, that
this practice is made criminal by the laws of Engliuid ; yet
such is the fact, lly those laws, it is a crime to kill any
kind of game, unless duly qualified according to law, which
(jualification requires the possession of certain properties^,
or the payment of a weighty tax. Hence, should any.
whom Providence has placed in the lower walks of life.
dare to lay his unhallowed hands upon any of those foi-
bidden creatures, even though urged to do it by the impe-
rious demands of a starving family, the strong, resistless
arm of an impious law would drag him from the bosom of
a depeiidant wife and children, and consign him to sc> eral
years of toilsome life on board die hulks of a seaport, or
on the distant shores of some convict colonv. These are
laws, which, in my humble o]»inion, ought, if not repealed,
at least to be modified, as in their present shape, they are
too strongly marked by the odious features of cruelty and
tyranny.

My father was a strict observer of these laws, and did
all that lay in his power to prevent his children or depend-
ants from infringing them. He would keep no dog, gun or
other instrument of poaching on his premises ; and he
sternly and strictly forbade their violation, tlireatning the
disobedient with the severest punishment. Such, however,
were my waywardness and thoughtlessness of disposition,
that my father's commands were but as a spider's thread in
the way of my gratification ; and I was too boyish to be
much in fear of the law of the land. Hence I would and

LIFE OF WILMAM n. LIGIITON.

PoarhiiiK.

TarentHl jfovcrnment.

oon clis-
Ttirden.

\cr?, that

uml; yet
kill any

Lw, whicli

>ropertic?.

)ul(l any.

LS of lifr.

those foi-

tlic impo-

, rcsistlcFs

hosom of

to several

caport, or

Thes*e are

repealed.

, they are

ruelty ami

|v«, ami did

depcnd-
log, gun or
and he
latning the
I, however,
[disposition.
Is thread in
>yish to be
would and

did poach, though frequently detected hy my fatlier. At
length he adopted a course of very strict and severe disci
pline, so that life became a burden, and my home an un-
])leasant jdace. I ardently sighed for nn opporUmlly t(»
esca])e from its painful rigors. His po.-itiv(^ Jind oft-repeated
j)rohibitions, accom})anied as they ■were Avith the api)licatioji
of the rod, and indications of angry disjdeasure, only served
to inflame my desires ind increase my ol)stinacy. I^^y
experience verified the sentiment of the heathen jioet, whn

say?

"Vice is provok'^l by ovm'J' r.'ror.!.? restraint :
Sick men love most to diinlc, who know ihcv iiiavii'l."

Had my dear father depended more on the efTiicacy of appeals
to my sense of right and wrong — had h(.> appealed to my
affection for him, and used persuasive instead of severe
measures — it is highly prol)able, that some of the leading
defects of my character might have been neutralized, and J
saved from those suiferings that befel me in after life. As
it was, my disposition grew worse under his disiplinc, and
my aifections became much alienated and Gstr:;ngod.

Were a proper line of conduct pursued in the government
and education of children, how few j^rojlujatc sons and
and daughters, and how few hrohcn-heartcd };arcnts, should
Ave find ! Negleot of early religious instruction, connected
with wholesome and affectionate restraint, is the ruin of
millions. Many parents are too authoritative and severe in
their mode of exacting obedience, while others rush into
the extreme of foolish fondness, and in reality maintain no
government at all. In the former case, home becomes the
object of dislike ; in the latter, the half-grown man is seen
to usurp the authority of the parent, and to treat his power

LIFE OF WILLIAM n. LIGIITOX.

Purnnttt the cauHe of thv\t children's nilii.

with as little respect, as if its mandates were as unimpor-
tant as the wind that murmurs in the grove, or plays
sportively on the rippling water,'.

"It is not \)n.ren\a\ fondness, nor parental authority, taken
separately, that can produce a beneficial effect. A father
may be as fond of his offspring as he [)0ssibly can be, and
his children be disobedient and rebellious ; he may be as
authoritative as the Grand Turk, and his children despise
and plot rebellion against him. But let parental authorih/
be tempered with fatherly affection, and let the reins of
discipline be steadily held by this powerful but affectionate
hand, and there shall the pleasure of God prosper; there
will he give his blessing, even " life for evermore." Many
fine families have been spoiled, and many ruined, by the
separate exercise of these too principles.

" Parental affection, when alone, infallibly degenerate?
into foolish fondnes -i ; and parental authority frequently de-
generates into brutal tyranny, when standing by itself. The
first sort of parents will be loved, without being respected ;
iha second sort Avill be dreaded, without either respect or
esteem. In the first case, obedience is not exacted, and is
therefore felt to be unnecessary, as offences of great magni-
tude pass without punishment or reprehension. In the
second case, rigid (^jxaction renders obedience almost im-
possible ; and t]>c smallest delinquency is oftCK punished
with the extreuie of torture, which, hardening the mind,
renders duty a matter of perfect indifference.

" Parents, lay these things to heart ! Teach your children
to fear God ; use wholesome discipline ; be determined :
begin in time ; mingle strictness and mercy together in all
your conduct ; and earnestly pray to God to second your
godly discipline with tlje power anci grace of }iis Spirit.'-

'£_

.IFE OF WILLIAM B. LI«HTON.

08 unimpor-
re, or plays

hority, tuken
t. A father
' can be, aiul
le may be as
dren despise
ital author it)/
the reins of
t affectionate
'osper ; there
lore." Many
uined, by the

y degenerate?

requently de-
itself. The
g respected ;
r respect ov
acted, and is
,2;rcat magni-

|on. In the
e almost im-
cii punished
i«l the mind,

I ^

rour children
determined :
Isrether in all
[second your
Is Spirit,'^

Volatile dlKiMwition.

A Hca rnptJiln.

Preparing for a voyngn.

That period of my life had now arrived, in which it was
necessary for me to make choice of some trade, business,
or profession, by which to sustain myself with respectability
and usefulness in society. Owing to the changefulness and
volatility of my disposition, tins was no easy matter. Added
to this, my mind was filled with false and romantic notions
of distant places. I was charmed with the interesting
adventures of travelers, and ardently longed to rove the
wide earth Jincontrolled and fn^e as the forest birds. This
disposition lost none of its intensity from the following
occurrence :

Captain Hewitt, a relative of my father, came to spend
a few days with us, on the eve of his depai'turc for a long
voyage. To him was communicated the ardency of my
desires to enter the held of adventure and travel. lie pro-
j)0sed to take me to sea. To this my father agreed, provi-
ded the plan met with my hearty concurrence. My young
heart danced joyously at tlie idea, and cheerfully consenting
I was ordered to commence immediate preparations, and to
hold myself in readiness at the sunuuons of my patron.

I was now absorbed in the bustle and excitement of pre-
)»aration. IMy wliole soul entered into it. My active
imagination was IIIIchI with every variety of imagery, and
Jiiy brain swam, intoxicated with joyous expectation. One
idea filled my mind to the exclusion of all others. The
pleasure of a sailor's life stood up before me, a perfect
[)aridise of sweets. The thought of leaving home and
friends gave me no pang, lv>r I hardly permitted it to have
« moments existence. Foolish youth that I was. My joy
;^vas the joy of ignorance — a dream of the mind, which the
'light of sober realities has since painfully dispelled.

LIIK OF WILLIAM U. LICJIITON.

DlKapiwlntmont.

America.

< ill

My engagetlness almoat cost my father his house ; for
one night, wliile selecting papers and books ior an intended
Journal, I accidentally set fire to the window-hangings of
the chamber, which however, with much difficulty, was
extinguished.

But all these buoyant hopes and sanguine expectations
were fated to be crushed in the bud. Having waited
several weeks for the sunnnons of the captain, in vain, I
was compelled, however unwilligiily, to yield to disappolnt-
Jiiont ; nor did wc ever learn the reason why he did not
I'uUil his engagement. This little circumstance is a speci-
men in minilure of the daily disappointments which rack
tlie brains and tear the hearts of mankind.

Shortly after this event had taken its location among the
images of the past, the (piestion of " emigration" was
seriously agitated in our usually quiet parish, occasioning
no little excitement and discontent. America, with its un-
surpassed a<lvantageb', became the subject of constant con-
versation among all classes of society. The public voice
spoke loudly in its favor, and the periodicals >vere filled
with blaming eulogies of this far-famed contin(.'nt, until an
emigrating fover burnt llercely in the bosoms of thousands.
America was believed to be veiy little else than a modern
paridise, or an Eljslmn of spontaneous sweets.

Among the many who cought this western mania, my
father stood foremost, and most ardently did he desire to
visit a spot which tlie flattering hand of report painted in
colors so attractive and fascinating, iiut the ill heath of
my mother-in-law stood as an insuperable barrier in his way,
and compelled him to relinquish the idea.

The spirit of emigration, though not natural to the Eng-
lish, found ti home in thousands of willinor hearts. The

UFE OF WILLIAM h. LUniTOK.

'^l

America.

i liousc ; for
r un intended
-hangings of
ilficulty, was

1 expectations
living waited
lin, in vain, I
to disappoint-
iiy he did not
lee is a speei-
ts which rack

ion among the

igrat ion

Cnofcii (>r pBiiKrvtiiin.

De«lro of ciiilKratlon xtrong.

was
ih, occasioning
a, Avith its un-
constant con-
public voice
s were tilled
lent, until an
of thousands,
han a modern

rn mania, my
he desire to
[ort painted in
lie ill heath oi'
|ier in his way,

d to the Eng-
hearts. The

pletusing and enticing accounts, constantly received, ten<Ic<l
to keep it alive, and to kindle and inflame the most burn-
ing dcfsiros The unbounded field it opened to the hard
hand of industry ; the rich harvests it promised to the
* speculator ; and above all, the rising importance and grow-
ing majesty of its government, — were tacts which acted on
the })ublic mind with the potency of the magnet. Added
to this, the deplorable state of things at home, the depression
and wretchedness of the lower classes, and the murderous
weight of taxation, rendered the people dissatisfied, and
induced them to regard PImigration as the guardian angel
of their safety, beckoning them to leave the isle of theii
fathers, and, like the Pilgrims, seek a refuge, not from re-
ligious, but from political oppression and domestic poverty.
These topics, being^ under continual discussion in my
father's family, and in other places, were not without their
influence on my mind. I seized upon them with avidity
and eagerness, and they fed to fatness the morbid desire to
wander, already existing in my bosom. I now became
anxious to go to America. Such is the mind of youth — a
substance yielding to every new impression.

My wish to visit this continent was still more increased
l)y the conversation of my private tutor, who, during the
winter evenings, was employed to give the finishing stroke
to my limited education. My father usually attended at
these hours, and during the intervals of instruction, con-

* versed freely upon this subject. I always listened with
the profoundest attention, and most carefully treasured up

^ every remark, so that, when my tutor was dismissed, it was
I evident that I had improved more in my knowledge of

1 American history, manners, and customs, than in any

'department of science.

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

All Emigmnt's roturn fruin America.

Deprived of the conversations between my father and
my tutor, I procured a work entitled " The Emigrant's
Cxuide," wliich I read most assiduously, sometimes carrying
it to church on the Sabbath, and wickedly employing my-
self in poring over its pages, instead of attending to the
worship of God, and the solemn duties of His house.

About this time, a friend of my father, named West-
moreland, emigrated from our vicinity. He took passage
in the spring of the year, and after a short and pleasant
voyage, landed safely in Philadelphia. His first impres-
sions Avere unfavorable ; and from the tenor of his commu-
nications, it appeared that he was any thing but satisfied.
He found a difference between the mild sun and cooling
breezes of Albion, and the scorching sun of Pennsylvania.

He had hardly arrived, before he wrote back, expressing
his determination to return as speedily as possible.

One day, as my father and 1 were laboring in the
harvest-field, a genllemaii a[)proached us, of whose identity
I had little doubt. " Father," said I, '' look yonder ; here
comes Mr. Westmoreland."

" Impossible !" replied he ; " and yet it is his gait and
manner ; as Tm a man 'tis he."

And so it was. He soon came near us, and giving us a
hearty shaking by the hands, shouted,

" Ah, Lighton, I'll tell you all about America."

He then presented us with several curiosities, among
which was a tortoise. '' There," said he, " if you go to
America, you will have to live on these creatures, as they
are very plentiful, and constitute a favorite dish with the
Americans."

He then otrongly urged my father to lay aside the idea
of emigration, presenting many discouragements; among

i !

LIFE OF WILLIAM R. LIOHTON.

athcr and
iinigrant'd
3 carrying
,ying my-
ng to the
mse.

led V.'est-
ok passage
d pleasant
•st inipres-
lis conimu-
it satistiecl.
md cooling
nnsylvania.
expressing

le.

])isc()iitentc(l stitte of the author's iiiiml.

ring in the
ose identity
nder ; here

is l^ait and

jrivmg lis a

ties, among
you go to
res, as they
sA with the

ie the idea
nts; among

which was the grievous torments the peoi)le endured from
(he stings of black flies and muscjuitoes, which, he said, had
deprived him of many a night's sleep. His sombre descrip-
tions, liowever, did not alter my father's views, for he sup-
posed the man to be more in fault than the country ; and
as Mr. W. passed out of the field, he dryly observed to me.
'^ I think his back is too straight ;" signifying that he did
not love work, which indeed was the fact.

Such occurrences as these only served to inflame my de-
sire to cross the Atlantic, and to explore the interesting
country beyond it. I grew more and more discontented and
dissatisfied with the rcsti*aints of my father's house, and was
the fruitful cause of much uneasiness to my parents. 8er
vere as was their discipline, it Avholly failed to correct the
exuberant follies of my depraved heart. I was habitually
a disobedient youth ; passion ruled in my turbulent soul,
and had it not been for the restraining influences of the
grace of God, I must, with such a heart, have rushed head-
long to ruin and despair.

The period between early youth and manhood is perhaps
the most dangerous part of human life. Then, the j^assions
flercely rise and boldly ask to rule. Reason, as yet, is weak,
and easily persuaded to yield that empire over appetite and
I)ftssion, which is her lawful prerogative. Pleasure, then,
comes clad in the greenness and freshness of early youth,
with a voice like the siren queen, to decoy the unwary to
her fatal bowers. And then it is that the future character
of the man is formed. Habits, with their bands of iron, are
then created ; and few there are, who do not carry the
pressure of the band of some evil habit down to the lonelit
ness of the tomb. Hence, this period is one of immense, of
tremendous importai ce.

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOH".

Importance of the period of youth.

Let tliese remarks be received as friendly cautions by the
juvenile reader. Tliey are designed to make him feel that
he is in a dangerous path ; to induce hhn to watch over the
evil propensities of his nature, lest lie be made the dupe of
passion. The " ivise mart!'' has left this sage advice to such
in Prov. iv. 23 : " Keep thy heart with all diligence^ for out
of it are the issues ofHfe"lm^oJd&x\i advice! Whatever my
youdiful reader may neglect, let him be sure to look well to
his heart. It is the great seat of principles. Let bad ones
become dominant there, and it will be like " cutting off a
right arm," or " plucking o«t the rigjit eye," to root tiiem
out. Therefore watch it ! Narrowly observe and coiTCCt
all its inclinations and aversions, all its motions and affec-
tions, together with the sevei*al objects and occasions which
excite them. Let the heart be thus watched by you, and
l)urified by the gi*ace of the Lord Jesus, and your life will
l>e a perpetually-flowing si)ring of purity and joy.

) ^l! 1

5lli 'i

>n3 by the
1 feel that
1 over the
le dupe of
ee to such
ce,for out
latever my
)ok well to
t bad ones
Litting off a

root tuem
t!id correct

and affec-
siona which
)y you, and
air life will

'■

CHAPTER II.

" A youth rode forth from his childhood's home,
Through the crowded paths ot the world to roam ;
And the green leaves whispered as he passed,
• Wherefore, thou dreamer, away so fast ? ' "

Hemans.

I a:m now about to enter upon that part of my life which
exhibits me as a houseless wanderer among the heartless
multitudes of mankind. The reader will find a variety of
incidents, faithfully and truly detailed. Many facts, simple
in themselves, are recorded for the purpose of teaching les-
sons of wisdom to parents and children ; should they be
useful as the means of correcting the errors of one youth,
the labor of the writer will not have been altogether vain.

My parents, feeling solicitous for my welfare, and des-
pairing of reforming me at home, procured me a situation at
a respectable farmer's, about twelve miles from my native
village. I staid there but a short time, as my master found
liis business insufficient to continue me in his employ. Up-
on returning home, my father received me with great cool-
ness, and strongly expressed his entire disbelief in the truth
of my statements, as to the cause of my return. This was
very unfortunate in its operation on my mind, as it only
served to increase my unhappiness, and make my dislike of
home more bitter and irritating.

In the spring of 1819, I was again put to service at some

distance from home, in a family, who were remarkal)ly

punctilious in their attentions to the externals of religion ;

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOAT.

A jtasnlonate master.

A designed oflence.

.1 :1

l)ut like the Pharisees, they were evidently utter strangers
to its vitality and power. Among other things, 4liey insisted
upon a punctual attendance at the house of God, on the
part of their dependants — a request perfectly congenial to
my feelings, and which I willingly complied with. But
with all their care to assume the appear'^nces of i)icty, they
were the victims of ungovernable i)assions. ITpon the most
trilling occasions, my master would assail me with the
(sbullitions of his wrath. With my utmost efforts, it wa.s
impossible to escape his harsh and severe censures, which ,
in most cases, v/ere wholly undeserved.

It is not therefore surprising, that I soon became discon-
tented and unhappy ; and yet I durst not complain. There-
were none to wliom I could vent the feelings of my swell-
ing heart. If I returned home, I should lina nu Sympathy ;
coolness and anger awaited me there. INIy sorrows were oi'
necessity locked up in my own wrctched bosom. I sighed,
and wished my own dear mother had lived ; but she, alas I
was cold in death, and I had no comforter.

My situation, instead of imnroving, became more and
more unpleasant. My master grew more odious and tyran-
nical every day. On the most insignificant occasions, he
swore and threatened as if an evil spirit possessed him •
and my situation became so bad, that it seemed to me that
the galley-slave enjoyed a lot preferable to mine. For a
Avhile, I forbore to resent .his treatment, but at length gave
way to carelessness aud neglect, in the hope that he would
dismiss me from his service ; and my plan proved success-
ful. One morning, being sent to take care of the sheep, I
])urposely loitered by the way. Upon my return, he i)oured
out a dreadful volley of abuse, and after exhausting his en .
tire stock of oaths and blasphemies, threatened to "kick me

LIFE Of WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

ice.

A separation.

ReHecuonit on a lault of parenu.

itrangers
Y insisted
I, on the
lorenial to
ith. But
icty, they
1 the most
with the
rts, it wa.>
•es, ^vhiehf

me (liseon-
,n. There
my swell-
s' mpathy ;
^ws were oi'
I sighed,
t she, alas !

more and
and tyran-
pcasions, he

ssed him ;

to me that
Inc. For a
length gave
It he would
J'ed success-
lie sheep, I
), he poured
Iting his en.
lo " kick me

over a ten foot wall," which, though a hard affair, I thought
would i)revent some subseciuent trouble, provided we kept
our respective sides. However, I made no reply, until he
ordered me into the house, to receive my discharge from his
.service. This order met with my most perfect acijuiescence ;
and I informed him that it should be obeyed to the letter.
Upon this, he somewhat modified his tone, and offered terms
of reconciliation ; but these I utterly rcpudiuted, and left
liim, ilctermined to go any where rather than to stay with
him, or to return home. This circumstance stands among
the many ad^('rse ones, which have had their influence in
directing my fate, and forming my character. It shows the
necessity of a perfect acquaintance with the real character
of employers, on the i)ai*t of those parents who send their
children from beneath their own immediate charge — a })rc-
caution but too commonly neglected.

Now it was, that the unhappy coolness which subsisted
between my [)arents and myself began to produce its dark
and deleterious fruits — fruits alike distasteful to both [)ar-
ties, but especially injurious to me. My home offering me
no hap[)iness, I detemiined to gratify my disposition for
wandering. My way led through a distant part of my na-
tive village ; and, fearful of discovery, I reposed during the
remainder of the day in a dry ditch, where I slept soundl}
though pretty thoroughly drenched by a shower of rain,
which fell in the afternoon. Towards night I resumed my
journey, and meeting a shepherd boy, who was acquainted
with my family, requested him to inform my friends that I
had left my situation, and was on my way to some distant
town in search of another.

Upon arriving at Boston, I sought the shelter of the tav-
ern ; but. observing several of my father's neigfibors, I

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITOK.

A dishonest drover.

A new mnster.

•I I

i^i >iV

quickly retired, to prevent detection, and spent the night in
a very dejected and melancholy state of mind, under a more
Inimble roof. The next morning, at an early hour, I pur-
sued my way to Spillsby, where I airived in the evening.
There I met with a drover, who pci'suaded me to accompa-
ny him to a cattle fair. From thence, he engaged me to
assist him with a drove of cattle to Horncastle. On my
way, liapj)ening to stop at a hotel for refreshment, the land-
lord hired me to become his groom after I should return
from Horncastle. After a day's hard travel, the evening
beheld me, drover, and cattle, safely lodged at the place of
our destination. Here the drover, most ungenerously and
unkindly, treated me as a perfect stranger, refusing me any
compensation for my toil, and even pretending not to know
me. Feeling myself abused, I retired tombed ; where, after
musing awhile on the ingratitude of man, and other subjects
suited to my temper of mind, bleep closed my eyes, and
shut out from my mind my sorrows and perplexities. Such
were my first lessons in the school of experience — such the
fruits of juvenile Avandcrinir.

Leaving Horncastle in the morning, a few hours travel
brought me to the door of my new master, who soon in-
stalled me m my office, giving me strict injunctions to be
faithful to my various duties. Anxious to please, I exerted
my utmost energy to give perfect satisfaction. But the
effort was fruitless ; for it soon became apparent that fault-
finding was an inherent distemper in my employer, which
had ever made it impossible for domestics to continue long
in his employ. My condition Avas unpleasant ; like that of
the common drudge, it was one of unceasing toil and labor.
Even the Sabbath brought me no rest, as on that sacred
it was made my task to take a horse four miles for a

day

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

A hard situation. The mnfriJitrateN advice. A discovery.

night in
r a more
r, I piir-
cvening.
iiccompa-
ed me to

On my
the land-
ild return
t evening
e place ot*
•ously and
12 me any
t to know
here, after
er subjects
eyesj and
es. Such

such the

iurs travel
soon in-
lions to be

I exerted
But the

that fault-
Iyer, which
Itinue long
like that of

land labor.

hat sacred

liles for a

clergyman, and return on foot before breakfast, and in the
evening to go on foot and bring it b.ick a;^ain. Nor was my
food either suflRcient or good ; it consisted of a little half-
boiled meat, and of the coarsest bread half-baked, and so
full of coals, that it always seemed to me as if it were made
up with a paddle-stick, and thrown on the ash-heaj) to re-
ceive a moderate scorching. This, and the cniel abuse
which my master continually lavished upon me, made my
life intolerable, and seemed to force me to seek another
change.

One morning, after enduring the most unmerciful abuse,
I sought a neighboring clergyman, who was a magistrate, in
order to obtain redress. Unfortunately he was from home,
or, fis 1 afterwards learned, lie would have assisted me, as
he had long known of the brutality of my employer. Thti
next justice to whom I ajjplied was a gentleman of high
rank, who, inste.ad of aSxsisting me, indignantly expressed
his surprise that " a boy of my age should have the pre-
sumption to prosecute a man, whose superior influence," he
said, " would crush me, in defiance of all that I could say or
do ; " and continued he, " I strongly suspect that you are as
deep in the mud as your master is in the mire ; and you
had better go home, and tell your master to get a stick, and
give you a good floging." This mode of law-dealing was
by no means very agreeable to my feelings ; but there was
no alternative but to submit in patience, as I was only a
poor, unknown, and defenceless boy.

I should have left this tyrant of an innkeeper immediate-
ly, but for a mutual obligation to give a month's notice, pre-
yious to seperation. However, I gave him notice that I
should quit r.t the end of a month, to his no small chargrin.
To live with such a man was next to impossible.

LIFE OF WILLIAM R. LIGIITON.

Its cptne.

Afflictions of p i/entH.

Ill .

'« I

.ill :;li ;

ill

One day, being engaged in my usual employment, a boy
came and questioned me about my home and ])arents, in
such a manner as showed him to be acquainted with my
liistory. From his statements it ajipeared that a gentleman
in the neighborhood intended to write to my friends, and
that it was probable my father would come and carry
me home. To prevent this, I promised to write myself,
which I accordingly did, giving a circumstancial account of
all my proceeding?, and promising to return home as soon
as my term of hire sliould expire.

This discovery of my situation, by my parents was pure-
ly accidental ; or, perhaps, it ought to be called provi-
dential. Tlie reader will remember my message sent by
the shejdierd boy, when on my Avay to Boston. Some time
expired before they received it ; but when they did, it fell
upon them as a cruelly afflictive stroke. My father imme-
diately visited the gentleman whose service I had left ;
where, of course, the tidings of my departure were con-
firmed. Sad and sorrowful were his reflections then. lie
thought of my youth — my Avant of experience — my dan-
ger, wandering, for aught he knew, exposed to storm and
cold, hunger and nakedness, a ready prey for the wiles of
sharpers, and the snares of vice. He trembled for my
safety, and offered many a fervent prayer for my preserva-
tion. Sleep fled from his pillow, or, if it came, it was only
to haunt him Avith painful dreams of his lost son, surround-
ed with danger, or ingulfed in misery. Little do wild and
recreant children imagine of the sorrow and woe they cre-
ate by their misconduct. While they are yielding to the
impulses of their untamed passions, the pillows of their
fond parents are converted to daggers. Solemn will be the
account which such children will have to give in the day of
judgment !

LIFE OF -WILLIAM B. LIOIITOX.

Its.

nt, a boy
jcnts, in
with my
;entleinan
ends, and
^\^\ carry
e myself,
[vc'count of
e as soon

was puvc-
led provi-
re sent by
Some time
did, it fell
her imme-
had lefi;
were con-
then. He
■my dan-
storm and
Ihe wiles of
led for my
preserva-
it was only
I, surround-
wild and
they cre-
iig to the
s of their
will be the
the day of

BccoinvK n day labnrtT.

Tries lo enlist.

Xo intelligence of my situation was ali'orded to liis anx-
iou.s incpiirie."*, until, at a ))arty in lii.s neighborhood, tiic .sub-
ject was mentioned, und a gentleman, from the place Avliere
I was living, observed that a boy answering such a descrip-
tion was living as groom at Mr. ll's. This led to my di.s-
(ovcry, as the reader has already .seen.

Alter my father had heard from me, he sent twice, by two
gentlemen, to ascertain my necessities, relieve my wants,
and im})ortune me to return liome. lUit, i'uolish boy tlint I
•^ was, I madly resisted their entreaties, and, u[)on leaving Mr.
11., cnL^'ined myself as a day-laborer in the suburbs of the
town. In this despicable .situation 1 remained for some time ;
but waiics being low and labor scarce, it was with tlie ut-
most dilliculty that I could obtain a bare subsistence. In
consequence of this I left the place, resolved to oiler myself
for a soldier, in the vain hoi)e of linding sup|)ort and com-
fort. lUit where can a rebellious child find rest? Truly
nowliere. Every j)lace is alike a place of misery and dis-
comlbrt, while he carries with him a wicked and obstinate
heart.

rpon arriving at Ilorncastle, I found a recruiting party
belonging to the second regiment of "Life Guards;" but
they rejected me as being too short. Determined not to be
disai)pointed, I started lor Lincoln, an adjoining town. The
weather being severe and stormy, I found it difllcult and un-
pleasant travelling ; yet I urged on my tedious way along
a road, M'hieh in some i)laces was literally lined with pat-
ridges and pheasants, so tame as easily to be caught j but
the iron arm of the law defended them with the strongest
penalties.

At Lincoln, I offered myself to a pai-ty of the 33d regi-
ment of infantry, and was again rejected for the same ex-

•, !)

'til •
■1''

I! I'

LIFE OP LILLIAH D. LIGnTON".

Rejected Iwicc.

The return.

Reception.

M f

cuse. These disappointments rendered me exceedingly dit-
pirited, and I became the wretched victim of despondency ;
hope forsook my bosom ; ix)verty, all ghastly and woe-
begone, stared mc in the fiicc, while recollections of the
busy past crowdeil in quick succession through my heated
brain. I thought of my folly and obstinacy, of my discon-
tent and disobedience, until conscience lashed me as with a
whip of scorpions. Home never a])pcared so lovely as at
that moment ; and while its images flitted across my memo-
ry, I r* solved that, like the prodigal, I would "arise and go
to my father ; " and with much shame and a heavy hejirt, I
turned m}'^ steps towards my father's house, where I arrived
the next Sabbath afternoon. How many proud youth have
done likewise ! My young reader may assure himself that,
with all his self-esteem, disobedience and rebellion to pa-
rents will lead him to similar humiliation.

lUit how did my father receive me ? With harshness
and unkindness ? O, no ! But with wide and o})en arms.
I was tlieir lost son, happily and unexpectedly restored ; and
in the fulness of their parental afltection they lorgave all.
Tliey beguiled me into a detail of my sufferings and wan-
derings, and while they wept over my sorrows, gave sucli
advice as my circumstances seemed to require. "Would
that it had made a lasting impression, and produced an abi-
ding obedience ! Then had I escaped the sorrows and suf-
ferings which befel me in after life. But folly is the char-
acteristic of youth, and most severely do they account for it
in the " mellow years" — the latter days of life.

For a few months I remained at home ; and nothing oc-
curred to mar my peace or disturb the mutual harmony of
our now happy family.

The following summer a gentleman, in an adjoining town,

!!i:

LIFE or WILLIAM B. LIOIITOK.

•J3

nion.

Anothi'r bHil niii!«tor.

Runs away.

iingly <^»L*
pondency ;
and woc-
0113 of the
niy heated
my discon-
c as with a
[ovely as at

my meiiio-
irise and go
vvy heart, I
re I arrived

yonth have
liimself that,
cllion to pa-

h harshness

open arms.
;stored; and

torgave all.
yg and wan-
., gave such
re. Would

uced an abi-
lows and sut-
is the char-

.ceount for it

nothing oc-
harmony of

ioimng town,

applied to my father for my services. With the full con-
sent of my parents, I entered his employ, hoping to meet
with better success than in my tbrmer places. But hard
and adverse fortune seemed to attend my steps, and my way
was filled with thorns. INIy employer, though a profcsHcd
Clu-istian, was passionate and cruel. Twice during my stay
he whipped me, and that, too, most unjustly. Uninfluenced
l>y the bitterne:*s of the past, I again resolved, in the heat of
youthful passion, to run away and roam at large over the
i'ountry. Foolish purpose ! wicked resolve ! I ought to
have complained to my parents, and awaited their decision
in patience.

In the month of September, my master was taken sick ;
and this gave me a fine opportunity to decamp. Happen-
ing, just at this time, to meet an old acquaintance, I told
him the story of my griefs. He was going to Stamfbixl, to
join a militia corps ; and it required but little persuasion to
induce me to accompany him. Returning to the house for
ray clothes, I met my brother Thomas, who had come to
visit me. Determined not to be baflled, I wickedly invented
an excuse for not receiving his visit, and joining my thought-
less con:panIon, we set out together for Stamford.

Thus, a second time, I threw myself from the arms of
friends, and rushed upon unknown and unfathomed oviU.
When 1 review this period of my life, luid reflect upon my
present condition, I feel compelled to thank Him who has
been so good to me — who has caused me to escape " the
wiles of the devil," and has taught me to repose on the
bosom of Jesus Christ.

Af\cr a day's hard travel, we stopped at a tavern, where,
to my astonishment, I learned that my companion was pen-
niless. To meet our necessities I sold my watch ; and be-

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOUTON.

II '

A wickrd noinimninn.

Olililteil to bof.

fore we readied Stamford, njy last ^hillin<T was changed to
gratify Iuh inteinjieraiice. I'caring that his company would
only procure my luin, I 1( (t him, riul once )nor(' felt my-
8elf a lone stranger, amid a populalion wiiose hard<'ned
8ym()athies were not (>asily awakened hy the language of
distress, or the tear of sorrow. Finding a regiment of sol-
diers her(!, 1 oflenMl myself as a recruit, but was rejected.

Necessity now induced me to sell every article of cloth-
ing which in decency could he disnenscd with. With the
avails, 1 left this place, in com])any wiili a youth in a similar
situation, to travel where fortune or Pi'ovidcnce might di-
rect.

Our money Avas soon exiiausted, and, being unable to ob-
tain employment, we were compelled to throw ourselves on
public charity for support. The idea of being common
beggars, exposed to the curses of those to whom wt might
apply for aid, was extremely galling, and we could hardly
bring ourselves to the attempt. At last, the calls of hunger
became so loud and vociferous, that we presented ourselves
at the door of a wealthy farmer, and in a piteous tone told
our sorrrowful tale ; but his heart, rendered hard by famili-
arity with distressed objects, refused to be melted, and with
severe language he bade us go our way. Disappointed and
dejected, ,3 pursued our journey, and in all probabillity
should have sunken with weariness and exhaustion, had not
my companion found a relation of his, who resided in that
part of the country. From her we obtained a mere morsel ;
she being any thing but a cheerful giver. It was enough,
however to recruit weary nature, and to strenghen us anew
for our task.

We arrived that night at Sleaford, a populous town, or-
namented with elegant modern buildings, and ancient edi-

LIFE OF WILLIAM n. LUiHTON.

iiigcd to
ny woultl
lolt mv-
hanlciird
ifi;ii5\Ut! of
ut of sol-
•cjoctctl.
of clolh-
With the
a similar
might (li-

ible to ob-
rselvcs on
t common
w( might
lid hardly
of hung(>r

ourselves
Is tone told

by famili-
|, and with
lointed and
irobabilUty
^n, had not
led in that

re morsel ;

as enough,
In us anew

town, or-
Incient edi-

VUits tilcarord. C'hcuU tholimkcnprr. Distressed Nltuation.

licc's the remains of Guthlf si)lendor, and beautified with
the most ddiglitliil of nature's productions. Hut, ulus ! to
me all was gloomy and uninltMcstiiig ; for out of the nu-
merous habitiulons, not one allbnlcd me a shelter ; out of
the prolific storeys of food it con(aiiu«l, not one morsel ollered
itself to meet my wants. I filt solitary an)id the hundredi'
who flocked along the busy streets. I sighed for my father's
home. After some consultation, we agreed to seek a shelter
uiKler the roof of some friendly iim. Conscious we could
not pay our bill, and unwilling to cheat to any amount, we
retired to bed without any supper. So great was our fatigue
that we sle])t but little ; and with the earliest beams of
moining we ai"ose. Descending the stairs with great trep-
idation, we found none but the domestics below. Bidding
them prepare our breakfast while we took a short walk, wc
left the house and thus cheated theju out of their due for
our lodging. This was a very crimijial act, and one which
1 can only think of with shame. My companion discovered
atiother of his ac([uaiuta!ices in this place, and from him we
obtained a henrty meal.

"We next directed our steps towards Lincohi, begging our
support by the v/ay. Late in the evening vrc reaeh(!d it,
and adopted (he same v/lckod p!;m to obtain a lodging as on
the previous night, b;it v.ith less success; lor on leaving
in the morning wc were pcrsued by soine of the family,
and severely reprehended for our di^honci-ty and deception.

Lincoln, the ca])ital or county town of Lincolnshire, is
one of the mo.^t noted cities of England. " It is seated on
the side of a steep hill oji the Witham, v/hich here divides
into tv/o streams. It had formerly fifty churches, now re-
duced to thirte .>n, besides the cathedral. The cathedral ia
admired for its architecture, v/hich is the richest and lightest

,ll (I

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOIT,

Lincoln.

The retarn home.

Hamiliation.

Gothic Style ; its great bell, called Tom of Lincohf re-
quires twelve men to ring it."

Leaving this place, we were completely discouraged,
Our hearts sunk within us. We talked about our homes
and their comforts, until we were overwhelmed with grief,
and mortified for our folly. Seeing no way to prosper, we
agreed to go back to our parents. With aching hearts and
weary limbs, we commenced our journey homewards in
gloomy silence, for otir sorrows were too big for utterance,
and we were filled with shame, the natural result of our
wicked conduct. Young persons should alwpys remember,
that there is a recTconing day before them. On the way I
let myself to a gentleman, whose pity had satisfied our
liun<?er. I agreed to return on Mondav of the following
week, after seeing my parents. He gave me a shilling as
earnest money, upon which we subsisted during the rest of
our journey home. When near my father's roy compan-
ion left; me, and I have never seen him since.

Left alone, I retired to a solitary spot, where, in happier
days, I had indulged in many a flight of youthful fancy ;
but now dejection sat upon my brow, and sorrow brooded
around my heaving heart. The solemn stillness of nature
accorded with my feelings, and seemed to sympathize with
mv distress. I staid here until my brother Thomas dis-
tarbed my reveries. His presence soothed my feelings, un-
til he informed me thai my father was highly incensed
against me for my rebellious conduct. I wept and trem-
bled. Bitterly did I mourn over my folly, and keenly did
I regret the fatal step that histened my departure from my
situation. At length I ventured to appear before my
offbnded father, who treated me with the most repulsive
coldness. He talked to me seriously and severely, and

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

The reception.

An unhappy separation.

ohy re-

)uraged,
• homes
h grief,
3per, we
arts and
svards in
Iterance,
t of our
imember,
le way I
sfied our
following
liilling as
le rest of
compan-

n happier
Lil fancy;
brooded
lof nature
;bize with
»ma9 dis-
slings, un-
incensed
md trem-
leenly did
from my
lefore my
repulsive
|rely, and

gave me some very strict njunctions in regard to my future
behavior, to which I humbly promised the most implicit
obedience.

This was on the Sabbath. I had promised to return to
my new employer on the morrow. So I told ray father of
my engagement, and expressed my wish tofuliil it, to which
he angrily replied,

" You may go, sir, and I wish you would never come
back again. I don't want to see you any more. I care
not where you go, nor what becomes of you."

This harsh reply stung me to the quick. It fell upon me
like the bursting of a thunder-cloud. I could neither say
nor do any thing to remove his anger, or propitiate hia fa-
vor. I wished for the hour of separation, as one looks for
an escape from prison. I thought too, tliat I never woulc*.
return, but that if I failed in gainhig domestic service, I
would become a soldier or a sailor, or indeed any thing
rather than to return home.

Early the next morning 1 was visited by Mr Ingraham,
an aged gentleman, who reasoned with me and counselled
me like a tender father, informing me for my " encourage-
ment, that my father intended to settle me in some business
as soon as my age and experience should authorize such a
step. To this advice 1 3 added a triflhigsiun of money, and
left me. AVIiile reflecting upon his advice, I met my fath-
er, whose cold and repulsive manner chilled my heart. He
wiis about to leave home, and without exchanging a word
we parted toi the last time ! I gazed upon him as he rece-
ded, hoping ihrt he woula return and give a parting word;
but he i)assed on and left me in a cruel silence. I have
never seen him since.

This was wrong. My dear father should have known

LIFB OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTON,

Reflections.

An appeal to the young.

1:1

human nature better. I was really penitent, and a good
word might have won my affections and mj obedience.
But his coldness put out my kindling affections, and drove
me into foolish purposes of revenge. I secretly vowed nev-
er to trouble him again with my presence. But I have no
doubt of the purity of his motives. He thought this sever-
ity of manner necessary. I had abused his fpnner kindness,
and he no doubt did violence to his feelings in maintaining
silence. He mtended to inflict a deserved punishment.
His error was one of the judgment and not of the heart.
But though it cost me much pain of mind, and excited de-
terminations never to return home again, yet a secret mon-
itor within silently whispered, " The fault is your own ! "

Young reader, have you parents? Does God still, in
kindness, spare the authors of your existence? If so,
remember your paramount duty — obedience to their righte-
ous wishes. They arc the authors of your being, and under
(rod the means of your preservation from helpless infancy
until now. They have done all in their power to make you
respectable in life. Is not your love due in return ? Can-
not they justly claim a degree of affection from you, that no
othpr human beings can ask ? How dare you, then, live in
daily opposition to their will ? During your minority, they
ritand to you in the place of God ; and rebellioj. Itst their
wishes is considered, in the old, good book, to > . rebellion
:figainst God. You cannot therefore, expect to possess the
smile of the deity until you obey the injunction, " Children
obey your parents in the Lord." See Col. iii. 20. Eph.
vi. 1. Matt. XV. 4, and Ex. xx. 12.

Disobedience to parents is the most fruitful source of
wretchedness and misery. The greater number of those,
who Qome to an untimely end, confess that this, with the

lie youni;.

, and a good
\j obedience.
IS, and drove
Y vowed nev-
>ut I have no
ht this sever-
aer kindness,
1 maintaining

punishment.

of the heart,
i excited de-
1, secret mon-
mr own ! "
God still, in
nee? If so,

> their righte-
ig, and under
pless infancy

to make you
tarn ? Can-
yon, that ro
then, live in
iinority, they
ag d'lst their

> tx rebellion
to possess the
n, " Children
ii. 20. Eph.

ful source of
her of those,
this, with the

■m

■It

i' *,

it I

!' 0! '^

■I '■■ :i

r**l| i

l:.'l

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Boston church-yurd.

S ^'

iml

violation of the holy Siibbiith, were the principal causes of
their ruin. These sins raised the Hood-gates, and let in
streams of vices, which drowned their souls in crime and
ignominy. Reader, art thou guilty? Beware, and take

warnmg

Humble thyself and repent, or thou wilt be lost
forever. From such a fearful fate may God save thee !

But to resume my narrative. After breakfast, my moth-
er informed me of her intention to accompany me as far as
the neighboring town of Boston. I took an affectionate
farewell of all the members of the family, and told my
brother Thomas, that " I should not see any of them for ten
years at least" — a prediction but too truly fulfilled ! At
length, amid their tears and prayers, I left the endearing
circle. But oh ! v/liat were my emotions ! I cannot des-
cribe them. My trembling heart sunk within me, and I
gave vent to my pent-up feelings in a floe ^ of tears, as I look-
ed back for the last time upon the liome of my youth.

My mother improved the moments occupied by our walk,
ill giving me the lest advice. Upon our arrival at Boston,
she purchased me a suit of new clothes, and then conducted
me into the church-yard, that in solitude, she might take a
last embrace of a v/ayv/ard child. That sacred spot — that
lonely grave-yard — is still impressed upon my memory.
It was there, my mother pressed her last v.'arm kiss of af-
fection to my burning cheeks ; tliero, I received her bust
embrace : there I heard her last words. They still Hoat
upon my ears ; even now do I seem to hear her last expres-
sion, " Farewell, my son ; be a good boy." There was a
holy sweetness in that voice, which has ever operated like
a charm on my soul, and which the clianges of time have
not obliterated. Could I reward her for the love and kind-
ness she showed me, in this, my never-forgotten trouble, how

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Stroiipth of nititurniil love.

gladly would I sieze the precioas opportunity, and tender
my willing services at her feet ! The strengh of a mother's
attachnient who can express ? It transcends all other at-
tachments, in purity, in strength, and in duration ; one of
our finest female poets has strongly illusf"ated this remark
in one of her best productions. She says —

" There is nono
In all this cold and ho'lov; world, no fount
Of deep, strong, deathless love save that within
A mothei-'s heart. It is but pride, wherewith
To his fair son the father's eye doth turn,
Watching his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks,
The bright, glad creature, springing in his path.
But as the heir of his great name, the. young
And stately tree, whose rising strength ere long
Shall bear his trophies well. And th-s is love !
This is man's love ! What marvel ! You ne'er made
Your breast the pillow of his infancy,
While to the fulness of your heart's glad hoavings
His fair check rose and fell, and his bright hair
Waved softly to your breast ! You ne'er kept watch
Beside him, till the last pale star had set.
And morn, all dazzling, as in triumph, broke
On your dim, weary eye ; not your's the face
Which early faded, throu^^h fond care for him.
Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as heaven's light,
Was there to greet his v/akcning ! You ne'er smothed
His couch ; ne'er sung him to his rosy rest.
Caught his last v/hi^per, v.hoii his voice from yours
Had learned soft utterance, pressed your lips to his
When fever parched it, hushed hiu wayward cries
With patient, vigilant, never- wearied love,
No ! these arc icoman's tasks. In these her youth,
And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart,
Steal from her all unmarked."

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

A lonely walk.

A new situation.

Lhed

Being left alone, I pursued my way with diligence, though
deeply affected by my recent, and, as I determined, final
separation from home. But the pprightliness and buoyan-
cy of youth soon triumphed over my dejection. The coun-
try through which I passed was surpassingly beautiful, pre-
senting a richness of scenery rarely equalled. Beautiful
lawns skirted with ancient oaks, the pride of Britain ; and
wide-arching elms, under the sheltering foilage of which
the bounding deer and timid fawn sought relief from the
glowing sunbeam ; splendid mansions, the abode of titled
greatness ; gardens and shrubberies, — all lay stretched out
before me, while my path lay along the banks of the quiet
and beautiful Witham. I felt the influence of the scene,
and traveling cheerfully along, employed my mind in form-
ing plans for the regulation of my future conduct, and in
dreaming splendid day-dreams, which were like a child's
soap-bubbles, blown but to break in air. But life has many
soap-bubbles.

Early in the evening, I arrived at the place of my desti-
nation, and was kindly received by the gentleman who had
employed me, and soon initiated into the duties of my new
station. My master I found to be single, respectable, and
tojnperate. His ftimily consisted of himself and housekeep-
er, a most lovely woman, whom I soon loved and esteemed
as a mother. I now thought I should be happy, and con-
tented to spend many years in so pleasant and favorable a
situation. But alas ! how delusive are all earthborn hopes !
An unexpected occurrence blasted my prospects, dashed
the cup of comfort from my lips, and threw me, once more,
an unhappy wanderer upon the wide world.

This occurrence was the visit of my master's mother, a
most unhappy wom^m, and a notorious scold. She bad no

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

An old iiculd.

Tiic dismission.

sooner arrived twan she commenced lier welli or rather ill-
contracted method of censuring and scolding all who came
in her way. Her doleful strains commenced with the morn-
ing, and ceased only with the day. At night she lodged a
short distance from her son's house, and it devolved on me
to accompany her home. These few moments she regular-
ly improved by pouring out a bitter volley of abuse upon
my unoffending head — the most unmcrcil'ul that ever dis-
graced a woman's lip. I was always happy to arrive at her
door, and thus rid myself of the company of such an
abominable old scold. On my way back, it comforted me
to reflect that she had, at least, a partial reward in the mis-
ery w^hich is consequent upon the possession of so vile a
disposition.

The amiable woman who was our housekeeper, unable to
endure such manifestations of a wretched temper, left her
situation. Her place was immediately supplied by one, the
very reverse of her disposition, and the exact counterpart
of our old scold. She from some cause or other, conceived
a dislike towards me, and poured volumes of complaint into
my employer's ears. He believed the whole, upon no other
evidence than her mere assertion ; and one morning, calling
me into his apartment, he gave mc the mean sum of one
shilling for my six weeks' labor, and told me I might con-
sider myself dismissed from his service.

With this trifling pittance, I left for the city of Lincoln,
where I spent the following night. There I disposed of
such clothing as I could spare, that I might have the means
of traveling, and then went to Doncaster, and from thence
to LeeVls, in Yorkshire. This place aiibrded many interes-
ting objects, which served to divert my mind while my
money lasted. The splendid cloth market was the most

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOnTON.

isiun.

Lerds' cluth innrkrt ilrsrribcd.

rather ill-

who came

the morn-
5 lodged a
ved on me
lie regular-
ibuse upon
at ever dis-
rrivc at her
of such an
)ral'orted me
I in the rais-
of so vile a

er, unable to
per, left her
by one, the
counterpart
r, conceived
mplaint into
pon no other
ning, calling
sum of one
might con-

of Lincoln;
disposed ol"
re the meaiis
from thence
lany intcres-
^d while my
IS the most

striking. It is probably the linest in the world, as Leeds
itself is one of the most celebrated towns in England, or
perhaps in Europe, for woolen mannfactures. The mode
of doing business is perhaps peculiar to this market. " At
six o'clock in the summer, and about seven in the winter,
the market bell rings ; upon which, in a few miiuites, with-
out hurry, noise, or the least die;ordcr, the wliule market is
filled, all the benches covered with cloth, as close to one
another as the pieces can lie lengthways, each proprietor
standing l>ehind his own piece. As soon as the bell has
(M^ased ringing, the factors and buyeis of all sorts enter the
hall and walk up and down, as their occasions direct.
AVhen they have pitched upon their cloth, they lean over to
the clothier, and by a whisper, in the fewest words imagin-
able, the price is stated. One asks, the other bids, and they
agree or disagree in a moment. In little more than an
liour, all the business is done ; ten or twenty thousand
pounds worth of cloth, and sometimes more, is bought and
Bold with a whisper only ; the laws of the market, here,
being more strictly observed than at any place in England."
The rich and splended gas-works, by which the town is
lighted up throughout at night, are no small addition to its
beauty.

During my stay, I was indefatigable in my efforts to ob-
tain employment, but in vain. My situation was now ex-
ceedingly painful, as winter was rapidly approaching, and
to be friendless and moneyless during its inclemencies would
*,x[)ose me to much suffering, if not to death. To prevent
this, I went to Barnsley and Wakefield, two noted towns,
where I obtained only a day or two's labor. As the fair
was about to commence at Leeds, I returned thither, in
liopes to find something to do amid that scene of bustle and

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

Wan<lcr< nbout distrnssed and houHvlesn.

A dlsHppiiinied rpcnitt.

I In I

noise. A number of days passed in a fruitless search for
employment, during which I drew my subsistence from the
meagre gifts, of charity. Seeing no other prospect of escape
from starvation, I determined once more to try my fortune
at enlistment, not of choice, but from seeming necessity.
Probably the greater number of Britain's immense armies
are men who entered that service on a similar impulse.
Suffering or enlistment is the alternative of many unfortu-
nates ; to escape the former, they choose the latter ; and
thus England tills her battalions !

Finding a sergeant of the 33d regiment, I enlisted for
the 6th regiment of foot, then lying at Leeds. Upon beinjr
marched before the colonel and officers of the regiment, I
passed the standard ; but on being more circumspectly ex-
amined, was pronounced unlit for service — being luUf an
inch shorter than the height required by law for soldiers of
that regiment. The colonel jocosely remarked, on my n>
jection,

" My lad, if you wish to be a soldier, go home and grow
a little more, and then we will take you."

Disappointed, I next went to York, a city celebrated for
the splendor of its cathedral, which is considered one of the
most elegant and magnificent Gothic structures, in the Unit-
ed Kingdom. Piissing from thence to the next town, 1
found the populace in much tumult and disorder, being en-
gaged in burning an elfigy of the reigning king, (George
IV.,) whose cruelty and baseness towards his wife had
drawn upon him the odium and contempt, not only of his
own subjects, but of every feeling and enlightened man in
the world, who had become fully acquainted with the sub-
ject Calling at a tavern, I learned that a recruiting ser-
geant was siatiot.ed there for the night ; upon which I dec!-

I.IFE OF -WILLIAM B. LIOIITOX.

ed recmtt.

9 search for
ice from the
ect of escape
r my fortune
g necessity,
nense armiea
lilar impulse,
lany unfortu-
1 latter; and

enlisted for
Upon ham^
le regiment, I
jmspcctly ex-
)eing liiilf an
or soldiers of
id, on my n-

>me and grow

celebrated for
Bd one of the
in the Unit-
kext town, 1
ker, being en-
[ing, (George
lis wife had
|t only of hia
3ned man in
nth the sub-
[cruiting ser-
rhich I deci-

A ph'ce or cunnini;.

Ita detection.

(led to try once more to become a soldier ; my sitnaticm had
become tndy dt'i>lor!ible. I had very little clothes remain-
ing, and was wholly destitute of money.

I retired to bed faint, weary, and supperless. The next
niorninjr, determined not to be too short this time, I pro-
cured a quunlity of paper, made socks for my feet and
drawing my stockings over them, went again to undergo a
•Iread ordeal. Placing myself beneath the standard, my
height s<?emed sufficient ; and the sergeant was about to
pass me, when he asked me with a look that expressed ex-
perience in this mode of deception^
" Are your stockings thick ?"

" No, sir," said I, as a blush of conscious guilt tinged
my pale cheek.

Dissatisfied with my mere denial, he proceeded to examine
the bottom of my feet with as much care as if he feared to
catch some foul disorder. My contrivance was of course
discovered, and he dismissed me with so severe a reprimand,
as taught me to be cautious of using paper to increase my
height, and made me feel deeply ashamed of my low and
u^uiitv cunninu;.

On my way to the next town, I entered a tavern to .so-
licit a little food. A gentl(>man who hai)pened to be there,
perceiving my destitution, and pitying my condhion, re-
lieved my present necessities ; after which he addressed me
Lhub' :

•• Youn,"^ man, I am in want of a substitute to serve in the
militia. Should you like, for a fair compensation, to under-
take the service? "

Pleased with the prospect of employment, I eagerly
replied, " Yes sir, most cheerfully."

" What compensation should you require ? " asked he.

LIFK OF WILLIAM B. LKillTON.

)■*'

A ploasHut Intorvlow. An onR.igoment. The mllltiA of England and Anicrlcii.

" Whjitcvor you please to give, sir," said I, willing to get
CKjciipation at any rale.

" Well," n'plied he, " 1 will fijivc you £4 if you will serve
jw my substitute for five years in the North York Militia."

"Agreed," said I, my eyes sparkling with delight at the
prospect of possessing sucth a sum of money.

Aceordingly he took m(! home, and hired my board until
the meeting of the stafl', for " swearing in," or receiving the;
oath of such as were drafted for the mililia. I then took
the usual oath, and was duly enlisted. Every thing being
nettled, and the gentleman being freed from all responsibili-
ty in the case, he refused to pay mc more than £2, promi-
sing to pay the remainder when the regiment assembled for
duty. As this period was very uncertain, I took the money
he offered, and vexed at his dishonorable conduct, determin-
ed never to meet or do military dut' >r him, but to depart
to some other part of the countr^ This of course was
wrong, because one dishonest act can never make another
right. The sin of one man does not justify the sin of an-
other, although he may be the sufferer by the other's wrongs •
better to suffer, than to do wrong.

The method pursued in England with the militia is dif-
ferent from that in America. There, only a given number
is drafted from each town. These assemble one month in a
year, for instruction in military duty ; during which term,
they are supplied with a suit of regimentals, gun, and equip-
ments by the goverment, which are returned at the close of
the month's service. In times of peace, however, the mili-
tia is seldom or ever called out, though regularly drafted.

The next morning, I left the gentleman and militia be-
hind, and took the stage on my way to London. At Stam-
ford I left the stage, and pursued my way on foot to

LIFK OF WILLIAM n. LKillTON.

I iinii Aiiirrini.

illing to get

u will serve
•k Militia."
;liglit at the

board until
eociving the
I then took
thing being
responsibili-
\ £2, promi-
sscmbled for
k the money
ct, determin-
)ut to depart
course was
ike another
e sin of an-
er's wrongs ;

ilitia is dif-
en number
month in a
which term,
I, and equip-
the close of
|er, the mili-
draftcd.
militia be"
At Stam-
on foot to

Arrival at Coventry.

The n'crulling M'rK«'iinl.

Huntingdon, where, fiilling in company with a young man
vho JKul rcc'<'ntlv visited the mctnipolis, he dissuaded inu
from going thillier, by convincing me that my inexperience
would expose me to great dangei* from the abounding vices
and tem[»t.;tionH of that great laboratory of virtue and of
crime.

Changing my phm through the advice of this new friend,
my vacillating stei)H were next ttirned towards Coventry.
Destitute, melancholy, and wretched, I walked slowly on,
mourning over my untbrtunatc condition. Towards evening,
a y<»ung man overtook me, to whom my tale of sorrow was
mifolded. He listened with friendly attention, and gave nn*
much wholosoinc! and comforting ad\ ice ; for the time being,
it ha<l a v,hole,>^ome inlhuMice on my mind; and my remem-
brance of this brief "iitervicw is ever accompanied v.illi
gratitude for his good intentions and well meant counsels.
After he left me, a post-chaise passed, and jumping on b< -
hind unperccived by the driver, I was soon in the streets of
Coventry.

My iirst effort was to obtain something to eat. Not
having a farthing of money, begging was my only alterna-
tive ; and this failed, lilo one would give me even a crust.
At last, meeting a friendly looking man, I asked him,

" Sir, is there a recruiting-party in town ?"

'' Yes," re])h'cd be ; "do you wish to find one?"

*' Yes, I want to enlist," was my eager reply.

" "Well, come with me, and I will show you wlierc the
sergeant is quartered," said he, evidently pleased with the
chance of conducting me to tliiit olficer. He obtained a
trifling bounty, as I learned afterwards, for securing me as
a recruit.

The sergeant to whom he introduced me, afler asking

"IWB^P'"''"

■ Ni^i.>ni lu^fw"

wi'iMJWn^l^i*""!!

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

The enlistment.

f 1

some questions, gave me some bread and cheese, and beer,
and procured me a lodging, promising to see to my en-
listment in the morning. In the morning he ascertained
my height by the military standard, and told me I >vas too
short for every regiment but one, which was the COth rifle
corps. "With many flaming descriptions of a soldier's life,
he urged me to enlist in that ; stating that it was in Ameri-
ca, and that the recruits would be sent thither at the
earliest opportunity. The information of the location of
the regiment settled the question. Here was an opportuni-
ty offered to visit the country of which I had read and heard
so much, and which had interested my mind so intensely for
several years.

Being pronounced fit for sen'ice, the sergeant conducted
me to the officer appointed to administer the oath of alle-
giance. " How long," said this gentleman, " will you serve ?'*
" / will serve for life, sir" was my ready and deliberate re-
ply. The oath was accordingly administered and sealed,
and thus at the early age of fifteen, on he Gth of Decem-
ber, 1820, I became a soldier for life in his Britannic
Majesty's 60th rifle corps ! — a rash and foslish step, espe-
cially the enlisting for life, when it might have been ibr any
period not less lluvn .=evcn years. But various considera-
tions may be perceived to account for this rashness, though
none to justify it. Isij youth, being but a mere l)oy, may
])C some excuse, as thoughtlessness is a usual attendant uj)-
on the steps of boyhood. Then I had a lofty and mistaken
idea of .a soldier's life ; ixnd what probably influenced me
]noi*e than all was, my previous and obstinate determination
never io return home. My father's last words still rang on
my ear, " I care not what becomes of you,'' &c. Whenever
these cruel words crossed my memory, they always hard-

tTFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Address to the reader.

;, and beer,
to my en-
ascertained
e I "was too
le GOth rifle
oldier's life.
s in Amcri-
her at the
location of
[1 opportnni-
d and heard
intensely for

It conducted
)ath of alle-
you serve ?'*
eliberate re-
and sealed,
of Decem-
Britannie
step, efspe-
bcen Ibr any
considera-
ness, though
•e boy, mav
tendant uj)-
iid mistaken
ucnced mu
itcrmination
till rang on
Whenever
»vays hard-

ened the rii'ing sensibilities of my heart, and detemiined
me to continue avvav from home at all hazards.

It is hoped the reader will throw the mantle of mer-
cy over the j'outhful follies, so candidly developed iu the
preceding pages. Let him make that use of them, for
which their publication is designed. Like the iudustrions
bee gatliering sustenance from humble field-flowers, he may
gain lessons of wisdom from the incidents of my early boy-
hood. If a parent, he may learn the almost infinite impor-
tance of right discipline, and of begining right discipline at
the earliest possible period. Lessons of obedience and re-
ligion should meet tlie diild when he leaves the cradle, and
attend him all the ivay through to manhood. These lessons
should be enforced with judgment, with mild firmness, and
not with harshness ; it is possible that mildness on the part
of my dear father might have saved me ; but, as before
remarkcfl, the error was not of the heart. Let parents
then studg how to train their littc ones for glory. If the
reader be a youth, a discontented youth, he will here have
seen, and will also hereafter see, mirrored out before him,
the evils which he may expect to suflTer, if, yielding to the
impulse of his mistaken views, he should dare to follow my
bad example, and rush, like a foollr^h, unprotected lamb,
from the fold of his father's house. Hunger and thirst,
pain, weariness, and disgrace, and Avretchedness, and some-
times ignominy and death, follow in the train of rebellion
against parents. I et him then beware and repent ; seek
pardon for his past misconduct, of his parents, and of his
Creator, and, leaning on the bosom of Jesus Christ, let him
learn instruction from his sacred lips. Then will health,
happiness, and prosperity attend his steps on earth, and
glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life, crown him in
the world to corae. 5*

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

An appeal to the yotmg.

In reply to a reflection that may cross the reader's mind
at this stage of the narrative, tliat many adventures are
liere recorded for so young a man, tlie wiiter can only say.
that he has strictly adhered to truth in all his statements.

sadcr's mind

cntures are

an only say*

statements.

CHAPTER III.

'• I go, swort friends I Yet lliiiik of juc

When spring's young voice awakes the nowers,
For we have wandered far and tree,

In those bright hours, the violet's hours."

I Ajr now about to enter upon the history of what was ji
new era in my changeful life. Would that I were better
able to describe the scenes, through which, by God's
providence, I liavc passed. My spirit rises to God in hum-
Ijle adoration and thanksgl\'ing, for his watchfulness and
core over me in all my troubles. That goodness constrains
me to exclaim with the shepherd poet, " Bless the Lord, C)
mv soul and forget not all his benefits."

My party of fellow-recruits remained in Coventry about
ten days, to permit the sergeant to raise the requisite num-
ber to till up the regiment. This time I spent in wander-
ing about witli my companions, and in visiting the vai'ious
places of amusement and recreation. On some occasions, 1
felt anxious to inform my parents of my situation, but fear-
ing that they would take measures to procure my dischnrge.
I deferred it fi-om day to day. At last, by making their
case my oirn, I wisely wrote a plain and candid account of
all my wanderings, and also of my enlistment, requesting an
immeditito answer. Soon i\fler writing, we received orders
to m.'irch, and I wrote again, informing tliem of this fact.
and sttiting the place of my destination.

On the morning of our departure we were paraded by
the officers, and asked if we had any cause of complaint.

', !

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

Writes homo.

March of the recruit!".

Bad Indging.s.

We answered, " No." After whicli, one of the officers gave
us some words of advice and caution ; a .step whicli was
highly necessary, as we were all the subjects of a bursting
and ignorant enthusiasm, occasioned by the false ideas we
entertained of the new mode of life we were about to enter.
Commanded by an experienced olUcer, we now commenced
our march for the Isle of Wight. This journey was an
easy one, as we seldom marched over sixteen miles a day.

On our wa}', however, Ave met with some discouragements
and disagreeables, arising chiefly from the unkindness of the
landlords, at whose taverns we were " billeted" on the road.
To them the sight of a body of recruits was always dis-
agreeable, as they were oblige to lodge them, whether will-
ing or not, by the sanctions of the law. Hence they fre-
quently treated them with great neglect, insult, and incivili-
ty. We were put into beds, in several places, the mere
sight of which would make a decent man shudder, and
cause his flesh to crawl. Whenever we received good
treatment in these houses, we returned it by proper and re-
spectful decorum ; and when otherwise, we practised the
bad law of retaliation, and kept up a noise like the hooting
of owls. Careless alike of threat or importunity, we per-
severed in our disturbances, keeping our ungracious hosts
awake, until the dawn of day called us to depart.

At one place, when the hour of retirement arrived, we
w^ere required to follow the landlord. This command we
cheerfully obeyed, hoping, from the neat appearance of the
place, to find comfortable beds and lodgings. But the con-
tinued progression of our march blasted our hopes. Our
way was through the back yard towards the stables. This
made us look at each other, and ask, inquiringly, if we
were to be stabled lilce horses. After conducting us through

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOX.

idgings.

)fficers gave
wliicli was
f a bursting
se ideas \vc
out to enter,
commenced
ney was an
liles a day.
ouragements
idness of the
on the road,
always dis-
vhether will-
ice they frc-
, and incivili-
?.es, the mere
shudder, and
ceived good
■oper and re-
)ractised the
} the hooting
lity, we per-
•acious hosts
•t.
arrived, we
ommand we
ranc^ of the
Jut the con-
opes. Our
ibles. This
ingly, if we
us through

Noisy lo(I);ors,

A l)ed-rooni described.

various windings, he brought us to an upper loft, connected
with some out-houses, where he left us with tlic following
compliment, " Gentlemen, take which bed you pletise."

Sorrowful sight I To be sure we had a light, but it on-
ly served to mai<e known the horrors of our Avorse than
Newgate cell. As the moon hid beneath scowling vapors,
only serves to give the traveler a glimpse of the horrors of
his mountain path, so our light served only to increase our
disgust, and to make known the character of those who had
visited this filthy spot before us. The room was large and
dirty, containing a number of heaps, which, from their ap-
pearance, one would hardly suppose to be beds. Beds,
liowever, they were, of the coarsest materials, and the very
antipodes of clean. The walls were black with smoke, hav-
ing been smoked with the flare of candles, and covered
with the most ghastly images, so abhorrent that they remind-
ed me of the chambers of the pit. The place was evidently
better fitted for the abode of beasts, and satyrs, than of ra-
tional men. Had I been alone, I should have felt ashamed ;
as it was, I felt as if I were in the d-^n of some wretched
miscreant. From the necessity of the case we submitted,
and slept as best we could ; and in tlie morning, we heaped
our beds and bedding into one filthy ]n]Q, and left at an
early hour. Onr conduct fit these vile places was not
marked with wl.-doni; it only served to increase the preju-
dice of the innkeepers against pei-sons of our class. Pa-
tient, peaceable submission would have been infinitely bet-
ter, and more in conformity with true philosophy and reli-
gion. But we were neither philosophers nor Christians,
|Which, though it does not justify, explains our conduct.

We now prosecuted our march through the far famed
[ciiy of Oxford, so celebrated throughout the world of letters

t'li

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Historical anecdote of Caunte.

Flattery reproved.

for its university, and in the religious world as the place
where many noble martyrs, amid the scorching flame, tri-
umphantly " gave up the ghost." On the tenth day of our
march we reached Southampton, a considerable town, de-
riving its importance from its contiguity to the sea. It was
here the just reproof of Caunte the Great to his sycophantic
courtiers, is said to have been administered. As many of
the readers of this book may never have seen an account of
this interesting occurrence, I will relate it for their amuse-
ment and instruction. >

" As Caunte the Great, king of England, was walking on
the sea-shore at Southampton, accompanied by his courtiers,
who offered him the grossest flattery, comparing him to the
greatest heroes of antiquity, and asserting that his pov/er
was more than human, he ordered a chair to be placed on
the beach, while the tide was coming in. Sitting down
with a majestic air, he thus addressed himself to the sea : —
' Thou sea, that art a part of my dominions, the land where-
on I sit is mine ; — no one ever broke my commands with
impunity ; — I therefore charge lliee to come no farther upon
my lands, and not presume to wet either my feet or my
robe, who am still thy sovereign !" But the sea rolled on as
before, and, without ariy respect, not only Avet the skirts of
his robe, but likewise splashed his thighs ; on which he rose
up suddenly, and addressing himself to his attendants up-
braided them for their ridiculous flattery, and very judi-
ciously expatiated on the narrow and limited power of the
greatest monarch on earth." " Flatterers who praise great
men for their imaginary merit, lull them to sleep to their
real miseries." Well does the poet say of flattery —

" Alas I thy sweet, perfidious voice bretraya
His wantoii ears ; with thv siren baits.

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

oved.

the place
flame, tri-
lay of our

town, de-
i. It was
^cophantic
i many of
account of
eir amuse-

valking on

3 courtiers,

him to the

his pov/er

placed on

ting down

the sea : —

,nd where-

nds with

ther upon

eet or my

led on as

skirts of

I lie rose

ants up-

cry judi-

er of the

aise great

to their

Arrivtl nt Newport.

Entrr!< a school of niilitury instrnction.

Thou wrapp'st his eyes in mist, then boldly lays

Thy lethal gins with crystal gates.

Thou lockest every sense with thy false keys,

All willing prisoners to thy close deceits:

His ear, most nimble where it deaf should be,

His eye most blind, where most it ought to see ;

And when his heart's most bound, then thinks himself most free.'*

From Southampton, we were conveyed by water to
Cowcs in tlie Ise of Wight, and from thence were marched
to the garrison at Newport, where we arrived late in the
evening. The next day we were inspected by a board of
officers, and consigned to our respective detachments, to be
instructed in the discipline and duties of our new profession.
Here, I soon learned that a soldier's life was not so easy
and pleasant as I had vainly dreamed. T^il and severe
duties constantly attend his steps, and the pi a of youth or
inexperience is never accepted in lieu of duty. For the
information of the reader, I shall, in detail of my experi-
ence, endeavor to give as correct an idea as possible, of a
British soldier's life.

My first experience was in the initiatory school, where I
was taught the first principles of the military art ; and not-
withstanding my ungracefulness and awkwardness at first, I
was soon pronounced " fit for duty." These schools for mil-
itary instruction are usually under the care of men of the
most tyrannical disposition, whose unmerciful severity and
haughty demeanor beget a decided hostility in the breasts
of their defenceless scholars. Thus it was with those who
instructed the party with which I Avas connected. The
least deviation from the perfection of the evolution we
were required to perform; was punished by these myrmidons
of brief authority, with the utmost severity ; sometimes,

t^^

LIFE OP AViLLlAM B. LlGIlTON.

Short allowance of food.

Its effect on morals.

The theft.

with even brutal ferocity ; often, in a manner totally repug-
nant to the prop'jr disciphne of the army, which though
severe in itself, does not countenance tyranny on the part
of subalterns. Had their treatment of tlie recruits been
fully and fairly known to their superiors, they would un-
doubtedly have been degraded to the ranks. Our lips,
however, were bound by fear ; Ave dared not complain, and
therefore unwillingly submitted to their tyranny.

But our troubles did not ciul here. To unkind treat-
ment was to be added a partial dcprivatior- )f many of the
common necessaries of comfortable life. Our daily ration
was but one pound of bread, one pound of meat, a pint of
soup, a pint of tea, and three or four potatoes — an allow-'
ance, had it all been of good quality, barely sufficient to sus-
tain nature. But it was not. Our bread \/as of the
coarsest and poorest flour ; so dark, that it was nicknamed
" brown Tommy," and its adhesive properties were such,
that if a piece were thrown against the wall, there it would
remain. Nor was the measure at all just ; it was dealt out
as choicely as if it had been gold ; so that between short
weight and measure, and bad (juality, we were but poorly
off for the comforts of life.

As a consequence of this scanty allowance, some of the
new recruits became addicted to stealing ; others, more re-
gardful of duty to God and man, suffered the privations of
partial hunger. So great was our distress, that every arti-
cle of clothing that could be dispensed with, was sold for
food, and much anxiety was manifested in regard to the fu-
ture ; some api)lied to their parents for money, and some
for means to obtain their discharge, which many of them
obtained.

One very i)ainful event occurred during our stay at New-

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOK.

theft.

ally repug-
ieh though
a the part
bruits been
would uii-
Our lipy,
nplain, and

kind treat-

lany of the

daily ration

it, a pint of

—an allow-'

dent to sus-

'v/as of the

nicknamed

were such,

re it would

as dealt out

ween short

but poorly

forae of the
:, more re-
•ivtitions of
every arti-
is sold for
I to the fu-
and some
iy of them

^y at New-

The sentence. The culprit's wicked bond.

Hi» punishment.

port. A very respectable young married man, of apparent-
ly sober habits, overwhelmed with the wretchedness of his
situation^ wrote home earnestly entreating his parents to
give him the means of procuring his discharge. They
either could not or would not grant him his wish ; and in
that extremity he was led to adopt a most wicked and un-
justifiable measure. He lodged in the same room with the
paymaster-sergeant, from whom he contrived to steal twenty
pounds, the sum required for his discharge, which he en-
closed in a letter, and directed to his father. His crime,
however, was soon discovered ; for the post-master at the
office where he deposited the letter, feeling somewhat sus-
picious on seeing a letter with money from a soldier, made
inquiries which led to the discovery of the theft, and the
consequent detection of the offender. He was imprisoned,
and soon after tried by a court martial, and sentenced to the
cruel and ignominious punishment of the lash ; he was to
receive three hundred lashes /

During his confinement, driven to desperation by his situ-
ation, and evidently while deprived of the right use of his
reason, he wrote an instrument in his own blood, in which
he swore unhallowed allegiance and perpetual confederacy
with the prince of darkness, provided he should be enabled
to escape his doom, and evade the infliction of his cruel
sentence. This wicked document was discovered, and
shown to the adjutant, who, after pondering a moment over
its mysterious contents, laconically, but unfeelingly observed,

" If the devil is in him we will whip him out," — a remark,
by the way, characteristic of officers of the army in gene-
tal.

On the morning of the infliction of his sentence, about

two thousand troops were marched to the fatal spot, and

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

! :i '

A rcstrictiun.

formed into a hollow square of four men in depth. Then
CAme the trembling culprit, who was stripped naked to the
waist, and tied to a triangle, erected for the occasion.
When the order to commence punishment was given, the
strong sympathy of the troojjs expre^'Sed its(!lf in one loud
and universal groan. Every blow, while it scarred the back
of the criminal, wounded every soldier's heart, and many
turned aside their heads from beholding the cruel and sick-
ening sight. The bleeding criminal cried in loud and
piercing accents for pardon, until the oft-repeated blow
created a deathish numbness of flesh, and he became insen-
sible to pain ! At last, he fainted from loss of blood, which
trickled in streams from his many wounds, and was con-
veyed from the brutal scene to the hospital.

This painful circumstance produced many alanning fears
in my mind. I trembled, lest, by some unfortunate act, I
should expose myself to a similar punishment. Sometimes
I thought of begging my father to procure my discharge ;
but the remembrance of my ingratitude checked me. So I
determined to bear my burdens in silence, consoling myself
with the hope of better days, when I should join my regi-
ment in Canada. Thus do men console themselves under
present ills, by looking to a brighter day beyond.

There was another circumstance which stood in the way
of our enjoyment. We were not permitted, on any account,
to go beyond the sound of the drum. One mile in circum-
ference was the limit of the territory we were allowed to
range ; nor could we travel beyond this limit, without expo-
sing ourselves to the treatment of deserters ; which was the
infliction of seven hundred lashes, or imprisonment with
transportation for life. AVe had but one specimen of this
species of punishment, and numbers were then in close con-

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIQHTON.

An Hilvonture at nii old cnxtle.

finement, awaiting their fate with an anxiety almost as
painful as the punishment. But notwithstanding all these
warnings, I was once nearly involved in a similar disaster.

One beautiful afternoon, myself and a few companions
were whiling away a leisure hour by a walk through the
streets of Newport, when the sight of an ancient castle pro-
duced a desire to visit its antiquated walls, which, from
report, we understood to be the place where the French
prisoners had been confined during the last war with that
nation. Our anxiety to visit this spot overcame our fears
of punishment ; so, regardless of military restrictions, we
pursued our way towards it, and arrived there without inter-
ruption ; being then four miles from the garrison and three
beyond our prescribed bounds. This fact prevented much
enjoyment, as we were haunted by fear of consequences.
Yet we surveyed the beautiful scenery without, and then
attempted to gain admittance to the interior, as we had
heard the fame of its magnificent architecture. We entered
a narrow passage, and finding a first gate open, passed to a
second, which was in a stufK;ndous arch, and of no ordinary
size or workmanship. To open this, our united efforts
availed nothing. Peeping through the crevices made in
the arch by the mutilating finger of time, we could disco v-
OT nothing but doors equally formidable with the one that
now opposed our progress. Unable to admit ourselves, we
tried to arouse the inmates, first by gently knocking, and
then by pulling lustily upon a rope, to which was attached a
large door bell. Still no response met our calls. Grow-
ing impatient, especially as our time was rapidly expiring,
we joined in giving one unanimous call for admission.
Each soldier took a stone, and struck the door with all the
strength of his arm ; this, together with the ringing of the

LIFR OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

;il*'.

A narrow csca[)o frnni danfter. Drumming out. The r«gu(>> mnrch.

bell, reverberated with a most astounding noise along the
vaulted roofs of the bUiiding, until its echo became deafeo*
ing and terrific.

Alarmed at our own noise, and fearing that the inmates
would become incensed against us for our boyish and un-
seemly conduct, we hastily retired without the outer door,
where we met a grave, elderly gentlemen, who justly and
severely reprimanded us, and threatened to send for i*
picket guard to arrest us. It was well for us we liad
reached the outside gate ; else^ by merely closing it, we
should have been his prisoners, and dearly should we have
paid for our idle adventure. Fearing that he had already
sent for a guard, we quickened our pace, and soon reached
our prescribed limits in safety. How emblematic is this
little fact of the folly of men ! For so trivial a pleasure as
is here described, we rashly exposed ourselves to the most
degrading of human punishments. Alas ! how many, for
advantages equally trivial, expose their precious souls to an
everlasting hell ! Reader, dost thou ?

Shortly after this, we w^ere Uhlled to witness another
species of military punishment, which though \'f;vy mortify-
ing to the 'uiferer, is less tinged with barbarity. It is
sometimes called " drumming out." The culprit was placed
l»etween the ranks, and I'ollowed by the musicians, playing
the " rogue's march.*' Ii3 was thus conducted to the con-
fines of the garrison, and lefl^o pursue his own course : be-
ing now freed from the obligations of his oath, and no
longer a military subject. This curious process is generally
inflicted for petty thefts and incorrigible profligacy. Many
of our number, however, would gladly have exchanged
situations with him ; seeing it freed him from the tyrannies
to which, in common, with ourselves,, he had been exposed^.

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

A letter from homo.

To me, it would have been the greatest favor they could
have conferred. But alas ! I was only permitted to trace
in imagination the road that led to my father's house, while
the sad reality of my situation remained a dagger in my
heart. O miserable prospect ! — a perpetuity of bondage,
to cease only with life's latest breath ; a barrier insurmounta-
ble between me and the social comforts of life. But if my bed
was thorny, I had made it so, and therefore had no alterna-
tive but to submit in all patience.

About this time I received a reply from my father, to
the letters sent, as the reader will remember, fW>m Coven-
try. The following is a copy : —

" Framfton, January l$t, 1821.
" Dear Son, . . .

** I have just received, by one post, both your letters
sent from Coventry ; and while I approve of your conduct
in writing me concerning your situation,, T can but lament
your folly in leaving your place, of which I knew nothing
until I received your letter, and your extreme rashness tn
entering upon a career so humiliating as a soldier's life — a
life attended with intolerable hardships, and what is worse,
with every species of profanity, lewdness, and wickedness.
I hope you will remember to keep yourself clear from
these pernicious practices. You know, by this time,
they are a swearing set ; be sure you never join them in
this respect. * Swear not at all.* You arc now beyond the
reach of parental instruction, or at least protection ; and
your situation, together with the distance which does and
will separate us, will undoubtedly create in future very se-
rious anxiety for your welfare ; and I hope your duty as a

child, on this point, will be respectfully regarded. I would

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. ttOHTOlT^

u'l

A Ht of sickness.

The hospital.

Restoration to hnalth.

sincerely advise you to be good and dutiful to your superiors,
submissive to all your officers, and respectful in your de-
portment } so that I may hear from, and see you again
in peace.

" Your affectionate father,

"WiLLLIAM LiGHTON,"

This letter 'paved the way for a regular correspondence,
while it removed many fears from my muid, and gave me
hopes of better days.

Towards the spring of the year I had a slight fit of sick-
ness, which originated in a cold taken one very wet day,
while upon duty. Although my symptoms were not very
alarming, yet I was conducted to the hospital, examined,
and detained to undergo a course of medicine. While in
this place, which was twenty-one days, I underwent more
pain than I had ever before experienced. I was deprived
of my usual allowance of food, and received, instead, only
about a pint of gmel or rice per diem, with but very little
of any other food. Towards the close of my sickness, my
food was more substantial in kind, though much too small in
quantity. While in this situation, I was visited by a com-
rade, who, after a few words of kind inquiry concerning
my health, gave me a letter, which on opening, I fo!md to
be from my father, and contained a small sum of money.
This present came most opportunely, as it gave me the
means of obtaining a f«^.w comforts during the period of my
convalescence.

My health having recovered, I returned to my usurl du-
ties in the barracks ; looking with strong expectancy for
our orders to sail for head quarters in America. These
soon after arrived, for ona detachment to hold itself in

l*»'i(ii

LifB OP WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

A cruel order.

Misery of a soldier's wile.

readiness to sail for Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join the second
battalion of the corps, stationed at that place. Previous to
the execution of this order, we were called upon to witness
some of the most distressing and heart-rending scenes im-*
aginable.

Many of the new recruits were married men, whose mis-
fortunes, occasioned by the prevalence of distress among
the lower class, had induced them to enlist, and whose
faithful companions had voluntarily followed them ; choosing
to endure the denials and poverty incident to military life,
rather than indefinite separation from their beloved hus-
bands. Shortly before the time of sailing, the officers cruel-
ly ordered all tJ women, above a limited and specified
number, to return to their homes.

This cruel command was rigorously enforced. Young,
virtuous, and innocent women were torn from the eager
embraces of devoted husbands, amid sobs and tears. Even
now I hear the shrill scream of the women, as, with the
keenest agony of heart, they took their long, last, affecting
farewell. How wildly +he father gazed, that sad day, on
his blooming but unc3n?cious babes, whom he loved as a
second self ! But he ^ 'as forced to leave them, the victims
of griping poverty. His wife was poor ; her family, too,
was poor, and he left them to certain destitution. Fathers
felt this on that parting day, and the soldier melted into
the marij nay, almost into the soft-hearted woman. The
poor broken-hearted mother was in a worse condition.
She was forced from her husband ; and in losing him, she
lost her all, her only stay in this life.

How deplorably wretched the condition of such a woman !
Ever after, the tliought of joys departed must militate
against her peace. She retains a faint emblem of the lather

«ii

i I!

ii'ii

'!l 111;

1"! -

LlPR OF WlLLlAM B. LIGHTON".

Reason for the misery of the English poor.

in her child, which only serves to remind her that he is
gone forever. This creates a lasting grief,

" — — and ends

In misery hopeless and profound."

At last, she hears that her protector has gone the way of
all the earth, leaving her and her child destitute of all
means of support — of every thing calculated to sweeten the
cup of life. Thus left to cope with the cold world alone,
these little ones become common beggars, and often end
their lives upon the gallows. Such is the fate of many in
England, famed as she is for her benevolence and plenty.
Does the reader ask the cause ? It may be found in the
wrong administration of public affairs by a bloated and
titled aristocracy. These study their own wealth, while
the people are left to grope along the tliornj and painful
path of poverty. This it was that brought the men in our
company to enlist : their separation and the destitution of
their families were mere consequences of their situation
after becoming soldiers. O England, the clouds are gather-
mg blackness around thee ! Thy former lorightness is tar-
nished with many a spot, and niethinks thy fate contains
afllictions, worse than thy martyrdoms. May the Lord de-
fend thy palaces with princes, and thy courts with noble-
men, whose characters shall be unblemished ! — Hoping the
reader will pardon thii- digression, I will proceed to offer a
few more remarks on the subject of the separation of our
soldiers from their wives.

The reader may have asked the question, if there was no
prospect of a reunion for theso separated ones. Evidently
but little, unless they could find the means of procuring a
discharge : except, indeed, the remote one of the return of

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOK.

kt he is

An affecting: incident.

Murch of ihc detaclimcnt to the sea Hide.

way of
e of all
leten the
d alone,
[ten end
many in
I plenty,
id in the
ted and
[h, while
I painful
n in our
tution of
[situation
gather-
is tar-
contains
(Ord de-
noble-
jing the
offer a
of our

was no
^idently
iring a
kurn of

the regiment ; but it is weH known, that a regiment, re-
turning from a foreign station, is seldom composed of the
same men, as when it leaves the shores of home. Death
makes large drafts upon them, and many a brave man
leaves his bones to whiten on a foreign soil.

Some of the soldiers, determined not to be separated, cut
und maimed themselves, so as to be unfit for service. One
instance, in particular, is impressed upon my memory. A
young man, accompanying his wife to Cowes, with the
guard that was charged with sending home the women,
iisked leave to step aside, which was granted. Secreting
himself, for a moment, beneath an arch, he resolutely cut
off his thumb with a razor. Throwing the detached mem-
ber into a field, he rejoined the rest of the company. His
situation was discovered by an officer; he was arrested,
and sc^n after, being tried by a court martial, he was sen-
tenced to be 2i pioneer for life. Thu.=!, after so severe a loss,
he still had to endure the greater pang of separation. What
will that God say to the actors in these scenes, whose
law thunders, "What, therefore, God hath joined together,
let not man put asunder ?" . i^ , .

At last, the day came for our embarkation. We hailed it
with delight, hoping that a change in circumstances would
produce !i alleviation in condition — that better and brighter
days aw^aited us. Early on the morning of our departure,
we took an affectionate farewell of the aosociates we were
to leave behind. Much good feeling was manifested, and
many kind wishes interchanged between us. Each seemed
to hope that the other miglit prosper in the different parta
of the world we were to remove to ; it was truly an inter-
esting moment of our lives.

The beating of drums called us from the last sad ritea

i1«|i!(p» •fii'tm'^'mmf/i.jiijgii'i^wvm'^mwmKvmiiiJi.im jihuhj

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

The embMrkation.

W !

of the affections, to the sterner duties of the march. So,
securing our knapsacks, which were well filled with apparel
Buited to the climate, we hurried to the parade-ground ; af-
ter due inspection, the command to march was given, and
we proceeded towards Cowes, accompanied part way by a
band of martial music, playing its most lively airs. This
was a prrt of the philosophy of military tactics ; knowing
how natural it is for men to feel sad on leaving their coun-
try for rn unknown residence, our officers chose this method
to excite the animal of our nature to high and joyous feel-
ing. But music, though it may soothe the feelings, cannot
cure heart wounds, nor heal the gangrene of a festered spir-
it ; home has too strong a charm to be broken by the roll
of drums.

"While waiting on the shore for the boats to convey us to
the ship, I employed my time in reviewing the diversified
and chequered past — in reflecting on the troubles I had ex-
perienced since I left home. Such were my emotions,
that I would fain have kissed the soil on which I stood ;
and when the boat arrived, I felt reluctant to leave the
riever-forg,:tten shores of old Albion. As 1 stept heavily
into the boat, I offered a silent prayer for the blessing of
Heaven upon myself and friends.

After arriving on board, we were all sent below and hatch-
ed down, to prevent escape or confusion. The next day,
having a fair wind, we weighed anchor and set sail, May
22d, 1821, and soon left far behind us the beauteous and
lovely scenes which every where abound in that rock-bound
isle. Soon it assumed the appearance of a shapeless mass
of matter, intereslino; onlv from the consideration that it
was our native land.

ti. So,
[ipparel
id; af-
en, and
<y by a
This
nowing
r coun-
method
us feel-
cannot
ed spir-
he roll

jy us to
ersified
lad ex-
aotions,

stood;
ve the

leavily
sing of

hatch-
xt day,
, May
ug and
bound
s mass
hat it

X-

I )l

i|
It

•I

kJ^-

IIFE OF WILIIAM B. LIGHTOK.

«7

An ndieu to home.

'i he s.iiu.er's Hdieu,

O England my home, thy scenes I love well •
Home, where contentment and happiness dwell •'
Home where my infantile weakness was nursed!
The place where my paren.s saluted me first.
Though thy hills may be hid beyond .h. ...eat deen
And the A.lnntic billows between us do ^v";''
Thou rt the home of my fathers, the place of my birth.
And more precious to me than the wealth of the earth

Home .here's a magical spell in thy name ;
Wherever I wander, thy scenes I retain •
O. ne'er may the bliss that twines round 'thee depart •
Thou home of my fathers, thou joy of my heart • '
Farewe to the shores of my dear native home. "
^rewell.for I leave-perhaps ne'er to return.
Dear parents, adieu ! ye friends I love well
I Bighingly bid you a painful farewell !

1|t

■;■«

; <

tCHAPTER IV.

" Where are sweet eyes of love
Watching for me ?
Where, o'er the cabin roof,

Waves the green tree ?
Where speaks the vesper chime
Still of a holy time ?
Far o'er the sea."

Hemans.

The wind continued in our favor ; and, spreading every
Bail to catch the favoring breeze, we made rapid progress.
This lighted up every countenance, filled every heart with
gladness, and tended to gradually dissipate the melancholy
which separation from our country had so generally occa-
sioned. The buoyancy of our spirits returned, and we
were sportive as the young dolphins that played in the
curling wave ; bright day-dreams of a prosperous voyage,
and pleasant results in the New World, filled our thoughtti,
and excited our highly-wrought imaginations.

But man is inconsiderate : in the hour of prosperity, he
forgets that dangers leap into the footprints of safety ; that
his circumstances are changeable as the fickle wind ; and
that there is a superior Being who rules the storm, makes the
calm, and regulates the minutiaj of human life. To teach
this truth, God often sees it to be necessary to reverse his
prospects, to tumble his fairy hopes into the dust, and to
teach him by severe lessons the instability of every thing
beside Himself. Thus it was with us. Joyous in" the pros-
perous breeze, we thought of little else. Our hearts went
not to God ; we thought of no coming storm.

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOV.

Tho storm.

Ijand discovered.

Short allowance.

X8.

ig every
progress,
lart with
ilancholy
illy occa-
I and we
d in the
voyage,
thoughts,

3rity, he
kty; that
Jnd; and
lakes the
["o teach
irerse liis
■, and to
[ry thing
^he pros-
rts went

But the storm came, and a fearful one it was. For a
week, the obedient breeze had met our warmest wishes ; but
now it became adverse and furious. The waves, which had
hitherto playfully smacked our vessel's side, foamed witli
mighty rage, and threatened our destruction; they broke
fearfully over the deck, washing ua from side to side ; s^
dreadful was their violence, that we expected every mo-
ment would bury us deep in some ocean cave. Feeling
terrified at these magnificent displays of omnipotence and
power, I sought relief in solemn prayer to Him who calms
the '' raging seas."

During the prevalence of the gale, I remained on deck as
much as possible, to watch the progress of the storm, or to
read the feelings of the crew by their physiognomy. After
two weeks it subsided ; and soon afler we met and spoke
several ships, which, as every one who has traversed the
ocean knows, is a very enlivening event to voyagers. At
length, after many storms and dangei*y, we heard the wel-
come cry of " Land Lo ! " from the man at the mast-head,
which, upon examination, was found to be the American
coast. The wind was now fair, and both troops and crew
were impatient to enter the noble St. Lawrence, when un-
fortunately the ship ran aground. Much confusion of
course followed. Our water was thrown overboard ; two
anchors were sunk, and after much faithful effort at t\\r
winches, the vessel again floated, to our great satisfaction.
Hut meeting with adverse winds again, we were kept beat-
ing up and down the mouth of the gulf for several days,
and very nearly suffered the worst of deaths, viz., death hy
thirst. Our water was very nearly exhausted, and we were
confined to half a pint a day per man ; and that wa.i so

filthy and loathsome, that with all our thirst we could scarcely

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOK.

A narrow escnpn.

A surprise.

P' ,1

V'UM I

drink it. The excesisive heat of the \veathei- served to
heighten our distress and to reduce us to tlie last extremity
of misery. My suffering was so great, that I made' a vain
attempt to quench the violence of my thirst by tlni use of
sea-water, which oidy increased my miseries. Once I
broke through the restrictions of the ship, and secretly stole
down to the water-cask and obtained a draught of water,
which, though rei'reshing to me at that time, would be re-
fused with disgust on shore.

We were now enveloped in a thick, damp, fog, so dense
that we could not discover an object a rod beyond the ship's
bows. In this situation we sailed several days, until one
morning, between the hours of twelve and four, the captain
was aroused by a tremendous grating, as if the ship had
run upon a rock. He rushed upon deck in his night clothes,
and with a voice ihat thrilled the stoutest heart, shouted,
" About ship or we are lost !" This command was sudden
and unexpected. The crew seemed stultified, and no one
moved. After a moment's pause, in a voice more terrible
than before, the shout of the captain, " About ship, or w^e
are lost !" aroused them to a sense of their danger and duty.
Every man flew to his station, and in a few moments the
danger was escaped. It was then ditcovered that the delay
of a few minutes would have run our bark upon a danger-
ous ledge of rocks, where we must have hecome a perfect
wreck. Providence, kind, indulgent Providence, alone
effected our deliverance ; for, had not the captain awaked
precisely at the moment he did, all must have perished !
Narrowly e8cai>ing a similar danger, soon after, we cast an-
chor, to wait for the dawn of day.

During all this danger and alarm, two of the watches,
amounting to more than a hundred men, were fast locked

LIPR OP WILLIAM B. LIQHTON.

River St. L:iwrrnce.

Anecdote.

[tches,
)cked

t]j

ignora

lauger

in the embraces of sleep,
of safety. When, therefore, the anchor was dropped, draw-
ing after it the huge chain cable, with a noise like the crash
of falling timbers, these were aroused in great fright and
alarm. Snp])osing that they M-ere all going to the bottom,
they rushed upon deck in utter confusion, and almost in a
state of nudity, screaming and crying aloud for mercy. The
scene was at once ludicous and painful ; it was some time
before their fea-rs wert^ allayed, and they prevailed upon to
retire to their berths below.

At dny-light, the fog and darkness disappeared, and we
found ourselves riding gaily at anchor in the majestic St. Law-
rence. We soon weighed anchor, and, with wide-spread sails,
r-^ught the favorin;^ gale, and rapidly ascended this noble
stream ; from which in a few hours, refreshing draughts of
water were obtained to quencli our burning thirst. A pilot
now came on board, and our spirits were highly excited
with the prospect of being speedily on shore. The wind,
however, soon depressed our rising hopes, for by a sudden
change it became adverse, and we could only sail at the
changes of the tide ; to add to our discomfort the cap-
tain compelled the troops to remain below with closed
hatches a great part of the time. This unkind step pre-
vented us from enjoying the beautiful scenery of this queen
of streams.

Several instances of high-handed tyranny occurred du-
ring the time we were on board, one of whicii I will men-
tion. One day, after washing my ( lothe^ I hung them in
the rigging to dry ; at night, they were stolen. Finding
them gone, I made proper inquiry, and found them in the
possession of the thief, one of my comrades. I reported
him to the proper cfP "t, and requested hira to obtain the

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOnXON.

Quebec.

The iMndlnff at Montrenl.

re^oration of my property. But the tyrant hanghtily bade
ine begone, threatening if he heard another word from me,
to put me into confinement. Thus, unjustly, I was com-
p(;Iled to be silent under the endurance of a grievous wrong.
"Well has it been remarked by a certain author, that " when
sulyects are ill-treated by subaltern officers, and make re-
monstrance to the prince because of the too great authority
of his ministers of state, their lot is like that of a man, who,
half dead with thirst, approaches a rirer to drink, but, per-
(M'iving a crocodile, is obliged to perish for lack of water, or
submit to be devoured."

We soon arrived in front of the impregnable city of Que-
bec, after a tedious voyage of seven weeks ; its buildings
and fortifications rose full upon our visions, and filled every
heart with animation, and ever}i eye with the 'flashings of
delight. Hope had its part in producing this warm excite-
ment ; for it whispered of better days to come. The salute
of the battery upon our arrival was taken by us as the wel-
I'DTue of the Canadas to their future defenders ; and the
plentiful supply of provisions sent us from the shore, as an
i-^rnest of their intended kindness and humanity towards us.
Bat these were fancy's dreams in a young soldier's breast,
divlined to be dispelled by the hard hand of reality, and sober

c\[)crience.

The day after our arrival, another ship, containing two
hundred troops, cast anchor beside us, having made her
voyage in four weeks. The next day we were all put on
board a steamboat, and safely conveyed to Montreal, which
we reached in good health and spirits. The officers of the
regiment boarded us the moment we touched the whai-f.
With much urbanity of manner, they congratulated us up-
on our safe arrival, paraded us on board the boat, and then

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

A motioy roKlniunt.

Brttiih ofticeri«.

her
Kit oil
^hicli
^f the
rhai*f«
|s up-
then

marched us to the barracks ; where we were joyfully hailrrl
jind kindly received by the old noldiers of the regiment,
who cheerfully divided their provisions among us to meet
our immediate wants. We were all detained in the yard
of the barracks, until divided and allotted to the several
companies. While this was going on, two English offiirers,
evidently attracted by }ny extreme youth, kindly questioned
me as to my parents, history, &c., in a manner which gjiv*-
me great satisfaction. It afforded me jileasure to find j my-
self afterwards drafted for their company.

For a few days we were treated with considerable lenity.
Being allowed many hours of spare time, we visited the
ancient and curious buildings of the city ; but these, to my
taste, looked poorly compared with what I had seen in thr
father-land. The appearance and character of the regi-
ment were also matters of surprise to my mind ; it was
made up of an odd mixture, a curious medley of the repre-
sentatives of almost every nation on earth. There were
the grave Englishman, the hardy Scotchman, the thoughtless
Irishman, the gay 1 renchman, the sober German, the cun-
ning Portuguese, the treacherous Spaniard, the musical
Italian, and the boorish Dutchman — an assemblage that
made any thing but a pleasing impression upon my mind.
Many of them were fierce as the Indian, but most retained
the characteristics of the nation to which they belonged.
Some few bore the marks of distinguislied zeal and piety ;
while others were totally devoid of every religious feeling
but superstition, and of every principle but what led to
vice ; and many seemed as stupid to all ideas of human
duty as the brute of the field.

Withal, I felt surprised that British soldiers should imi-
tate the semi-barbarian by wearing the hair on the u})pe'

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

The spell of departed days.

lip, which was their practice at that time, though discon-
tinued shortly after. Our otficers were mostly men of kind
and pliant dispositions; they were made up of English,
[rish, Scotch, and Germans. Our commanding officer,
Colonel Fitzgerald, was an Irishman by birth, a gentleman
by education and property, and possessed a disposition that
rnadc him beloved by every soldier under his command.
His lady was a w^oman equally beloved and admired, pos-
sessing a rare disposition of kindness and benevolence.
Her influence was great, and her manners pleiasing. From
her sympathy and efforts in behalf of poor, delinquent sol-
diers, she Lid obtained the honorable and distinguishing
appellation of " the prisoner's advocate" among the troops.
Though these trifling privileges, the urbanity of our
oflicers, and the novelty of every thing around me,
served to keep my mind engaged, and to prevent settled
despondency, yet there were moments when my spirit clung
with painful tenacity to the things of other days — to de-
parted hours — to a lost home and sacrificed friendships.
Then my somI would pour out its complaints in solitude
and giv€ itself up to all the luxury of grief. O, there is a
chaJCPi iu departed days, which enchains and makes us cap-
tiye to their spells. The poet has so beautifully expressed
the feeling of the lone heart in view of the past, that I can-
not refrain from laying before the reader, as expressive of
my state of feeling at this period of my changeful experi-
ance, the following extract : —

" Days of my childhood, hail !

Whose gentle spirits, wandering here
Down in the visionary vale,

Before mine eyes appear
Benignly penaive, beautifully pale.

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

An extract.

0, days forever fled, forever dear,

Days of my childhood, hail

cap-
jssed

can-
Ive of
Iperi-

" The loud Atlantic Ocean,

On England's rugged breast
Rocks with harmonious motion

His weary waves to rest,
And, gleaming round her emerald isles,
In all the pomp of sunset smiles.

On that romantic shore
My parents hailed their first-born boy ;

A mother's pangs my mother bore ;

My father felt a father's joy."

« * . « * «

" 1 ight without darkness, without sorrow joy,

On earth are all unknown to man ;
' here while I roved a heedless boy,

There, while through paths of peac»* I ran,
My feet were vexed with puny snares.
My bosom stung with insect ciAes ;

But Oh ! what light and litilt things
Are childhood's woes ! they break no rest ;

Like dew-drops on the sky-lark'a winga,
While slumbering in his grassy nest,

Gone in u moment, when he springs
To meet the morn with open breast."
* * » « *

" To soon my mind's awakening powers

Made the light slumbers flee ;
Then vanished with the golden hours

The morning dreams of infancy ;

Sweet were those slumbers, dear those dreams to me ;
And yet to mournful memory, lingering here.
Sweet are those slumbers, and those dreams are dear ;

For hither, from my native clime,
The hand that leads Orion forth.
And wheels Arcturus round the north,

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOK.

An extract.

Brought me in life's exulting prime.
Blest be that hand ! whelhv'ir it shed
Mercies or judgments on my head,
Extend the sceptre or exalt the rod,
Bleet be that hand — it is the l;and of God.

CHAPTER V.

"~~^|

" The boy was sprung to manhood ; in the wildH
Of fiery climes he made himself a liome,

_— . on the sea

And on the shore he was a wanderrr."

BvRoisr.

After being allowed a sufficient time to recover from tlie
effects of our long and tedious voyage, we commenced the
duties of our military life in Canada, by being placed under
the care of an experienced sergeant, to be more fully fitted,
by continued drillings, for the several parts of a soldier's
occupation. As the old soldiers were worn down by toil,
this work was prosecuted with much vigor, and we were
kept in the field from early morning to dusky eve. Of course,
we had no time for recreation, for we were glad to retire
to bed as soon as we were freed from the commands of our
instructing officer. This was the beginning of our trials —
the first monition of experience, dissipating some of our airy
visions of ease and rest in America.

The insect tribe soon showed themselves to be among our
most formidable foes, by depriving us almost entirely of
sleep during the night. That tnan-hving genus, the inde-
structible bed-bug, had quartered most innumerably in our
barracks, and every night they attacked us in whole battal-
ions. AVe formed various schemes for their destruction, but
still they flourished and increased. Some of my comrades
retreated, and slept in the barrack-yard, until the night air
threatened to be more ruinous than the insect marauders of
our room. I conceived a curious expedient : placing my

I!!

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

New enemies.

Colonel Andrews.

ill

bed on the floor, I made a trench around it, and filled it up
with water. This I supposed would free me from their in-
vasions ; but my opponents were not to be avoided thus ; for
they soon came dropping down from the ceiling, like rain
drops from the sky. Finding we had no other alternative,
we at last gave ourselves up to be devoured at their plea-
Bure. We submitted like soldiers who cannot conquer.

Many of our number being the devotees of vice in its
various forms, we were frequently called to witness their
punishment ; which, according to military law, was done with
the whip, or cat, as it is technically called. On these melan-
choly occasions, our humane colonel would turn away his
head and weep, and he generally remitted the greater por-
tion of their punishment. Had it not been for the direction
of the military law, he would have dispensed with that kind
of punishment entirely in his regiment. Happy would it
have been for us, had his successors, and his fellow-officers,
possessed a kindred kindness ! Unfortunately for us, and
for our peace, we were shortly after deprived of his servi-
ces ; he being appointed to another and a higher station by
his government.

He was succeeded by Colonel Andrews, a Scotchman,
who was the very reverse of his worthy predecessor. Upon
assuming the command, he seemed determined to ruin the
peace and destroy the happiness of the whole regiment, by
his harsh and tyrannical measures. He began by ordering
all the troops, old and young, to the field for exercise — a
measure highly offensive to the veteran soldiers, who, lor
many years, had been exempted from this, to them, unneces-
sary toil. They grumbled and complained without any re-
lief, — still they were drilled daily, to their no small chagri-i.
Punishment for trivial offences was also made cruelly sev re

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Military piinishinent.

The rtiigginR.

Ihman,
I Upon
|in the
It, by
lering
se — a

leces-
ly re-

}V re

the

new colonel. As a necessary consequence, mai
the men deserted. Some of ihe deserters were soon tjj.ken ;
court-martials were called, and the fearful sentence of sei^en
hundred lashes pronounced upon them, and but too faithfully
executed.

These spectacles, as already hinted, were barbarously se-
vere.

The poor, condemned soldiers,

Sad culprits, doomed to cruel torture,

Would sit impatient and inly ruminate

Upon the morning's danger. Their gestures wild,

Pale cheeks, fixed eyes, and trembling hearts,

So changed them, that to our gaze they seemed

Of their former selves but horrid ghosts.

The unhappy wretch, found guilty of the crime of deser-
tion from this military tyranny, and condemned to this cruel
infliction, was confined under a watchful guard, until the
morning specified by his merciless judges for his punish-
ment. The mean while the triangle is erected. This is an
instrument composed of three poles placed triangularly, and
fastened at the top with an iron bolt ; it is spread wide
enough to fasten the legs and hands of the victim to two of
them ; a board secured across for the breast to lean uno> ,
completes this instrument of barbarity. On the day of the
punishment, the troops in the garrison are marched into the
the yard, and formed into a lai'ge hollow square. Next
comes the trembling criminal, guarded by a file of soldiers
and an officer. U{)on reaching the triangle they halt, while
the adjutant reads the decision and sentence of the court-
martial. Then the commanding officer gives the dread com-
mand, amid breathless silence, of, "Proceed to punishment !"

LItE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOJik

Mode of flof^ging.

The cat of nine tails.

The poor deserter is stripped nuked to the waist, and his
hands and ankles bound firmly to two arms of the triangle ;
thus stretched, and in a posture somewhat leaning forwards?
he awaits the application of the whip. The musicians, with
the drum or bugle-major, take their stand behind him in
single file. There, too, stands the surgeon of the regiment,
whose duty it is to watch the symptoms of the sufferer, and
to stop the execution when, in his judgment, he is able to
endure no more. The bugle-major then orders the musician
who stands first in the rank to occupy the post of duty ; this
lie does by laying aside his coat, and by proceeding within
one pace of the prisoner. Then, raisii ig his body with a
strong, muscular effort, he applies the " cat of nine tails ''
with all his strength, and with a peculiar whirl brings it to
his right again, ready for a second blow. lie continues
striking about once in four seconds, until he has given twenty-
five lashes, when, at 'he ordor of the major, who counts the
blows, he desists, and his place is supplied by a fresh hand.
If any of the executioners do not strike with their utmost
force, they themselves are whippetl by the major, who is
provided with a whip or cane for this purpose.

The " cat of nine tails " is composed of nine separate
cords, twisted very hard, and having three knots on each
cord at regular distances from tlie end ; sometimes the ends
are bound with wire, to increase the pain. The whip in
usually about eighteen inches in lengLli, and the stock fifteen,
making thirty-three inches in the entii'e length ; and in the
hands of a skilful practitioner it is a most severe weapon or
instrument of torture.

The effect of this infliction is a})palling in the extreme-
The first blow forces a deep groan from the hapless cul()rit ;
the first twenty-five bring blood ; at the close of the Hrst

l'.->.

X
s

-J

-r\.

:s'

•

»;

^s^

-v

-1

•5'

vmiuii ^11 HI

m iMii 11 i|t

nFE OF WILLIA5I B. LIC.t ' ON.

The culprit after iiunlshnicnt.

■<

•^1

.l4

■i \

•N

huiulrcd the back is literally torn to pieces, and the warm
blood runs in copious streams to the ground ! Sometimes
the sufferer in the most suppliant tones ])egs for mercy ; now
his unutterable groans rend the air, and anon he howls tor
very agony ; then he exclaims, like a second Cain, " My
punishment is gi'cater thai\ 1 tan bear."

Our colonel — hard-hearted man ! — used to stand unmoved
at these scenes, or, biting his lips, (one of his peculiarities,)
walk up and down with a}»|>aronlly no feeling or concern.
On the contrary, the troop8 were usujilly affecfed to an as-
tonishing degree. Some of them I have seen faint, and fall
lifeless to the earth, while nearly all turned their heads in
sorrow.

After the execution, a wet cloth is thrown upon the
mangled and blood-stained back of the poor man, and he is
conveyed to the hospital, to recover or die, v/hich latter is
sometimes the result ; indeed, many have been known to die
at the whipping-i)ost ! and others have had their bodies so
torn, that their intestines have appeared from their wounds !
O horrid brutality ! Where finds it a parallel but among
savages and inquisitors ! Alas, for my country ! that such
cruelty should blot the annals of her fair fame ! May it
speedily cease from among her children. That the reader
may not think I have overdrawn the dark lines of this dark
picture, I take the liberty to insert Dr. Adam Clarke's note
on the 25th chapter of Deuteronomy, and the 3d verse.
" Forty stripes ye may give Idm^ and not exceed." He
says,

" According to God's institution, a criminal may receive

forty stripes ; not one more ! But is the institution fix)m

above, or not, that for any offence sentences a man to receive

thra hundred, yea, a thousand stripes ? What horrible

LIFE OF WILLIAM U. LIC.IITON.

Dr. Clarke's note.

Socrcry of (loiritinc

brutality is thi.« ! .and what a reproach to luiiiiaii nature, and
the nation in wliich such .sliocking barbarities are cxcrci.sed
and tolerated ! Most of the inhabitants of Great Britain
have heard of Lord Macartney's embassy to the emperor of
China ; and they liave heard also of its complete failure ;
but they have not heard of the cause. It api)ears to have
been partly occasioned by the following circumstance.

"A soldier had been convicted of some petty traffic with
one of the natives, and he wa5 sentenced by a court-martial
to receive sixty lashes ! Hear my author : ' The soldiers
were drawn up in form in the outer court of the palace where
lie resided ; and the poor culprit, being fastened to one of
the pillars of the great portico, received his punishment
■without mitigation. The abhorrence excited in the breasts
of the Chinese at this cruel conduct, as it appeared to them,
was demonstrably proved by their words an 1 looks. They
expressed their astonishment that a people professing the
mildest, the most benevolent religion on earth, as they wish-
ed to have it believed, could be guilty of such flagrant inat-
tention to its merciful dictates. One of the principal man-
darins, who knew a little English, expressed the general
sentiment, " Englishmen toe much cruel, too much bad.''* ' "

It should have been remarked, that these punishments
were always inflicted within the walls of the barracks ; every
avenue to the public streets being closed and guarded, to
prevent the entrance of the people, and keep from them the
knowledge of these insufferable cruelties. No w^onder that
they were kept thus partially secret ; for even a fiend might
blush to have it known that he had treated a fellow-fiend so
cruelly. TV ickedness delights in darkness, and its perpetra-
tors should remember that hell is dark, and there they will
have to practice at last.

LIFK OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

Hani trcutmont.

Knapsnck dxill.

> »

Our oppressor continued his severity. Ilartl drill and
liarsh trcjitment for minor oflfcnecs thinned our ranks every
week. To pi-cvent this he confined us all to the barracks ;
upon whieli many of the men swore they would desert at
the first moment of their liberation from this confinement ;
and, accordingly, in a short time after, we lost a hundred
men by desertion ! This wrought the cxasjicrated colonel
to the highest pitch of insane anger ; he hardly knew how
to vent his wrath. One day he gathered us into close rank
after parade, and addressed us in a most vituperative and
insulting strain, calling rs rogues and traitors, and threat-
ening us with the utmost severity if we dared to disobey
his orders.

On one occasion I fell under his displeasure. We were
on parade, the colonel commanding by means of the bugle.
lie gave the words, " Disperse and fire !" in a moment wi'
were scattered, when the bugle again sounded — " Assemble
and form ranks in double quick." Happening to be some-
what in the rear, the adjutant perceived and struck me
with his swoixl, and took down my name. I attempted to
explain, by telling him that, in a skirmish, a soldier had
trodden off the heel of my shoe, and so hindered me from
running ; but he answered me Avith an oath, j)ushed me in-
to the ranks, and told me that I should be punished. The
next day I was ordered, with a number of others, to ^^hiap-
sac/c ^nV/;" which consisted in marching and countermarch-
ing for hours upon the parade-ground, with our loaded knap-
sacks uix)n our backs. The officer in charge of t]uf hiap-
sack parti/ was exceedingly vexatious and harassing in his
orders ; having utterly exhausted our patience, we refused
to obey him. When he gave the word " right," or " left
turn," we marched in different directions. At last he brought

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TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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Sdences

Corporalion

23 WIST MAIN STRfiT

WEkSTER.N.Y. 14SM

(716) •72-4503

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IMNi

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Efforts fo prevent desertion.

The stern culprit.

US to subjection by threatening to " put us under guard ;"
Avhen considering tliat the " wisest part of valor is discre-
tion," ve quietly submitted the rest of the day ; thus of
two evils choosing the least, seeing we were compelled to
choose one.

To Slop these increasing desertions, every precaution
was used. We were compelled to answer the roll-call at
least four times a day ; and if at these times any were mis-
sing, i)reparations were immediately made for their detec-
tion and recovery. This made it next to impossible to
escape with any reasonable prospect of getting beyond pur-
suit before our absence should be discovered, unless pos-
sessed of some means of rapid travelling. Still, such
Avere our hardships, that numbers, goaded to the attempt by
repeated insults and cruelties, dared to risk the danger.
Some of them fortunately escaped, but others were over-
taken. Among the latter was a young Englishman, named
Arnold, who was tried and sentenced to receive seven
hundred lashes. AVhen they lashed him to tlio triangle, he
placed a leaden ball between his teeth, and declared he
would not ask the remission of his punishment. He kept
his word. He uttered neither word, groan, nor prayer dur-
ing the tremendous infliction. He put on his clothes with-
out assistance, and even taunted the colonel by thanking him
for his breakfast. He then walked out of the square, re-
gai'dless of the word of command, and the bratal officer
ordered him back, and made him march out in proper order.
The gi-ound, where he was punished, was thickly sprink-
led with blood, and the whip was bathed in gore, so much
BO, that it dropped from the end of the '' cat" Insuffera-
ble brutality !

Jn the ensuing spring, the unfortunate Arnold made an-

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

The deserters recovered.

EJscape of a prisoner.

kept

duF-

^ith-

him

re-
icer
eder.
ink-
luch
fera-

an-

other futile attempt to desert, in company with a comrade,
whose name was Dackenhousen, a young German, the pride
of our regiment. They failed, through the treachery of a
dastardly farmer. They had taken refuge in his barn
when he accidentally discovered them. He promised to keep
their hiding-place a secret, until they should escape ; in-
stead of which, he gave immediate information to the offi-
cers. A guard was sent for their apprehension, and the un-
fortunates were brought back to the barracks. The wretch,
who informed against them, received thirty dollars for his
unmanly act. It is hoped that they proved to be thirty
thorns in his heart.

Arnold was kept closely confined, chained to a heavy ball,
while his case was laid before His Majesty's government
in England. He was sentenced to transportation for life I
Dackenhousen was put in confinement, to await his trial
for desei tion. Fearful c^ the fate that awaited him, he*
one night, when the guard was asleep, passed the first senti-
nel at the guard-room door; rushed across the barrack-
yard, passed another sentinel at the gate, and escaped.

Thus he passed two armed soldiers and opened two gates
without detection — an act of no ordinary daring. The
young soldier on guard at the guard-room door said, that
though fully aware of the fact, he was deprived of all power
to speak or act. The next morning a number of detach-
ments were sent in pursuit with loaded rifles, and orders to
take him " dead or alive /" After several days' search, they
returned without their prey. He escaped to the United
States ; from whence he wrote back to his comrades, invi-
ting them all to follow him ; and I verily believe, that, had
it not been for fear of detection, the whole regiment would
have accepted the invitation.
8*

ifT"

ill

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

Mental afflictions.

Morul state.

For my own part, I was heartily sick of so toilsome «
life, but the cruel punishments I had witnessed, and which
to mc appeared worse thar death, deterred me from at-
tempting desertion. To be resigned to my condition was to
mc equally impoissiblc, especially as I had Icanied tliat my
regiment, for some cause or other, was a condemned corps*
This of course rendered its return to England hicrhly im-
probable, so that my hopes of seeing my i>arents, as avcU as
the deep disgrace of belonging to a transported regiment,
lieightened my uneasiness and increased my disaffection :
and should the regiment return, I should still be the subject
of the evils of a soldier's life.

To increase my misery, I received no communications
from my dear parents^ though I had frequently written to
them. I supposed thai, indignant at my disobedience, :liey
had determined to leave me to plod my way through life
impitied and alone. These united causes created a mighty
tumult of emotion in my mind, which well nigh hurried me
into that depthless vortex of human ruin, dissipation, which
the wily tempter of mankind suggested would afford relief,
or at least a mitigation of my sorrows. But, blessed ])e
the God of my salvation, T was saved from this fatal step — -
my mind was mysteriously directed to the great Author of
all good, for succor and strength, Often in the darkness 'Of
night, I have poured out my griefs to God, and made known
my complaints to the only efficient friend of the helpless chil-
dren of men. Still I was little better than a heathen ;
knowing little else of religion but the form. Blessed be
God for his restraining grace, that kept me in these hours
of ignorance and danger.

To divert my mind as much as possible, I devoted my
little leisure to the acquirement of knowledge, attending a

lOurs

ing a

LIFE OF AVILLIAM B* LIGIITON.

A friend.

His advice.

school part of the time, and studying drawing and music
the remainder. My comrade, Henry Apple, a German oi'
middle age and good attainments assisted me materially in
these pursuitti. His regard for me was strong and sincere ;
lie gave me the advice of a parent, and delighted to speak
of me as his son. To him I related the history of my pa-
rentage and travels. He strongly advised mc to desert, al-
leging that I could expect nothing but misery while I re-
mained in the army. We . should have deserted together,
had it not been that the time for which he enlisted was
nearly expired.

Notwithstanding his advice, I continued to endure my
troubles. I formed a p!::vn to obtain my discharge by saving
"iny wages. This required twenty pounds sterling. My
])ay amounted to but one shilling and one penny per diem,
out of which I had to purchase several articles of food and
clothing. To further my design, I gave up my allowance
of grog, and received its equivalent in money. But with
economy, I could not succeed in saving more than six shil-
lings per month ; at which rate, it would have taken six
years to accomplish my object. I soon found, however that
I must debar myself of the means of acquiring knowledge,
or, sparing a pittance for this, I must toil at least twehe
years before I could be free. This, with other difficulties
which stood in my way, caused me to lay aside my plan as
impractiblc.

My next effort was directed towards obtaining admission
into the band of musicians ; and with this view, I diligently
persevered in my musical studies ; hoping thereby to at-
tract the attention of the officers, and gain my object. Just
as I began to make considerable progress, I was sent for
by Captain Pierce, to act as his servant — a situation which

lii

III

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

Becomes an officer's servant.

Culinary misfortunes.

at first seemed to promise me some amelioration of condi-
tion. But I soon found that it was but another form of a
oldier's life, full of bitterness and discomfort. My tasks
were arduous and difficult, and my rest continually broken
by sitting up until a late hour for my master, who seldom
returned from his revels until midnight ; or else he had
company at home, where, regai-dless of the claims of mo-
rality and religion, they would carouse and gamble, noisy
as bedlamites, until a late hour.

The captain possessed a taste for show, that led him to
spare neither pains nor expense for the attainment of any
object of desire ; he required the nicest attention to his
wishes, which I endeavored to meet with the utmost promp-
titude and carefulness, except that I made but an indiffer-
ent cook ; this frequently brought me into trouble, as I had
to prepare his breakfast every morning, and occasionally a
supper for his guests. One day he gave me a beefs tongue
to prepare in a particular manner for his breakfast the fol-
'•^wing morning. With great care, the tongue was prepared
and placed in the oven, where, through my forgetfulness, it
remained all night, and a large fire Imving been kept under
it, it was actually baked to a cinder. Afraid to vex him
by not placing it on the table, I cut off the burnt parts until
it was so reduced in size and altered in shape, that I felt
ashamed to put it before him. But there was no alterna-
tive ; so, placing it on the table, I retired to watch the mo-
tions of its astonished consumer ; he eyed it with wonder
and surprise, and seemed unable to divine its nature ; so
calling me in, he drew from me a confused account of my
harsh cooking ; seeing my confusion and sorrow, he passed
over my offence with a slight reprimand.

On another occasion, having to make ready a sumptuous

lit'

him

until

felt

rna-

mo-

ider

i so

ssed

.lOUS

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

Debasing influence of tyranny.

repast for the entertainment of a large party, my helpmate
and I had spread the table with its various luxuries. Among
other things, were two richly dressed fowls. Happening to
leave the room a moment, we were surprised on our return,
to find one of them in the possession of a huge cat, which
had dragged it from the table to the floor, and was hastily
tearing it to pieces. Here was an embarrassment : should
we throw it away, we should incur censure or i)unishment,
and probably both ; so we cleaned it in the best iwssible
manner, and placed it on the table, trembling during the
whole supper-time for fear. Happily for us, the fowls were
not touched, and so we escaped.

These simile facts are not related for any importance
they possess in themselves, but merely to acquaint the rea-
der, in some measure, with tlie painful state of mind which
is produced by being under despotic authority, like that
possessed by the officers in the British army, and as was
exercised by my master ; it originates in a degrading, slavish
fear — a fear which, while it produces the misery of its sub-
ject, directly demonstrates the depravity of mankind ; for,
were men upright and pure, this unhappy state of mind
would neither be caused by tyranny, nor felt by the crushed ;
inasmucli as the tyrant and the oppressed would alike be
unknown. How destructive is such a fear to the dignity
and peace of human nature ! It cramps its energies, para-
lyzes its powers, and mildews its principles of peace and
liberty.

Circumstances like these kept my mind in a state of con-
tinual excitement and slavish fear : and although I labored
with the utmost diligence to obey the commands of my
master, their rigidity was not relaxed, nor his aristocratic
haughtiness diminished. Besides this, he allowed me no con^-

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHT'^

Determines to desert.

pensation for my services, above my pay and rations as a
soldier. These I received from the barracks ; so that my
duties, though different in form, were as irksome in degree
as before. Seeing, therefore, but little probability of obtain-
ing any mitigation of my condition, and no prospect of be-
ing freed from my military servitude but by death, I at last
resolved to escape, and risk the consequences of desertion,
for the probability of liberty and comfort in civil society.

There was at that season of the year, the month of Feb-
ruary, a vast amount of travel to the United States. This
fact filled me with the hope of being able to obtain the
means of escape from some one of the numerous travellers
engaged in commercial pursuits. But upon reflection it
appeared the safest mode to trust no one with my fate ; as
like my comrades before mentioned, I might be betrayed.

About this time my comrade, Henry Apple, received his
discharge, and lefl, with a light heart, the scenes of his sor-
row and his toil. His departure raised my determination to
its highest pitch, and I commenced preparations for my im-
mediate escape. My plans, however, were of the most un-
justifiable kind. I intended to take a complete private dress
from my master's wardrobe, and make off upon a horse be-
longing to Lieutenant Colonel Rumple, who lived under the
same roof with my master ; and to supply myself with
funds, I resolved to purloin a small sum from one of the
officers. Such was my wicked resolve, though my conscience
seriously contested the matter with my understanding*
I silenced it, however, by pleading the example of two of
my fellow-soldiers, who a short time previous had deserted ;
the one in a full uniform of his master's, the other in his
servant's dress. Thus accoutred, they made off in a linrse
and sleigh, and passing for a military officer and his servant,

LIFE OF WILMAM B. LIGHTON.

Unjustitlnlilc intentions.

Prepares to desert.

kling-

they escaped. This, however, wiis a poor defence for dis-
honesty. There was a sad want of adherence to principle
in all this, and no excuse is cTercd to defend it; it was un-
(lualifiedly, wholly, totally wrong. At the time, however, it
seemed to me that I was justified in taking any thing from
men wh.o took every comfort awny from me ; and as to the
horse, I firmly resolved to leave it, when I reached the
United States, in some place of safety, and then inform the
Colonel, by letter, where he might find him. But stern
morality and true religion know of no such excuses. Ricjht
is Right, and ought not to be violated for any consideration
whatever — no, not even to save life. Death is preferable
to crime ; and he who dies for virtue and duty gains honor
from the great Author of his existence, which transcends,
to an infinite degree, the trifling, temporary advantages that
sometimes flow from crime.

The day arrived in which my project was to be executed.
If I succeeded, a happy deliverance from my numerous
troubles awaited me ; if I failed, a deeper misery was my
certain* destiny. Early in the evening, the Captain aijd
Colonel Rumple went, in company, to participate in the
pleasures of a splendid ball. Having impatiently waited to
hear the tattoo sounded, which called every soldier to the
barracks, I prepared to make my exit. At this crisis I was
unexpectedly interupted by the entrance of Colonel R.'s
servant, who, from my confusion and occupation at the mo-
ment, evidently suspected my design. He tried to coax me
into the servants' room, where, with the assistance of his
companion, he probably designed to secure me. At least I
thought so, as I knew he could perceive my design ; so I
made him an evasive reply, and he left the room. Watch-
ing him as he retired, it was pretty evident to me that he

'»>i|.Mi^i«|llilWPJ

LIJ^E OF AVILLIAM H. LlOIItON.

The HiispiciouH xcrviint. lieHortH. A new enemy. A liltter night.

was about to make his way to the guard, to report me as a
deserter; knowing that he had evidence in my pr-^paration
sufficient to convict me, there was no ahcrnative left but to
attempt my escape, or stay and receive a deserter's i)unish-
men

That was the decicive moment, and Ifelt it; andaUliough
I had not supplied myself with a change of dress from my
master's wardrobe, nor even secured an outer garment, yet
I rushed from the house into the stable, saddled and mount-
ed the horse, and in a few moments I was gallopi)ing past
the barracks, where were the sentinels at their posts, and
the guard in the guard-room. Unsuspected I hurried i)ast,
and soon left master and troops far in the rear.

But though I had escaped the soldiery, T met another
powerful and cruel adversary — the r.npitying, unrelenting
cold. My dress was totally unlit for such a night-journey
amid the snows of a Canada winter ; it consisted of only a
pair of woolen regimental pantaloons and vest, a light, thin
fustian jacket, a hat, and thin calf-skin shoes. Before I had
proceeded many miles, in spite of my utmost exertion, those
parts of my person most exposed became stiflt' and frozen.
Sometimes I put my hands (for I had no mittens or gloves)
under the saddle, and pressed my feet close to my horse's
sides ; then I dismounted and ran, but every expedient Avas
alike vain ; the cold was mtense ; my feet and ears were
past all feeling ; and though I thrashed and rubbed the
affected parts, they grew worse and worse, until I thought I
should actually freeze to death. To seek shelter for the
night I dared not for fear of detection, and to stay out was
death. At last, having lost my way, I came to a house
which appeared to have a brisk fire burning within. I
approached, stopped my horse, and after peeping through

^ . '*ri

r night.

10 as a
aratioii

t but to

; .v>'

punish-

Itlioufrli

•om my

lent, yet '

I mount-

N. ■

ing past

asts, and ^

iecl past, !

. 5

another

relenting

t-journcy
)f only a
ight, thin
ore I had
Ion, those
id frozen.
;loves)
ly horse's
ient was
ars were
bbed the
thought I
;r for the
ly out was
a house
A'ithin. I
ig through

ITFE OF WILLIAM n. LIfillTON.

The c<iuntry l;ivrrn.

the wimlow, jrsive a loud hoUoo^ at the samo time putting
my horse in a position to gnHoj) off, should there he any ap-
})earan(*e of danger ; but seeing two men approaeli the door
jirmed with muskets, and fearing that they were some of
those unfeeling, unprineipled ehnnieters, who make it a part
of their business to look out for deserters, my fears took
alarm, and I rode olV at full speed.

Filled with fear, and harrassed with alarm, T drove my
horse very hard, until he became so j^ule*! that he could
hardly be fbreed out of a walk. Daylight at last appeared,
and ended the most painful night 1 ever experienced. T"p-
on inquiring of a man whom I met, he told me it was forty
miles to jNIontreal, and about an equal distance to the bor-
ders of the United States. This assurance, and the fact
that I was in a by-road, encouraged me to seek rest and re-
freshment, of wliich I stood in perisliing need ; indeed, I
doubt not but that a few hours longer of expo>ure would
have put an end to my existence, and I should have per-
ished on the roiid. Accordingly, coming to a tavern, I gave
my horse into tlie keeping of the ostler, and staggered with
much difficulty into the house, my limbs all stiffened, and
my jdiysical powers benumbed. Seating myself by the
tire I fell in'iv> a heavy sleej), from which I was s-jun
awakened by the most excruciating pains, occasioned by the
action of the fire upon my frozen extremities. Upon re-
moving my shoes, my feet presented a most pitiable appear-
ance, being almost entirely covered with blisters, so painful
that I could not place my feet to the ground without wring-
ing out an unwilling groan. The family gathered round
me, not to administer to my necessities, but to gratify an
ignoble curiosity, which seemed to have no higher end tl.an
to rid themselves of what they feared, from mv appeara!ice,

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

A suspicrimi?* imrty,

The cimiiiii}' landloril.

miglit become a troublesome burden to them. They began
by expressing their surprise at my unseasonable dress, and
at my travelling in the night, and so iar, as from my looks
they supposed I liad. To these vexatiouf? (juestions I re-
plied in what I conceived to be the best possible Avay to
avoid suspicion, but in vain ; the landlord doubted my ve-
racity, and sent for several neighboring gentlemen who ex-
amined me very closely. IJy this time my pain had so in-
creased that I became almost insensible, and ansAvered their
({uestions very incoherently. One of them aslcing me from
whence I came, I thoughtlessly but truly replied, " From
Montreal."

" From Montreal !" exclaimed half a dozen voices at
once, " then he is a deserter."

" I thought so from his apjicarance," said one of the
tavern gossips who had just stepped in for his morning's
libation ; " he looks plaguy much like a soldier."

These suspicions alarmed me, and shaking off my stupor,
I ])lead my case so eloquently, that most of them Averc
satisfied that I was not a deserter ; and they Avent away
expressing their belief in my innocence. Not so, however,
with the avaricious landlord; he fixed his hawkish eye
upon me, and asked,

" Are you willing to go back to St. John's Avltli me, Avhcrc
I can enquire if such a lad as you has lately deserted?"

To produce an impression of my innocency, I readily re-
plied, " Yes, sir, I am perfectly Avilling, provided you will
bring me back to this ])lace free of expense." ^

" That I Avill do," said he, with a most cunning expression
of countenance, " if I find you are no deserter."

This was a death blow to all my hopes. To be carried
to St. John's was to be detected, for a company belonging to

LIFE OP "VTILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Avnrico hnnlens the henrt.

Sinfulness of covetousness.

began

•,s, and
r looks
s I i*e-
^vay to
ny ve-
vho ex-
1 so in-
c(l their
nc from
" From

oicea at

c of tlio
lornings

y stupor,
em ^verc
nt away
lowevcr,
dsli eye

uQ, wlicrc
ted?"
cadlly rc-
oa will

expression

)e carried
ilonging to

my regiment Vv'as stationed there. Already I felt that I
was restored to my tyrants, the helpless victim of their
heated wnitli. To escape was impossible, as I coald not
move without assistance. O, Avhat were the feelings of my
young heart in that hour of sadness ! To conceive them,
the reader must fancy himself in my situation. Imagine
yourself a poor, destitute stranger, your limbs all sore and
blistered, a deserter from tlie army, in the hands of a cruel,
hard-hearted man, about to deliver you up to your regiment,
where tlie punishment — tlie bloody and barbarous })unish-
ment — of tlie "cf^Y," and perha[)S death itself, awaited you.
Imngine [dl this, and you will have a faint idea of the ago-
nies of my afilioted nnd bleeding lienrt.

Perliaps it may be well to explain the cause of this land-
lord's anxiety about my relation to the army. It was not
that he cared for the interests of the army ; but lie knew, if
I w'ere a deserter, and he could be the means of my being
delivered up, that a reward of t/firty dollars would pay him
for his pains. To gain tliis was the object of his ambition.
For this pittance he was willing to expose me to the most
shameful of all punishments. Surely, there was no flesh
in his obdurate heart. How sti'onn; was his love of monev I
It triumphed over his humanity, his feelings, his sympathies.
But he stands not alone. Tiiousands arc ruled by this
earthly nod — Mammon. At this shrine tliev are rea<lv to
saerilice every thing, e\'en to the immolaUon of a linman
being. " O, how deceitful, how deeply damning is tlie love
of money ! AVcU might the heathen exclaim, whihi con-
templating the grave of one who was murdered for his
wealth, ' O, cursed lust of gold ! what wilt thou not induce
the human heart to perpetrate ?' Judas is deservedly con-
sidered as one of the most infamous of men ; his condufl

f 1'

■\4

* ! !

s ; t

LIFE OF "WILLIAM B. LlGHTON.

Arrival at St. John's.

Detection.

base beyond description, and his motives vile. But alas!
how many, who censure his act, imitate him in their lives !
How many sell their souls for a less sum ! IIo, ye Judases,
read your doom ; learn your danger, wh n you hear the
upostle telling you from God, that ' no unrighteous man, nor
covetous, shall enter into the kingdom of God,' From so
great a curse may God save every money-loving, honor-
hunting, pleasure-taking, thoughtless, godless man.'*

After partaking of some refreshment, the landlord con-
veyed me to St. John's, where we arrived at two o'clock,
P. M. He took mc to an inn, and placed me in charge of
its owner, while he proceeded to make inquiries. He soon
obtained the (to him [)leasing) information that I was a de-
serter, and that detachments of troops were busy scouring
the country in pursuit of me. The fact of my detention he
soon communicated to the officers of the company, and they
iiinnediately sent a file of soldiers to arrest me ; in a few
minutes I was in close confinement in the guard-house — an
arrested deserter. My captor received his reward, and
A\ ent home rejoicing in his fiendish success ; he had been
the means of restoring a miserable youth to the dominion
of tyrants^ and of exposing him to the infliction of the most
cruel and ignominious punishment that a man can bear ;
but no matter, /ie had gained thirty dollars ! The reader
will no doubt see room to cast some censure upon myselt",
from want of candor and for my attempt to deceive. No de-
fence of this conduct will be pretended ; it was another great
tiiratiim in my life. Truth should be dearer than life, and
I ougl.t to have maintained a strict silence concerning my
chara ter and destination, or else have thrown' myself upon
their clemency by a frank confession of my condition and
desiirns ; in either case, I should have certainlv fared as

,t ',

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

IiiiportRnce of truth.

Renevolcnce of some soUliers.

; alas!
lives !
aclases,
ar the
an, nor
rom so
honor-

3rd con-
o'clock,
liarge of
He soon
vas a de-
scouring
cntion li<3
and tliey
in a few
lOUse— an
ard, and
had been
dominion
|f the most
can bear ;
|he reader
m mysell",
e. Ko de-
lother great
m life, and
:erning my
lyself upon
idition and
lly fared a*

well as I did by duplicity, and possibly better, for God
might have honored my adliercnce to truth by softening
tlie hearts of my captors, and disposing them to facilitate
my escape. But I foolishly followed the wisdom of the
carnal heart, and God justly turned it into foolishness ; he
destroyed iny plans, despite of my cunning ; but, blessed
be his name, I am still the gainer ; for it has taught me, in
my more experienced years, to place a just estimate on
fruth and falsehood. lie, who adheres to truth at the ex-
pense of all bc-ide that's earthly, is still the gainer, for

" Every linr phnll his portion have,
Among the cursed without the gates of life."

The soldiers of the company treated me with much kind-
ness and sympathy. The lieutenant, who commanded the
station, also visited me in my wretchednes ; his aspect was
mild and pitiful, and his language kind ; upon retiring he
sent me some food from his own table — a relief that came
very opportunely to meet my crying necessities. These
acts of kindness were the more necessary, inasmuch as, by
reason of my frozen condition, I was unable to help my-
self; they were equally une5'pected, and I thought that
even a soldier's life might be made tolerable with such
oflicers as the one I saw, and that my fate might be more
mild if it rested in the hands of such men ; instead of
which, I was soon to be in the power of men of hard hearts
and tyrannizing spirits, who thought no punishment to<»
severe for those who had violated their lordly commfi.ids.
At night, the soldiers, seeing my destitution of clothing,
spread their great coats out for my bed, and the lieutenant
sent me an article or two of bedding. Then I strove to

compose my pained body, and also to calm the perturbation

(J*

■I

i. i

t\.

i)8

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

Is carried a prisoner to MontreHl.

Astonishment of comrades.

of my mind, which was on the rack of dark and sorrowful
anticipation.

thus

Musing o'er sorrow's fount, silent

I gazed upon the gloomy past ;

Till, worn with watching, I sought the aid

Of gentle sleep. I slept, and felt refreshed.

The morning's dawn witnessed busy preparations for m}"
conveyance back to Montreal ; and immediately after break-
fast I received orders to be ready for the journey. Having
wrapped my feet in some rags, and drawn on some okl stock-
ing legs to serve me for shoes, I borrowed a soldier's outside
coal, and then taking my shoes in my hand, my preparations
were conij^leted. About 8 o'clock they marched me to the
stage office, between a file of guard, arme<l with drawn
swords ; this short walk I performed Avith the utmost diffi-
culty, my feet being so extremely sore.

The guard and myself were soon seated in the stage, and
we proceeded on our journey, which was almost as painful
as that of the fatal night of my desertion, in consequence of
the cold striking to all the frozen parts, and producing the
most agoniking sensations. Nor was my mind less pained
than my body ; as we drew near the scene of my trial and
future affiictions, it seemed to me like an entrance within
the bloody Avails of the S[)anirih inquisition ; for I expected
no more mercy than the poor, ill-fated heretic who falls under
the fierce wrath of those earthly fiends, who torment their
victims in those dark and doleful cells. When we arrived
at Montreal, I was unable to walk ; so they placed me on a
lumber sled, and carried me from the stage to the barracks,
about a mile in distance. One of my particular friends
happened to stand sentry at the gate ; at my approach he

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

owful

for my
r break-
Having
lcI stock-
5 outsitle
>aration^
.e to the
th drawn
aost diffi-

^tage, and
13 painful
qiicncc ot
ucing the
ss pained
trial and
-ico within
expected
falls under
ment their
e arrived
d me on a
barracks?,
lar friend?
,proach he

Committed to the main guard.

turned ghastly pale, and, as if thunderstruck, he could not
utter a word, so strong was his emotion at beholding my
condition. I was soon placed in the guard-room, a prisone*.'
under strong guard. Here, the adjutant visited me in a few
moments, expressing his surprise at seeing me, as they had
not heard of my detection until my sudden arrival among
them. He informed me that my crime was one of higli
magnitude ; that it was iinpardonahle ; that, standing char-
ged with two crimes, desertion and horse-stealing, my pun-
ishment would in all probability be death !

My case was soon reported to the commanding officer,
Colonel Andrews, wlio made out an order for my immediate
commitment to the main guard ; to this place I was imme-
diately marched, hand-cuffed, and guarded by a strong
detachment with drawn swords. A lar2;e number of mv
anxious comrades followed in our rear, drawn together by
curiosity or sympathy, to witness my incarceration. Know-
ing that none but the very worst of characters, the most
desperate cases, were consigned to this wretched i>lace, it
was to me as the signing of my death-warrant.

INIy new abode was the very perfection of misery. It
contained nothing cheering to a prisoner's desponding heart.
Here I was left without comj)anions or fire, my limbs yet
sore and stiff, to await a trial that, perchance, might consign
me to a shameful and premature grave. How often and
how deeply did I sigh over the remembrance of the check-
ered past ! and, as I turned my chafed and agonized limbs
in vain attemi)ts to rest on the hard floor of my dungeon,
the warm tear-stream rolled freely down my cheeks — the
outward demonstrations of the inward grief I felt for the
folly of my earlier days. O, how I wished that I had been
obedient to my parents' wishes ; that I had been contented

100

LIFE OE* WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

A friend in need.

The doctor.

A tyrant's visit.

to await their pleasure, and follow the direction of their lips.
But these were fruitless sorrows ; they undid nothing ; they
merely afforded momentary relief to my pent up feelings.

Low as I had fall'^n, Providence did not cease to watch
for my weal, but raised up for me an unexpected friend,
whose intercessions prociired me some sliglit mitigation of
my troubles. That friend was Lady Fitzgerald, who, hear-
ing of my situation and of my youth, obtained the removal
of my handcuffs, and permission for me to sleep in the
guard-room ; also tlie privilege of warming myself by the
lire during the day. The doctor of the regiment, too, paid
me a visit, and examined my wounds ; but liis good inten-
tions were frustrated by the harsh and bungling manner of
the servant whom he sent to dress my limbs. He handled
me as if I were a brute, and caused me more pain than re-
lief — an evil I was compelled to submit to with all patience.

Captain Pierce, my offended master, was my next visitor.
He came, bearing a countenance whose workings besjwke an
angry soul within. He saluted me with the most impious
threats and awful imprecations imaginable ; which, had he
been able to execute them, would have chained me to the
lowest abyss of hell. Of these I thouglit that they were
but noisy breath. Said he, " I have not the least pity for
you ; you may expect that no mercy shall be shown you ; "
and then, uttering a fearful oath, he added, "You shall suffer
death, you villain, that you may be held up as a warning to
others ; and had I overtaken you on the night of your de-
sertion, I would have shot you dead on the spot ! /"

After this most Christian and manly exhibition of his
inward feelings, this courageous soldier left me to my prison
and my reflections. O, what may not such tyrannic mons-
ters expect, when God comes to judgment I

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

101

A providentinl mistake.

watch
friend,
ition of
3, liear-
•cmoval
in llic
by the
00, paid
,d inten-
anncr of
handled
than re-
patience,
ct visitor,
(spoke an
impious
I, had he
[lie to the
Ley were
pity for
m you ; "
liall suffer
jarning to

your de-

ton of his
my prison
Inic mons-

Proud tyrants, tremble ! for a weight of woe

Hangs in dork storm-clouds of tremendous ire

O'er your devoted souls. Black I black with dismal wrath

It spreads its awful gloom around your heads,

Soon, soon to burst. Then, horrible confusion !

Dismay unutterable ! keen anguish, and vengeance

Such as beings infinite inflict.

Shall fill your reeking hearts. The piercing cries

Of beings immolated by your lordly hands,

Shall howl confusion in your frighted ears,

And writhe your souls with everlasting woe !

It is a cheering thought, that the designs of men are often
happily prevented by the interposition of Divine Provi-
dence, whose overruling arm is ever stretched forth for the
accomplishment of its own designs of forbearance towards
guilty man ; of this my experience affords a striking illus-
tration. After my departure, on the night of my desertion,
the servant, as I suspected, hastened away to give the alarm ;
instead of going to the guard-room, he went first to my
master at the ball ; this gave me sufficient time to elude
their pursuit that night ; had he gone direct to the guard-
room, it is probable my route would have been discovered ;
and, as the soldiers pursued me with loaded rifles and pistols,
it is more than probable they would have shot me. That
slight misstep of the servant rescued me from death, and
gave me subsequent time for repentence. Thus I have
abundant reason to praise Almighty God for his goodness in
so ordering an apparently trival event, that it became the
means of saving my life, and also of saving my immortal
soul ; for had I perished then, I should have perished in-
deed. My soul, all stained with its unpardoned offences,
would have sunk deep in perdition's depths,

" To wail, to weep, and die ' "

■KM

102

LIFE OP "WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

' '

Removal from the mnln gimrd. Carried to jiiil. A misornlile company.

After remaining for several days imprisoned in the "main
guard," enduring intense agony of both body and mind, I
v/as informed of the intention of the officers to commit me
to the city prison. Soon after this intelligence, a non-com-
missioned officer and two privates brought me my clothes,
and said it was tlieir orders to conduct me to the civil prison.
The reason assigned for this was, that the military law could
take no cognizance of horse-stealing ; consequently, I was
to be delivered up to the civil magistrate for trial and pun-
ishment, and then, if my penalty ivere less than death, after
it was endured, I was recognizable for the act of desertion.

At first, the thonglit of this change raised a gleam of
hope ; but an after-thought restored all my former gloom*
The British law, at that time, punished horse-stealing with
deatli. But even here was some small relief; for who
would not prefer death to the ignoble and debasing infliction
of the bloody lash ? Still I felt my whole soul painfully
exercised when I was ushered into the cold, damp prison of
Montreal. The harsh grating of the heavy iron doors, the
massive iron bolts and bars that secured them, and the
sombre, dungeon-like aspect of the whole building, struck
an indefinable chill over my shrinking frame ; but there
was no retreat.

My companions in this abode of crime were of the low-
est order, the very debris of society, who seemed, by long
continuance in crime, to have almost blotted out their hu-
manity, and to have received the image of the arch-fiend
himself in its stead. Here I endured hunger and privation
without relief, until my heretofore robust frame began to
yield under its accumulated deprivations, and threatened a
speedy close to my sorrows by dissolution. As it was, it
prod. ;ed a weakness which the lapse cf many years did not

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

103

e "main
min«lj I
nmit me
lon-com-

clotlieB,
n\ prison,
law couUl
ly, I was

and puu-
eath, after

acsertion.

ffleam of
ner gloom-
baling witli
f; for wlio
,ig infliction

li painfully

,p prison of
doors, the

in, and tlie
ing, struck
bnt tliere

I of tlie low-
led, by long
lit their lui-
|e arch-fiend
Vd privation
_ie began to
Lreatened a

Fri«!

IKiM III lieol

OcciipHtloii in prison.

^s it was,

k-ars did not

wholly remove. At last, I made an appeal to the liberality
of iny regiment. They, with true nobility of soul, com-
menced a subscription for my relief; but the cjiptuin, hear-
ing of their intention, meanly forbade their raising a single
copper. Thus, with ineoneeivable littleness of soul, did this
malicious man carry out his threat, "that I should be shown
no merrv at all."

Again, however, despite the malice of my master, did an
ever-watehful Pi'ovidenee raise me u]) a friend in my hour
of exti'eniity. Mr AVeidenbecker, a gentleman who knew
me when I was Ca})tain Pierce's servant, had, at that time,
formed a favorable opinion of my character, and conceived
a strong personal attachment for me. lie discovered the
true reason of my indiscretion ; he traced my a]tparent
crime to a hatred of despotism, rather than to a Avantomiess
of character, or a depravation of moral principle ; .and, while
lie Avas decided in his condenniation of the crime itself, vet
he was vather disj)osed to pity than to condemn. From
him I received occasional su])i)lies of food, as also from otlicr
persons, whom he interested in my behalf, lie promised to
secure me all necessary assistance, and to testify to my ])rc-
vious character at my trial, Avhich was expected to come on
tlie ensuing spring. Those tokens of friendship were well
adapted to afford me comfort, and to ameliorate my condi-
tion ; but, notwithstanding all these helps, I had much to
endure, and much to snfTer.

As I i-ecovered from my lameness, I turned my mind to
reading and study, especially to music. The latter study
however, was soon forbidden by the jailer, who had a strange
distaste for all kinds of mnsic ; but, being a pious man, he sup-
plied me with an abundance of religious books, to the read-
ing of which I applied wuth persevering industry. In this

1^ I

fe I

KlndncKM of tho Jailor.

LIFE OP WILLIAM n. LlOHTOK.

SusiMinso.

way I formed a taste for reading and study, which has re-
mained with me ever since, and which lias l)ccn of peculiar
advantajL^e. Thus from the most discournf^in;^ ])arts of hu-
man ex[)erience fruits are sometimes plucked which prove
to be tho most rich and ]»roiitable of our whole lives.

AVhile my studious hal)its [deased the jailer, they excited
the indignation of my fellow-pri.<oners, who, in conseiiuence.
treated me so rudely that I was comi>elled to petition for a
removal to a sei)arate apnrtment. To this request the
jailer kindly con.sented, and gave me a [>U'{i.«ant room in
the front part of the pri,,jn, where I had a full view of the
street and market-place.

As the time of my trial api)roached, I became extremely
impatient, my mind being continually on the rack of tortur-
ing suspense concerning my destiny. But the time came.
and my accusers did not a})pear. My case was deferred tor
six months, the time for the sitting of the next court. Thus
I was left to be the prey of doubt, uncertainty, and anxiety,
through that long period of time, Shortly after the post-
ponement of my trial, my regiment was removed to Kings-
ten, Upper Canada. This fact ins]>ired me with a short-
lived hope that my accusers Avould fail to a])pear against
me at the next session of tho court, and that I should be
kept until its third sitting; and then, through absence and
default of witnesses, be set free. Foolish thought ! My
cruel prosecutors only neglected to appear at the first
court, in order to prolong my imprisonment, and increase
my susi)ense and suifering. Such mode of revenge be-
speaks the ineffable meanness of their minds ; gentlemen
would have scorned such Ioav malice ; it was unworthy of
their profession and standing in society. But how few are
tc- be judged of by their profession ! Many a fool wears a
gown, and many a coward carries a sword.

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

10^

The trlitl.

has !'•'-
peculiar
s of \n\-
•h prove

r excited

cquencc.

ion for a

room in
cw of the

cxtremoly
of tortur-
imc oiime.
pferretl for
,rt. Thus
lid anxiety,
the post-
to Kings-
Ill a sliort-
lar against
sliould bt'
|)sence and
Ai^Ut! Uy
the first
Id increase
3vengc be-
cjentlemen
Inworthy of
low few are
lol wearfe a

Previous to the approach of the next court, I addressed
a note to a celebrated counsellor in the city, who visited mfo^
and promised to become my advocate. I also prepared an
address to the court soliciting its compassion. At last, the
court sat ; my accusers arrived ; and, escorted by a strong
guard of constables, I was placed at the bar. The solcmni
ty of the scene, the importance of my case, and the haught;
bearing of my ace isers, overwhelmed me with confusion,
anfl I almost fell to the ground. I was asked the question,
after the reading of the charges, " Guilty, or not guilty ?"

AVith a faltering voice, I responded, " Not guilty."

For some cause or other, it was determined to defer my
trial until the next day, and I was ordered back to prison.

This seasonable delay afforded me leisure to fortify my
mind, and to recover from my confusion. The next day T
entered the court with more firmness of feeling and of
manner. The court was 'crowded to excess, many persons*
being attracted thither on account of my youth, and a deep
and thrilling interest was manifested through every part of
my trial. When the jury was impanelled, I took care to
challenge all whose countenances were not indicative of
youth and sympathy, thinking that those who were in thf
prime of life would feel more interested in my behalf, and
decide under the blended dictates of mercy and justice.
Once I was confused, when the lawyer who was to plead
my case suddenly went out of court, and left me to the
mercy of my prosecutors ; but the jailor, seeing my distress,
whispered to me to address the court for an advocate, which
I did, and gained my request.

The landlord who apprehended me was one of the prin-
cipal witnesses, but he was so altered I scarcely knew him.

A deathlike paleness overspread his cheeks ; and, as I af-
10

'/I

■^1
n

»■ < .

li-'

•k

^ •

106

Lin: OF WILL/AM u. j.Ki/rroJf.

Tliu vurdict.

KncuurHgeiiiuiit in a tr>iiig iiioinunt.

feiwards Icariird, ho died soon af'tci* luy trial. An lioui*
f»ui?scd and all tlio Icstiniony was given in ; after my coun-
sel had el()<iuc'ntly jdeaded my caso, tlie jnry received their
'■'haige, and retired. Art«;r a lew minutes' conversation,
they returned their verdict oC guilty, ai.'conii»ani('d with a
sh'om/ reconnne/tdation for inercy.

Thiri terrible aimonncenicnt, tiiougli cxj>ectod, fell upon
my mind with great weight of alarm and terror. All my
hopes were built on the last words of the a erdict : " AV'c
reconmiend him for mercy." These words rang in my ears
like the soft symphonies of hope amid the lhund(!rs of de-
spair. Still I was pained, and I trembled like the quiver-
ing aapen. My lawyer observing my emotion, came to me
at the bar, and said, much to my encouragement,

" Young man you need not fear death, for the jury have
done an act, in recommending you for mercy, which will, in
apite of all opi>osition, prove your salvation. No doubt you
will receive sentence of death ; put don't despond, for it
will not be executed ; but, in the course of a short time,
you will be reprieved, and will probably have to suffer one
or two years' imprisonment, as the governor may determine."

lie then administered a word or two of ad\ice, and leit
me with my hearty thanks for his services, which Avere all
T had to bestow. I w^as then remanded to prison.

The session of the court lasted several da3's, on account
of the number of commitments. It resulted in the convic-
tion of nine prisoners for capital crimes, besides many
others for petty offences and misdemeanors. At the close
of the court, myself and eight others 'were brought up to
receive sentence from the judge. To describe the scene oii
that occasion is a task which my pen is not able to perform,
'riion, every man's strength failed him ; every countenance

tit.

ny coun-
cd tUelv
•ci'sutioii,
il ullli II

itU upon
All my
ict: "We
u my cars
icrs of ik-
hc ciu'ivcr-
ame to mf

. jury lijivf
licli will, in
> deubt you
lond, for i^
liort time,
suifer oiu'
lolenninc."
•e, and left
ch were all

In.

|ou account
the convic-
sidcs many
U the close
louglit up to
Ithe scene on
, to perform.
I countenance

nmimmmmgmim

I f

( I

:-i

.tL-

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

107

Receives s'sntence of death.

Petition for mercy.

betrayed the secret workings of the heart ; every fountain
of sorrow was opened, and found vent in floods of tears ;
the stout-liearted trembled, and wished he had never been
born. There we stood, in a long mournful line, before the
judge ; not a word or whisper v.-as heard throughout the
court-house ; all was still as death. The judge first in-
quired if we had any request to make. In reph'', we all
fell upon our knees, and sued most imploringly for pardon ;
to which he briefly replied,

" It cannot be granted you."

Tlie senior judge then arose, and, with much solemnify
of manner, pronounced sentence of death upon us in the
following words : —

" The sentence of the court is, that you shall be taken
back to the place from whence you came, and from thence,
in four Aveeks, be conveyed to the place of execution, there
to be hanged by the neck until you are dead ; and may
God Almighty have mercy on your souls."

Notwithstanding I had but little apprehension of suffering
this dreadful sentence, yet I could not hear it so solemnly
pronounced upon me without the most heart-sickening sen-
sations. True, I affected indifference, but a deathish weight
hung lound my heart; my blood involuntarily chilled as it
coursed along its channels, and I could not, Avith my might-
iest effort, shake ofl* my fears. Afler hearing this sentence,
we were conducted to the prison, loaded Avith irons, and
throAvn into the condemned cells, to which none Averc ad-
mitted but the clergy and those who had business of the
highest importance Avith the prisoners.

On the third day after my condemnation, my friend, Mr.
Weidenbecker, in company Avith another gentleman, ca.ne
to visit me. They suggested the propriety of petitioning

108

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Friendship.

CliHriicter of fellow prisoners.

: t

.; I,

his excellency the Earl of Dalhousie, the governor, for my
reprieve, and offered to prepare it for me. Of course, I
gave my assent ; and, the next day, Mr. W. returned with a
petition very ably drawn up, for my signature. After I had
signed it, he added his own name ; and, after obtaining the
signatures of the jurors who sat at my trial, he forwarded it
to the governor. Such was the benevolence of this gentle-
man, and such his strong attachment to me, that I shall ever
remember his name with gratitude. His was a love which
approached the nearest to disinterestedness of any thing I
ever knew. He unexpectedly became my friend in the
gloomy hour of my adversity, and his friendship remained
inviolable. "What acquisition so precious as that of a truo
friend ?

" Nouffht is seen

More beautiful, or excellent, or fair,

Than face of faihful friend ; fairest when seen

In darkest day And many sounds were sweet.

Most ravishing and pleasant to the car;

But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend ;

SNveet always, sweetest heard in loudest storm.

Some I remember, and will ne'er forget.

My early friends — friends of my evil day.

Friends in my mirth, friends in my misery too.

Friends given by God, in mercy and iu lovt."

As it may not be disagreeable to the reader, I will give a
brief description of the character and feelings of my fel-
low-prisoners while under condemnation, and in expectation
of a speedy and violent death. Seven of our number ',«rere
Roman Catholics, natives of Canada, except one, who was
a South American. These, in the early part of their con-
finement, Averc extremely profane and disgusting in their
manners and conversation — a consequence, however, which

IIPE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

109

A religions Visitor.

, for my
course, I
•d with a
:er I had
ining the
^vardcd it
is gentle-
shall ever
)ve whieh
ly thing 1
nd in the
remained
i of a truo

will give a
1 of my fel-
^xpectation
Inibei' wevG
who was
their con-
Ini; in their
Uer, which

very naturally followed from the faith they professed. If
they sinned, they found a ready salvo for a guilty oonscienet'
in confession to a priest, who, poor man ! pretended to for*
give them offences committed ngainst the holy and infinite
Jehovali. The other was a Protestant, a mulatto, from tlic
United States, whose demeanor was more serious and con-
sistent. We were visited daily by Catholic priests, to
whom their adherents paid great reverence and attention.
A clergyman of the Church of England labored among w-
daily, striving to instruct lis in the wisdom of the gospel, and
to impress our minds with the importance of obedience t(»
its precepts. But we understood little about the vitality of
religion, or of its operation upon the heart. For ray own
part, although I had received some knowledge of God in
my early life, yet I had supposed that a strict attention to
morality was all the Bible required. True, I knew that
the blessed Jesus had suffered death ; but for what, or for
whom, I scarcely knew. Hence, when questioned about
faith and repentance, my answers only served to expose my
utter ignorance of the subject. This discovery of our moral
blindness led the clergyman to spare no efforts, time, or pains
to pour instruction into our dark and benighted minds, seri-
ously and earnestly exhorting us to attend to the salvation
of our precious souls. He pointed out the true and living
way, with simplicity and affection, and engaged in the
most fervent prayer for Jehovah's blessing upon his labors.
This faithful application of divine truth produced many
serious reflections upon death, sin, and my own personal
guilt ; but, except this, it produced no immediate practical
effect, though it proved to be the foundation of my subse-
quent conversion to God. His labors, how^ever, were not lost

upon the more tender mind of the mulatto j he became pow-
10*

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

L-^ttnr from an old friend.

Elfect of n friend's ppistle.

• !■

fi I

erfully convicted, and, beginning to call on God, through
our Lord Jesus Christ, he soon found a present and glorious
salvation in the Redeemer's precious blood. During thf
remainder of his short existence, he gave the most undeni-
able evidences of the soundness of his conversion ; truly,
he was a " brand plucked out of the fire."

While under sentence of death, I received a letter from
Mr. Apple, my former comrade, who, as the reader will
remember, had recently obtained his discharge.

Ilis simple .and friendly communication came very oppor-
tunely» and produced a favorable effect upon my mind.
My heart was sinking at the wretchedness of my fellow-
prisoners, whose terrors increased daily, as the time of their
execution approached. Their solemn and intense prepaid
tion to meet their awful fate ; the perfect security of our
place of confinement ; but^ above all, their deep groans in
tlie night season, occasioned by their terrific dreams, were
causes powerful enough to disturb the peace of one in the
possession of liberty — much more of one who was by no
means certain that he would not die a culprit's death. The
receipt of this letter, therefore, was a cordial to a fainting
spirit ; it cheered and sustained me by awakening the pleas-
ing inspirations of hope in my desponding bosom. Those
who have been distressed know how to appreciate a kind
epistle. It comes a messenger of good, and is prized as a
stream of water by the thirsty Arab of the burning desert.

At length, the jailer entered our cell, bringing me the
welcome news of my reprieve, and promising me that my
irons should be taken off, and my lodgings changed, the next
day. This intelligence made me rejoice without limitation
or degree ; and, notwithstanding my irons, I paced the cell
in exultation, and scarcely felt their weight. The same

LIFE OP WILLIAM II. LIGHTON.

Ill

tic.

, througli
1 glorious
uring the
it undeni-
)P ♦, truly»

etter from
eadev will

ery oppor-
my mind,
my fellow-
me of their
se prepiu"
jrity of our
.p groans in
earns, were
one in the
was by no
[cath. The
o a fainting
ng the pleas-
,m. Those
iciate a kind
prized as a
Ining desert,
ing me the
me that my
jed, the next
iut limitation
tced the cell
The same

Tlio rrrricvc.

evening, the jailer removed mc to another room, and I msla
no more disturbed v.iili tlie j'risoncrn' melaneholy groans,
though I slept but little tliat night ibr joy. In the morning,
my irons Avcre removed, and I took possession of my old
apartment opposite the publie market. The joy I now felt
beggars my powers of description ; had I been wholly lib-
erated, I could scarcely have felt more. At this distant
moment, I feel sentiments of devotional gratitude to God
for his goodness and mercy in delivering mo from my ex-
posure to an ignominious death. And my humble prayer
to Almighty God is, that the young reader, seeing the evil
and danger of criminal conduct, may be persuaded to walk
in the path of virtue and true happiness. To that path
Religion points, with mild and loving aspect ; follow her
directions, dear young reader, and you will escape suffering
and disgrace, here and hereafter, and gain a brilliant crown
gf immortality and bliss.

CHAPTER YI.

Is this the place our forefaihers nuide fur man. "

;r i

A FEW days after my reprieve, the death-warrant for tlie
execution of one of the Canadians and the muhitto was re-
ceived ; the remainder of the prisoners were reprieved, and
brought into my apartment to wait the governor's pleasure-
where we rejoiced together in great glee. But, in the midst
of our joy, one of our number was thrown back into the
deepest despondency by the entrance of the jailor, who
informed him that Ms death-warrant had arrived, and that
he must be conducted back to the condemned cell to await
his execution with the other two. What a sudden and
agonizing change was this ! the more painful because of the
momentary deliverance which had gleamed like a star of
night uponliis spirit. The poor fellow's countenance fell ;
he wrung his hands in agony, and gave vent to his feelings
in accents of deep and piteous despair.

We all sympathized in his distress ; and, amid our tears
and affectionate farewells, he was conducted back to his
doomed abode, to join his companions in death. The night
previous to their execution, we were permitted to pay them
a visit. AYe found them, chained and handcuffed, sitting on
their iron bedsteads, engaged in acts of devotion. They
talked feelingly and freely about their views and prospects.
One of them remarked, with great solemnity of manner and
expression.

' I have been looking from my grated window, watching

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

113

The visit to tho condemned ce,l.

Tlin execution.

it for the
D was re-
eved, and
pleasure*
the midst
k into the
jailor, who
, and that
^1 to await
idden and
Luse of the

a star of
lanco fell ;

Lis feelings

our tears
ick to his
rrhe night
pay them
sitting on
^n. They
pro?pccts.
Lanner and

L watching

the sun ; I have seen it set for the last time, and before his
next setting I shall be in eternity ; " t!ien, pausing to wipe
away the falling tear, he added, "' I am willing to suffer, for
I have an evidence that my sins are all forgiven, and that
through the merits of Jesus Christ I shall be saved."

The mulatto was equally composed and submissive ; his
mind seemed to be scripturally at rest ; he said little except
in answer to our questions. Our visit was a solemn one ; it
was an efi'cctive school, in which to learn the awful results
of crime. Here were three, whose breaches of the laws of
God and man had reduced them to the prison-house of
death ; a few hours, and they were to honor the law they
had broken, by enduring its highest sanction. From the
edge of the grave tliey begged us to take warning from their
sad fate, to refrain from sin, and to live virtuous lives. Then
they took us each by the hjind, and with much difficulty the
heart-cutting, mutual " good-by " was pronounced ; our feel-
ings w^ere all too much choked by Glrong emotion for I'reo
utterance or wordy expression.

Early the next morning, tlie prison yards and every adja-
cent spot were crowded with spectators, who came to witness
the awful, practical tragedy of three men put to a violent
death. At twelve o'clock the victims were brought from
prison, and, with tottering steps, marched in solemn proces-
sion to the drop. The ropes were then carefully adjusted to
their necks, and after the offering u)i of pra^'cr to God by
the clergyman present, who, with solemn earnestness, com-
mended their souls to God, the drop fell ; they struggled a
few moments, and all was still ; they had gone to their re-
ward ! Never did I experience emotions more painful than
those which Averc excited in my bosom, as, from a chink in
the wall, I gazed on the horrid reality here described ; and
I pray God I may never witness a similar scene !

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114

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

A mysterious visit.

The crimes for which these unfortunates suffered the
highest penalty of the law, were burglary, or liouse-break-
ing, by two of them, who were accomplices, and stealing
some live stock, which Avas afterwards recovered, by the
other. That their punishment exceeded the magnitude of
their crimes is obvious ; but such, at that time, were the
laws of Grreat Britain and her colonies. Such severity is
not only unphilosophical, but contrary to the dictates of
sound Christianity. This, I am happy to state, has been
felt by the law-makers of my still beloved country ; some
important modifications have, within a few years, taken
place in relation to offences of a higher grade ; death is
now inflicted only for offences of the most enormous fia-
grancy.

Th'', awfully-solemn feelings excited within us by the
solemnities just recorded, were soon worn off by anxiety for
our own fate. What would be done with us, was a question
we could only answer by conjecture ; when, after a few
weeks, it was solved in the following mysterious manner.

It was evening, and we were engaged in pacing our room,
and conversing about the probabilities before us, when we
were suddenly alarmed by a noise resembling the rattling
of chains, and the approach of several feet towards our cell.
Amazement and fear filled our hearts ; every man turned
pale ; some expected that we were again to be brought under
our fatal sentence, and our reprieve reversed, while a few
dared to think that we were about to be taken across the St.
Lawrence, and commanded to leave the country — a thought
vain as it was pleasing. In the midst of our alarm the door
opened ; a number of men entered loaded with chains ;
without the least ceremony or explanation they riveted them
to our limbs ; this dor*^^ we were ordered down the prison

i I

i t

tU'E Of AViLLlAM ft. LlGllTON.

A sudden rcniovul.

Coiiliiird for five yviirs in tiuehor jail.

crcd the
se-brcak-

\ stea^i"g
d, by tbc
initudc of
were the
severity is
dictates of
, has been
itry; some
;ars, taken
e ; death is
3rmons iia-

U9 by the
anxiety foi-
ls a question
after a few

manner,
no- our room,
,s, when we
the rattling
i'ds our cell,
man turned
fought under
while a few
Icross the St.
a thought
irm the door
ith chains ;
iveted them
|n the prison

stairs, and conducted to the yard. There wc found a liorsc

and cart in waiting, into which wc weie compelled to cl.'mi-

her by our mysterious visitors. AVc were then driven

through the main street to the Avharf, and ])ut on hoard a

steamboat, which immediately started I'or (Quebec, leaving up?

in wonder and astonishment. Our fruitful fancies, liowevei',

put an explanation upon this strange movement, and inclined

us to the belief that wo were about to be conveved to ller-

muda, or some other foreign port, imtil our jailor, avIio wa.?

one of our attendants, informed us that avc were all sen-

lenced to five years' hard labor in Queb(>c jail, to which

place he was now conducting us by order of the governor.

At Three Rivers the boat stopi)ed and took in another

prisoner, who was under the same sentence with ourselves ;

and, after foi'ty-eight hours' sailing, we arri\ed at Quebec.

Our future jailor soon came on board; having ascertained

our numbers, he left us, and speedily returned with a horse-

itavt, in which wc Averc carried to our new abode — a most

gloomy and Ibroidding place. Passing through the main

entry, Avhich Ava3 closely guarded Avith inm gates and huge

wooden doors, avc ascended a flight of steps, and traversed

a dismal passage to a room in the north part of the prisf)n.

desiiijnated " the Avork house ;" here avc Avere I'oceived 1)a-

several companions in distress and confinement, Avhose

wretched looks and language bespoke our sympathy and

felloAV-feelinix.

Here avc Averc visited by the turnkey, accompanied by a
blacksmith, Avho, to our no small satisfaction, relieved us of
our irons, which had already produced several sAvollen legs
and sove hands among us. Our apartment AAas one of the
most agreeable in this disagreeable prison ; it afforded us a
view of the street, and of the soldiers' barracks, the liveli-

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116

LIFE OF WILLIAM D. LIGIITON.

Thn trend-wlifol.

Sulli rill? of tho |tri.soner«.

ness of which t(MKkd much to miti^iato the loneliness of
prison life. lUit the jailer, fearin^^i; we ::hould cscnpe, soon
deprived us of this jiparlment, and coniiiied us where wo
were more secure, and so secluded, that we could only fco
the sentinel as he paced up and down at his post in tho
back yard of our p/rison.

"We enjoyed one advantage here we did not possess at
Montreal, which, to us, was of some value. Visitors were
admitted every day to the i)rison, to see those who were
confined for petty offences, and who were undergoing an
impriL^onment of a few months. By this means we were
able to send out for almost any article we could purchase.
On the Sabbath day, divine Avorship was regularly per-
formed in one of the apartments of the prison — a privi-
lege of which 1 was careful to avail myself every Lord's
day, without an exception.

As before hinted, our imprisonment was to be connected
with hard labor ; we were therefore employed to break
stones for the public streets, by means of the tread-wheel.
The wheel upon which we wrought was very large, and ad-
mitted a number of persons upon it at the same time. It
was kept in motion by means of steps connected with the
shaft, upon which the prisoners, whose weight propelled the
machine, were obliged to step with the utmost regularity,
or incur the risk of dislocating a leg. Fortunately for us
this scheme did not answer the expectations of the pro-
jector, and, to our great joy, it was laid aside ; thus we
escaped this very disagreeable and arduous species of labor.
But, tliat we mi_<i?ht not be idle, every man was required to
pick thirty pounds of oakum per week, which was no easj
or pleasant task.

With our labor our appetites increased, and our scanty

LIFE OF WILLIAM B, LIOnTON.

117

liness of
pe, soon
here v/o
only r<?o
St in the

possess at
tors were
vho were
'going an
we were
purchase,
larly per-
— a privi-
cry Lord's

connected
{ to break
read-wheel.
nrc, and ad-
: time. It
ed with the
•opelled the

regularity,
itely for us
of the pro-
thus we

es of labor.

required to

k us no easy

our scanty

A fruitless appeal. Relief and dlsappointinent. The prisoners cat a cat

allowance was far from sufficient to supply their clamorous
demands. One poimd and a half of coariae bread, with
water, was our daily allowance : finding it insufficient to
sustain nature, we immediately complained to the jailer ;
informing him, with all proper respect, that unless we had
more food, we could not perform our tasks. lie replied
with civility,

" I cannot help you ; I am not authorized to give you
any more. You must apply to the governor."

We therefore drew up a petition, setting forth our wants
and grievances in the clearest and most forcible manner,
and praying for immediate and effectual relief ; after sign-
ing it in due form, we sent it to the governor, who paid no
attention to our prayer. We next addressed the citizens,
presenting our distress as we had done to the governor, and
imploring them to assist us, out of their abundance, with a
few of the necessaries of life. This appeal was crowned
with success; for a season we obtained substantial relief;
but as we continued our appeals, and solicited a continua-
tion of these favors, our situation became a matter of pub-
lic notoriety and common conversation, until the officers of
the prison discovering that they were likely to incur the
charge of inhumanity and hard-heartedness, published us
as imposters. Having more influence than a party of poor
criminals, they were believed, and our supplies, as a neces-
sary consequence, were cut off, and our hopes of obtaining
further assistance from that source wholly blasted.

Such was our distress for food, that, on one occasion,
when the turnkey happened to leave a favorite cat in our
apartment, which had followed him in his rounds, some of
the prisoners immediately killed and cooked it, and, in less

than two hours, poor puss was devoured ; those who par-
11

118

LIFE OP WILLIAUr n. MfinTON.

Thry ninko hKcwi'M.

Filth of tliH itrimm.

, I

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ill

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fook of tills (lisgustinuf luoiil doclivrcil it to be ju suvory us
voal. AVlici'e is the hliish of humjuiity for such trcatiuent
of uiifortuujite eriuiinals sis slioukl tlrive tliein to such ex-
tremities ?

We next made skewers for the butcliers, out of part of
our firewood, for which we received tlic offal of liie market,
such as beefs and shee[)'s lieads, some of wliich woidd have
done no credit to the carrion of the field. We, however,
d(iVoiired every tiling with greediness. This business was
soon spoiled by tlie competition of other y)iisoners in the
jail, who, observing our snccess, adopt(?d the same mode,
glutted the market, and thus cut ofl' a considerable portion
of our supplies.

As I possessed some slight tast(! for drawing and painting,
I tried my snccess in productions of this kind, but gained
nothing but disappointment, as my pictures would not sell.
Their preparation, however, served to beguile me of my
grief, and to make the stream of time flow more smoothly.

But the want of food was not our only source of distress.
We suffered greatly from the cold, as our only bed covering
was one blanket a man. Our dress, too, had become torn
and threadbare, and some of us were so destitute as to be
nearly naked. Then, our prison, not being properly cleansed
and aired, together with our want of proper food, had
caused us to be infested with that hated insect that " be-
comes, in twenty-four hours, a grandfather" — the indefatiga-
ble and filthy louse ; so that we presented a spectacle at
which decency might shudder, and humanity weep. But
we were criminals, and no man pitied ; it seemed as if, for
our crimes, we were shut out from within the pale of hu-
man nature. No wonder that such prisons, become colleges
of vice — high schools of iniquity. Happily for the pros-

LIFK OP WILLIAM 11. LIOIITON.

119

Hon>

siivui-y as
trcsitincnt
} »ucU cx-

of part of
ic market,
ould have
, however,
suiess was
icrs in the
inic mode,
)le portion

d painting,
but gained
Id not sell,
me of my
smoothly,
.of distress,
d covering
econic torn
te as to be
y cleansed
food, had
that " be-
indefatiga-
pectacle at
veep. But
d as if, for
pale of hu-
me colleges
»r the pros-

A cunning dnvlre.

It-* (llTovpry.

SiilcUln.

porit^ of the United Statcc, she has prisons based on better
principles, and conducted as prisons should be — to reform
the prisoner, and teach habits of wholesome industry.

Despairing of relief, we determined to lessen our amount
of toil, by destroying portions of the rope sent to us to pick
into oakum. We did this by throwing it into the common
sewer of the city, through a drain connected with the
prison ; so that out of thirty pounds, we seldom returned
above one half. In this way we cleared the prison of the
article, and, for a time, were left without any labor. A
great failure, however, in the return of oakum, at the end
of the contract, created suspicions that we had destroyed
it ; but as there was no proof, our misconduct remained un-
discovered for a time. But the drain becoming filled up,
the jailer inspected it, and found an enormous pile of rope
all frozen into one solid mass. Enraged at this discovery,
he told us we should pick it all out when the spring opened ;
this threat, however, was never put into effect, for, soon af-
ter the thaw commenced, and a heavy freshet carried it
down the common sewer into the river, and we heard no
more about it.

The sorrows and hardships we endured drove some of
our number to the verge of despair, and led them to think of
committing the awful and cowardly sin of suicide ; but they
were prevented by the indulgence of a faint and lingering
hope of escaping at some favorable opjwrtunity. Suicide,
at best, is but a coward's resort. Afraid to brave the ills
he sees, he shuts his eyes and madly rushes upon the diiead,
unknown realities of an eternal scene. O, how awful must
be the meeting of the Deity with that guilty spirit that rush-
es, unbidden, into his presence ! O, the fearful disappoint-
ment ; the endless, piteous wreck of the soul that strikes on

120

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOJT.

Letter from an old friend.

Designs of escape.

>! i

I! !

that rock ! Better far is it to endure the trifling ills of this
mortal life, though they press our dying frames to death,
rather than to throw off the soul's mantle, and rush naked
and bloody, into eternity.

About this time, prompted by my urgent necessities, I
wrote a plain statement of my situation to my old patron,
Mr. "W'eidenbecker of Montreal. He returned me a very
condescending and affectionate reply, and sent me the
names and addresses of two of his acquaintances in Quebec,
recommending me to write to them. Taking this advice,
I wrote to one of them, who only ridiculed the idea of being
addressed by a criminal ! Determined not to be easily dis-
couraged, I wrote to him again, and enclosed Mr. W.'s let-
ter ; this communication produced a somewhat more favora-
ble effect ; he sent me some food and a dollar in money.

Failing to obtain permanent relief, and our hard fare
and severe toil being still continued without mitigation, I
began to despair of brighter days, and resolved to try my
fortune in an attempt to escape. To effect this from the
room of my confinement, was manifestly impossible ; I
therefore directed my attention to another spot, that bade
fair to allow of the execution of my plan. In the upper
part of the prison was a sort of a store-house, or garret,
where we deposited the oakum picked during the week.
There were three windows in thi° garret, unprotected by
iron bars, and of easy access from the inside, from which
some prisoners of war had made ti>eir escape, during the
bloody contests of the late American wai*. At my weekly
visits to this place, I used to open Ihe windows and look
down on the free and busy multitude below ; and such was
the excitement produced in my bosom at the possibility of
ftn escape, that on several occasions I could scarcely ro^

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

121

Acquiescence of prisoners.

An unwelcome intruder.

3 of this
[) deatliy
h naked

ssities, I
I patron,
e a very
me the
Quebec,
I advice,
of being
asily dis-
W.'s let-
•e favora-
lonej.
lard fare
igation, I
o try my
from the
►ssible ; I
ihat bade
le upper
►r garret,
le week,
ected by
>m which
uring the
\y weekly
and look
such was
sibility of
arcely ro

frain from making the attempt in open day. To make it,
however, I fully decid<'d ; for if retaken, my situation
could scarcely be worse ; and if my effort succeeded, O,
how my mind revelled amid the sweets of that idea, — liber-
ty and subsequent happiness might be mine. To secrete
myself among the oakum at one of my visits to the cham-
ber, and at night escape from the window by means of a
rope, was the plan which seemed the most easy of accom-
plishment, and I accordingly adopted it.

To put it into execution, however, many things wen
necessary. One of the most important was the confidence
of my fellow-prisoners, and their consent to keep my
absence from the knowledge of the turnkey a sufficient
time to permit my escape. So I spread out my plan before
them, and succeeded in obtaining a solemn pledge of secre-
cy, though they thought it a very daring attempt, as the
window was four stories from the ground, and as a very
trifling mishap might cost me my life. But I thought that
the prospect of liberty was a weight of sufficient magnitude
to throw into the scale against the possibility of losing a
miserable life ; and I told them that, at all events, with their
permission, I would try.

The next time we carried oakj-m to the chamber, I sut-
cedcd, amid the hurry and confusion of the occasion, in
secreting myself beneath the piles of oakum it contained ;
the prisoners retired, and now thought I, " all is well ; it
will soon be dark, and I will be off from this dismal hole."
Sucli were my reflcctior^, when alas ! my swelling hopes
tumbled into dust ; footsteps approached, the door opened,
and some one exclaimed,

" Lighten, come out, or the turnkey will discover you !"

To this I made no replv ; and the man continued,
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122

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

A failure.

A fresh eifort for escape.

" Lighton, I am your friend ; come out, and I will not
tell the turnkey ; it is impossible for you to get away, and
for your own sake do come out !"

Finding that my detection was inevitable, I crept forth
from my retreat to see who the intruder might be. He
was an orderly prisoner, who had the liberty of the yard,
and who assisted the turnkey in his duties. Having missed
me from among the rest, he at once suspected the cause,
and returning to the garret, hailed me, as already related.
Upon leaving my hiding-place I eyed him askance a mo-
ment, and then gruffly said,

" What do you want with me ? why not let a poor fellow
escape if he can?"

To this he replied with much evident friendship,

" I have apprehended your design, and have come to
dissuade you from it ; for it will expose you to death if
you fail, and bring me under severe reprehension for not
keeping a closer watch." As I stood silent a moment, he
continued,

" You may possibly make your escape some other way,
where I shall not be implicated ; and I will say nothing of
this affair if you will come away peaceably."

Seeing that I was discovered, I retired to my room much
disappointed, to meditiite on some new and more successful
mode of getting beyond the gloomy walls of my hated pris-
son. This futile attempt was shortly after followed by
another equally unsuccessful. Perceiving that it was
barely possible to rush by the sentry, when we went out
for our water, which was very near the gate in the prison
yard, I told my companions that I thought of trying to get
off that way. Pleased with my reckless daring, they ex-
claimed,

" Get away if you can !"

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

123

le.

The attempt.

Drageed back to prison.

Confined in the dungeon.

kvill not
ray, and

ept forth
be. He
ihe yardj
or missed
le cause,
f related,
ice a mo-

)or

fellow

come to
p death if
n for not
loment, he

3ther way,
nothing of

oom much:
successful
lated pris-
LUowed by
lat it was
went out
the prison
dng to got
., they ex-

To aid my purpose they appointed me their orderly, so
that I might improve the most favorable opportunity. To
avoid suspicion, I went to the pump without my hat, having
an old wollen cap stuffed beneath my Avaistband, which one
of the prisoners gave me for the occasion. One day, while
I was deliberately filling my tub, the sentry turned his
head to gaze at some passing novelty ; that was my pre-
cious opportunity ; springing to the door, I was iu the street
in a moment, running at the top of my speed. But here,
again my evil genius attended me ; for just as I passed the
door, the turnkey, impatient at my delay, came to the head
of the stairs, and stooping down to see what was doing, he
discovered a pair of heels. Suspecting foul play, he rushed
into the street, shouting with a Stentorian voice, " Stop that
prisoner !" The roads were very slippery, being covered
with ice ; my shoes were dry, and of course my progress
was much impeded by slipping and tumbling ; still I kept
onward, until the turnkey, overtaking me, brought me to
the ground with a blow, and then firmly grasping me by
the collar, he dragged me, an unwilling follower, buck to
prison. There the guards were already mustered for pur-
suit, and the sentry by whom I had passed was so infuri-
ated, that he would have fain run me through with his
bayonet. Many spectators had assembled, and the jailer,
meeting us, dealt out a number of blows upon my head and
face with his fist, and pulled my ears most shamefully ;
they then put me into irons, and confined me in the dun-
geon — a cold, dark, comfortless hole, unfit for the residence
of a satyr. How strange that such a place shoidd have
been invented to recover man from folly !

My place of confinement was opposite the guard-house,
and the soldiers amused themselves with mimicking my

1- Si
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124

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Determination of the prisoners to break juil.

■«';

sufferings. This, together with my misery, produced a
state of exasperation amounting ahnost to insanity. I
shook my irons, knocked at the door, and screamed with
great vehemence. At last, my mad efforts exhausted my
strength, and brought me to my senses. Ashamed of my
folly, I sank down in silence to the floor. From this dun-
geon I was soon removed, and once more mingled with my
fellow prisoners in the old apartment, though for a week
my irons were continued on my person.

The condition of the prisoners not being ameliorated by
better treatment, they continued to make the most bitter
complaints, which, like the whistling breeze, passed unheed-
ed and neglected ; and they at last formed a stern determi-
nation to break jail the first favorable opportunity : a sol-
emn ajrreemcnt to this effect was made, to which we mutu-
ally pledged adherence. Our next question was, lohere to
make the attempt ; to break from the room we then occu-
pied was uLerly impossible, on account of its contiguity to
the post of one of the sentries. The room we first occu-
pied, however, offered advantages to facilitate our design ;
it therefore became ti point of the first importance to obtain
its possession. This, of course, could only be done by per-
mission of the jailer : to gain this, we behaved ourselves in
the most unexceptionable manner, and having secured his
good will by our quietness and good order, we humbly re-
quested him to permit us to occupy the work-house, on ac-
count of its superior size and means of comfort, and also
because our room, being small, was likely to promote dis-
ease from the impurity of its air. Supposing us to be pin-
cere, he granted our request, and gave us the additional

in the yard. Our time
1 breaking stones, at one

?ge of walking occasi(

now employed principalis

.i*::;!,

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LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

125

uced a
ty. I

id with
ted my

of my
his dun-
kvith my

a week

rated by
5t bitter
unheed-
determi-
r : a sol-
k\e mutu-
I ivhere to
len occu-
iguity to
rst occu-
r design ;
to obtain
c by per-
rselves in
3ured his
imbly re-
se, on ac-
and also
mote dis-
o be pin-
additional
Our time
fs, at one

The oath. Prisoners engage in cutting the t»ars.

Manner of working.

halfpenny per bushel, we had but little leisure to mature
our project.

To secure the faithfulness of all, we bound ourselves with
an oath to stand or fall together. An old man, named
Pireau, acted as our judge to administer the oath ; this ho
did in a candid and deliberate manner, requiring each indi-
vidual to repeat after him the oath, concluding with, "I
agree to the design proposed, and in every respect will prove

faithful ; so help me ." He also made every one kiss

the Bible, after the English manner of taking an oath.

This done, we commenced operations, and the old man
was appointed chief. He proposed to cut away the bars of
our window, which he said was the only practicable mode of
escape ; this was so apparent that we unanimously decided
upon that means, and to carry out our purpose we sent by a
visitor and procured a knife and a file. Tlie knife, how-
ever, was so thick, that it was useless, until we, by dini of
much effort, reduced it to a proper size by rubbing it on a
stone. This done, the old man, whom we called the " old
fox," for his singular cunning, made it into a saw, and hid
it over the door frame.

Being closely guarded, it was difficult to decide where to
make our attempt ; but we ultimately resolved to try the
window on the north corner of the prison, as the only one
aftbrding a rational probability of success ; it was close to
the prison wall, which rose about three feet above the win-
dow. We proposed to cut away the inner and outer bars,
and then, by means of a plank, which we had already se-
cured, to mount the top of the wall, and descend on the
other side by means of a rope fastened to the remaining
bars of the window.

We accordingly began our work, but to avoid detection

f;:&.

I! ' ';

ijiiil

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f '

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!■. .,;i;i

flil

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126

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

A new prisoner.

A sudden tninsition.

The prcpnriitlons di?covcre(l.

by the numerous sentries by whom we were guarded, we
only worked on wet and stormy nights, when the soldiers
were sheltered in their boxes. On these nights, old Pireau
used the saw, and the rest were stationed around the room,
to give timely notice of the earliest alarm. One of our
number was posted where he could see the sentinel immedi-
ately next us in the yard, with a string in his hand, attached
to the old man's foot, which in case of alarm was to be pul-
led as a signal for him to desist ; and he not unfrequently
received some pretty nervous jerks, that made him eurse
roundly for the pain they occasioned him. Our scheme was
now in rapid progression, when the introduction of a new
companion stopped its further prosecution for a time. He
was a boy, and was only to be confined for one month ; so
we determined to postpone our enterprise until his depar-
ture ; but he, by accident, discovered our Intention ; we then
frightened him half to death, and made him take an awful
oath of secrecy, and proceeded with our work. We had
soon so nearly accomplished our preparatory measures, that
we only required one more night to apply the finisiiing stroke
and take our departure. Animated to an unusual degree,
we entered upon our day's labor with unwonted cheerfulness,
and, while we hammered the hard stones, bright visions of
liberty and freedom floated like spirits of peace before our
minds. But these visions were too bright to be realized,
and there was something ominous in our exceeding cheer-
fulness. How sad, how overwhelming was our disappoint-
ment, when, about 11 o'clock, A. M., the turnkey entered
our apartment, and ordered every one out of the room, say-
ing, as we left it,

" I believe some of you are adopting some measures to
escape ; I am come to see whether it is so or not !"

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX

127

;ovorcd.

[led, we
soldiers
Pireau
Le room,
of our
immedi-
attaclied

) be pul-
equently

im Gurse
leme was
of a new
me. He
lonth; 80
lis depar-
; we then
an awful
We had
iures, that
ng stroke
|al degree,
■erfulness,
visions of
lefore our
realized,
ing cheer-
iisappoint-
',y entered
oom, say-

leasures to

Tlic author is ironed.

Antfinr's rf'<iiii"i;()t iirrivcs in Quehoc.

He then examined our beds ; on coming to old Pircau's
and mine — for we were coniriides, and slept on the same
bed — he found our saw hid among the straw. Kext, the
bars of the windows underwent his strict scrutiny, and, on
coming to the one which was the subject of our operations,
as if aware that it was the place, he gave })articuhir atten-
tion to it, and, notwithstanding the cuts were tilled up with
charcoal and tallow, he soon announced liis discovery by
exclaiming,

" Ah, here it is ! I have found the place where they are
breaking away !"

How bitterly painful was this sudden disapi)ointment, and
how mournful were the looks we exchanged with each other,
as he collected us altogether, and drove us like slaves into
the dungeon ! Pireau, myself, and one or two others, being
suspected to be the ringleaders of the affair, were immedi-
ately put into heavy irons, and when the affair was made
public, we were announced as such, though in fact we were
no more deeply implicated than the rest. After a few da} s'
confinement in the dungeon, our irons were removed, and
we were all placed in our old apartment, the small, unhealthy
room at the back of the prison. Old Pireau still had to
wear his irons, for when the unfeeling blacksmith who took
them off our limbs was about removing his, he did it so
brutally, that the old man complained most bitterly, and the
smith, growing snarlish and cross, went away without finish-
ing his task. In consequence of this, he wore his irons nearly
a month.

Sixteen months had now elapsed since I had entered my
dreary prison, when it was rumored that my regiment was
ordered home, snd had actually arrived in Quebec for the
purpose of embarking. The wretched are ever fond of

i: :i

a-;1*!

Mili

128

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOIf.

Cuptaiii Pierce.

Deep di< couragoinent.

grasping at the mere straws that float by t. »Gm, on the stream
wliere all their hopes lie wrecked ; and x, with a similar
desperation, seized the idea that I should be released from
my weary confinement, and be conducted with my regiment
back to my country ; and " There," whispered hope, "your
friends will secure your discharge." My old comrades
visited me nearly every day, but though I made every pos-
sible inquiry of them, they could afford me no satisfactory
information. Unwilling to lose any opportunity, I petitioned
the officers, humbly confessing my error, and soliciting their
favor and official influence in procuring my liberty, and my
restoration to my regiment. A few days after I sent my
petition. Captain Pierce visited me, more in the spirit of a
fiend than a man ; as if my sufferings had not been suffi-
cient, he heaped unmerited curses on my head. This un-
expected and ungodly treatment struck me dumb, so that I
could scarcely utter a word during his visit. He told me
that the officers had received my petition, but could not as-
sist me, and I must content myself with enduring the full
term of my imprisonment. At last, as if some pity yet
glowed within his hardened breast, he presented me with a
dollar, saying, as he gave it me,

" I give you this, that you may apply it to your present
necessities,"

Upon this, I bowed and thanked him, and he left me.

Soon after this, I addressed a letter to the adjutant,
who also made me a visit. His kind and familiar man-
ner relieved me from all embarrassment, and enabled me to
make a full and free expression of my feelings. I told him
that it was my impression, that, having been delivered up
to the civil authorities, I was no longer a soldier ; that, as
my discharge from military obligations had been given io

,„i *'

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON,

129

Colonel Rumplu'g visit.

Regiment ombnrks for England.

stream
similar
■d from
egiment
e, "your
omrades

ery pos-
isfactory
)etitionecl
ting their
r, and my
I sent my
pirit of a
)een suffi-

This un-

), so that I

le told me

aid not as-

ng the full

pity yet

me with a

lur

present

left me.
adjutant,

liliar man-
ibled me to
I told him
tlivered up
3r ; that, as
bn given to

the court at my trial, it must be given to mc, when my
term of imprisonment expired. lie corrected this inijtK s-
sioii, however, iiv U'll np: mc that my name was still coj tin-
ned on the military i-oll, and that I should probably be
joined to some other corps at the close of my confinement.

This information cut oft' my last hope, and overwhelmed
me with discouragement ; it showed me that after the ex-
piration of my present severe trials, I was liable to trial
for desertion, and should probably be doomed to the lash
or banishment with some condemned corps, and perhaps to
loth. This was the saddest prospect yet, and it filled
my heart with sad forebodings.

Just on the eve of the departure of the troops, I wrote
to Colonel Rumple, requesting an interview. He was now
commander of the regiment, in consequence of the death
of Colonel Andrews. He visited me, and to him I hum-
bly acknowledged my fault, and earnestly implored his in-
fluence to effect my release and restoration to his corps ;
in reply, he said his influence would avail me nothing, or
he w^ould willingly use it ; he was sorry, he said, to see me
in so miserable a plight, but hoped it would do me ultimate
good. Concerning my discharge, he said that I was still
a soldier, but not under his command ; hence he must leave
me behind, in the power of the governor, who would do
with me as he thought best after my release from prison.
This information threw an additional shade upon the future;,
and left me still more the victim of hopeless despondency.
Before the regiment left Quebec, all foreigners weiv dis-
charged, in order that none but Britisli subjects mvA\\ re-
main in it. These discharged comrades rendered n o some
important assistance by their voluntary and noble gcnr.

rosity, for which may they be amply .vc warded 1>> the
12

■ ii

I i

II'

li> r

' \f I i

" *

150

LPE Of WILLIAM B. tlOnXOJi'.-

Morn liopos cruxhcMl.

providence and mercy of Heaven. Thus did my lio[)es
dawn and die, during the sliort stay of my regiment in the
city.

N»)twithstanding the failure of our plans of escape, and
the subsequent disappointment and sadness of our hearts,
we did not wholly despair. We were continually devising
new schemes, which as ol'ten proved to be but air. At last?
Ave resolved again to petition the governor, and humbly im-
])lorc his clemency ; but to our numerous petitions we recei-
ved no answer, neither in writing nor assistance. Then,
supposing we had exhausted every effort that aflbrded a
prospect of alleviation, or of present liberty, we sank down
into a sort of melancholy and forced resignation to our mis-
erable circumstances. Wo were completely raised from
this state, however, in a short time, by an unlooked for
occurrence. A ship of the line arrived at Quebec in want
of seamen, and one day the officers came into the prison to
obtain some able-bodied men for the service. The jailer
permitted them to visit us, when they inquired how many of
ns were willing to volunteer to be men-of-war's men. Every
prisoner eagerly replied that he was willing ; upon which they
took down our names,and told us we should be sent for in a few
days. This intelligence cheered our spirits, and we were
well nigh intoxicated with joy ; we fondly dreamed of a
safe and speedy deliverance from our irksome confinement ;
and it was but a dream, for we soon learned that the ship
had sailed. Why we were not sent for, we were never
informed. Probably, the consent of the governor could not
be obtained.

By good behavior, I obtained the confidence and moved
the sympathy of the jailer, and he, in some degree, mitiga-
ted the rigor of my imprisonment by permitting me to act

,'f-

LIFE or TVILLIAM B. LKiHTON.

131

liopcs
ill the

le, and
lu'iirts,
evising
At last,
bly ini-
c rccei-

Tlien,
forded a
ik down
our mis-
cd from
)okcd for

in want
prison to
le jailer
' many of
Every
iliicli tliey
|>r in a few

we were

led of a
Jfmement ;
It tlie ship
lere never

I could not

id moved

^c, mitiga-

me to act

Another scheme to csicnpo.

V1»U to the roiiunon scwcr of tho city.

as a waiter upon a gentleman conllned for debt ; this service
proeurt;d me the liberty of tlic yy.rd, jtnd though I was shut
up in my room at night, yet my situation was materially
imi)roved.

The prisoners, soon after this, contrived another plan of
escape, which was at once hazardous and cunning. There
was a drain connected with our room, which led into the
common sewer of the city. They ])ro[>oscd to descend this
drain and folloAV the sewer until it brouglit tliem unrlci- the
streets of the city ; from thence, cut tliroiigli tlic arch, and
ascend without the pri.son walls, -rjiis ))lan mnuifcstly re-
quired great caution, for there were several other drains in
the prison, from which our lights in the sewer must inevit-
ably be discovered, if any person should haj>pen to pass
them while Ave were o]">erating below. For the procure-
ment of lights they depended u})on me, as I, having tlie
liberty of tlie yard, could obtain them with greatei' j'acllity
than any of the rest. Tiiis I ditl, and soon supplied them
with candles sufficient for the occasion. Mr. Pireau was
next sent to reconnoitre, and ascertain what difRculties were
to be surmounted. With a strong rope, which we had })ro-
cured, or rather constructed, he was with much dijliculty
lowered down the nari*ow drain into the sewer below. The
" old fox" as we called him, soon returned, and, pulling the
rope, we drew him up in triumpli ; he declared that nothing
could be more encouraging, as there was but one obstacle in
the way, which was an iron grating of single bars, directly
under the wall of the prison yard ; the cutting away of one
of these Avould permit us to pass directly under the street.
He jocosely observed, that of all the Avays he had travelled
in his life, that was the most foul and offensive ; aiid Avell it
might be, for it was the passage of all the filth of the city-

132

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LTOnTOJT.

Tho Bttein|)t.

Unexpected dlfncultiox.

A ludlrrniH scono.

.1^1;

^Interials to cut tl»e bar were soon ol)ttiinc(l, and the old man
speedily accomplished that task. Myself and another pris-
oner were now deputed to descend and inspect the ground,
and to report the probabilities of success. We accordingly
descended, and after a short examination, returned and
stated it to be our opinion that our escape might easily be
effected.

As it was our intention not to make the hole nntil all
were ready to pop out, we agreed to descend together. One
of our number declined on account of ill health, and because
his teiin of imprisonment was nearly expired, lie promised,
I'Owever, to remain in his bed until the turnkey brought in
the wood to make our fire, and then to affect utter ignorance
of our escape. Satisfied Avith this promise, one night, after
the turnkey had gone his nine-o'clock rounds, an(' * was
quiet in the prison, we descended, nine of ns in nun. , and
proceeded up the channel to the scene of our anticipated
escape. Here we experienced uuich difficulty, in conse-
quence of the narrow dimensions of the channel, and be-
cause of a great flow of filthy water, occasioned by a recent
rain. Ci*awling upon our hands and knees, we could but
just keep our heads above water, and sometimes we nan-owly
escaped drowning.

The prisoners were sadly disappointed upon finding such
an egi*ess ; they had expected to be able to walk erect, and
without danger or difficulty ; and most severely and blas-
phemously did they curse us for bringing them, as they said,
into such a hole. Some unfortunately drowned their lights,
and were involved in darkness. This so discouraged them
that they would fain have gone back ; but this miserable
privilege was denied them, the passage being so narrow that
they could not turn round ; go ahead, therefore, they must.

LTPE or WILLIAM n. LICnTOX.

133

inc.

dman
r pria-
round,
<lingly
(I and
sily be

ntil all
. One
because
omised,
Lijrht in
norance
lit, after
* was
, and
icipated
conse-

and be-
a recent

uld but
lun'owly

Iiii|Hitlcnco of the priHonors.

An unvxpcrtni ol^tarlo.

sucTi
and
blas-
cy said,
|ir lights,
ed them
iserable
row that
ley must.

Old Pircau, who led tlic van, endeavored to encourage them :
but in return for his on'urtf*, he received disgustin;:!; oaths and
bitter curses. To nie the scejie was truly ludicrous, and 1
could not help laughin^^ heartily at (heir inisforlunes ; in-
deed, it was a spectacle worthy of llir pencil of a Hogarth.
There they Avere, toiling up a narrow aperture, on hands
and knees, the water up to their very chins — each niau
dragging his bundle after hini as best he could, and all of
them moaning forth the mostsorrowfid lauientations ; in this
style we reached the scene of operations.

Here it was more spaeious, and here we paused, our
hearts beating high with the hope of breathing a purer air
in a few moments. I was ordered forward to assist old
Pireau in making the excavation, as only two of us could labor
together. After we had dug and pulled for some time with-
out success, the men became impatient, and cried out,

" Well, are you ready ? "

" No," we replied. A few minutes more i)assed away
without interruption, when they again cried out, with Sten-
torian voices,

" Have you got the hole made ? "

Again we answered, " No." And then some swore, and
others joked about our laziness ; and then followed a short
pause, which was soon broken by the following dialogue : —

" Is the hole made now 'i "

" Not yet."

'• Well, what is the matter ? don't you do any thing ? "

" Yes ; we shall get through by and by, only keep still.''

Then they praised us for our diligence, and shouted,

" Halloo, there, old fox, what arc you about ? Is the hole
made now ? "

We replied, " No ; wc arc afraid we shall not be able to
12*

1;E.

1 , ,vi

124

LIFE OP ■WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

Bitter disappointment.

A traitor.

'^K'

accomplish much, the water is so high, and we have nothing
with which to dig into the wall."

Having no implement but the bar which we hatl cut out
of tlie grating, and the channel being Availed on each side
and overlaid with large timbers, we soon found it impossible
to make any available imjiression ; and v.hen the prisoners
again demj, vied if we were ready, we rei)lied,

" It is impossible for us to succeed to-night ; we had better
return to our room until the water subsides, and we are able
to procure some implement to aid us in forcing away the
stones and timbers of the channel."

Now commenced a scene the most infamous and diabolical
I ever ^vitncssed. They cursed our ill success, and wished
ten thousand evils upon us for bringing them into such a
predicament ; they yelled, howled, and cursed, and, had
their oaths and imprecations been fulfilled ujion them, they
would have sunk to the lowest depths of the lowest perdi-
tion. At last \vc regained the drain, where the man we
had left bclilnd lowered the rope, and drew up the lightest
of us ; tlius, one aftei* another, we ascended to our abode,
wet, cold, and miserable ; it was well for us that one of our
number remained behind, or we could not have regained our
room, but must have staid below, perhaps to perish before
morning.

After wringing out our clothes, we retired to bod, where,
having only a single blanket to cover us, we passed the
night cold and shivering. The next morning, I passed out
to wait on the gentleman debtor as usual, no notice being
taken of my still wet dress ; and it is highly probable that
our attempt would have been unuiscovered, had not one of
our own number, regardless of the oath he had taken,
treacherously revealed the whole affair to the jailer and

(thing

at out
h side
Dssible
soners

. bettor
re able
ay tlic

[ibolical
wished
) such a
nd, had
!m, they
it perdi-
man ^vc
lightest
abode,
Ic of our
ined our
1 before

I, where,
3sed the
issed out
tee being

ible that
lot one of
Id taken,

liler and

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOnTON.

135

Unjust rovGnjfc. A nirions contrivance detected. The attempt to escape ngnin.

turnkey. Upon being informed of the fact, they drove us
all dov/n into tlie dungeon, and examined us, to find out the
ringleadn-s of tlie jdot. Old Pireau and myself, having
been found guilty on a former occasion, were condemned as
the instigators of this movement, and loaded heavily with
irons.

Two of tlie prisoners, conceiving me to be tlie cause of
their detection, increased tlie misery of my situation by the
most violent abuse, and by robbing me of my food. Tliis
was the more unreasonable, as I was suffering more severely
than themselves, under the charge tliat I was the ringleader
of the whole attempt. The night, however, relieved me of
their unpleasant com[)an3', as all but Pireau and myself
were taken back to their old apartment, while Ave were left
sole occupants of the dungeon.

Finding his irons very troublesome, old Pireau, with the
lielp of a piece of iron, contrived to cut them in such a way
that he could take them oil' at pleasure, and, througli the
day, he walked about freed from their incumbrance ; but
when tlie turnkey approached the place he slipped them on.
This contrivance, however, was disco\'ered one day by the
turnkey, avIio came to the dungeon unexpectedly, and detec-
ted him before lie had time to replace them.

Ul^on being restored to my room, I made a firm determi-
nation never to attempt an escape again in company with
my faithless and unj>rinciplcd companions, as it Avas now
pretty evident that some of them would betray the rest,
either from desire to gain favor with the jailer, or from fear.
This determination was tested only a few days after. Some
of the prisoners attempted to escape tiie same way that avc
had su recently tried. A few minutes after the keeper had
gone his rounds, one of them descended the drain to examine

1 T'

■U>J|giiJi*V.i^9Vi

*'inmi(i " 'm^^^j r

136

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LtGHTJON.

Another fruitless attempt.

Resitniation and occupation.

i', -.'

the grating, and prepare the way for the rest. Hardly had
lie arrived below, before the keepers sprang suddenly into
our room, and began inquiring for old Pireau and myself,
taking it for granted that we were concerned in the attempt.
Happily we were in bed ; but, though we informed them of
the fact, they could hardly be convinced until they were as-
sured by seeing our persons. We told them we had nothing
to do with their breaking out, and that we never meant to be
guilty of such a crime again.

The poor fellow who had descended into the channel, was
soon taken out by means of a trap-door, when the turnkey
beat him most shamefully with a cudgel, and drove him down
to the dungeon, where he was heavily ironed, and kept for a
considerable time." This circumstance had such an effect
upon all the prisoners, that they abandoned all idea of libera-
tion until their time should expire.

As I had adopted a similar resolution, it struck me as a
wise expedient to devote myself to mental improvement, as a
means of passing the time agreeably, and of preparing myself
for future usefulness and happiness. My means of improve-
ment w«re very small. I had but a few books ; however, I
sedulously devoted every leisure moment to the study of
drawing, writing, and arithmetic. These studies had the
happiest effect upon my mind ; they soon relieved me of that
insufferable prison melancholy, of which I had heretofore
been the unhajipy subject, and they ultimately paved the way
for that glorious change which I subsequently experienced.
Still the time spent in prison was a vacuity in my existence ;
even now, it seems like a whole link struck from the chain of
my past life. The wonder of my mind often is, how I escaped
utter ruin, connected as I was, so long and so closely, witli
such unprincipled characters. Doubtless the restraining

r-.i^K'wyffr^^mfi^y^- -'^s.'

^"^

?5wr7i^57?"''"''»«'?'!Lw™p?»«flraw»!»i^^

ition.

dly had
ly into
myself,
Lttempt.
hem of
t^ere as-
nothing
nt to be

f-"

.iiiiw|Li9f|iimifP-

^mr^^^n^mm

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOX.

137

Resignation, and occupation^

grace of GocI saved me, and to its great Author I would «s-
th" bumhlr"' '""^ ''*"'*™'''' ''°'' P''"-*'"^ »«<•* « brand from

lel, was
turnkey
m down
3pt for a
in effect
f libera-

rne as a
ent, as a
5 myself
tnprove-
svever, I
itudy of
bad the
i of that
iretofore
the Avay
rienced.
istence ;
chain of
escaped
}ly, wit}i
straining

CHAPTER VII.

One struggle more, and I am free."

i ^

We now had an addition to our numbers, of a character
differing from all the rest. He was a young Englisliman,
convicted for some petty crime, well educated, and possessed
of a tenderness of manner that soon won for him the love
and esteem of all the prisoners^ By a Itpng train of mis-
fortunes he had become greatly reduced ; when, to gratify
his sinful and intemperate habits, he committed the offence
that })laced him in prison. What think you, young reader,
occasioned his fall? It was cruel disobedience to kind and
affectionate parents ! Nor was he alone in attributing his
fall to this crime, among the many who were under con-
finement. Several of us could date our entire list of sor-
rows from the moment when we violated the obligations of
children. Would that the young would beware of this ac-
cursed and blasting evil — this root of a thousand woes ! O
that they were wise to refrain from it, ere it lead them into
every species of wretchedness and woe ! Hear, young rea-
der, hear i/ovr duty from the mouth of God upon this sub-
ject. He says, " Honor thy father and thy mother, that
thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God
giveth thee."

This young man had not been long with us, before I
formed the most intimate friendship with him. As we
both loved reading, we united our studies, and read together
every book wc could obtain. Among the many we bor-
rowed, was Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, an inimitable

LIFE Of WILLJAM B. LIGUTON.

ISO

rilfiriin's Progress.

Conviction for sin.

laracter
iisliman,
osscssed
the love
of mis-
o gratify
e offence
T reader,
land and
)uting his
uler con-
;t of sor-
Igations of
,f this ac-
^voes ! O
them into
tonng rea-
this sub-
Ithcr, that
[l thy God

before I

As we

Id together

we bor-
I inimitable

work, which neither of us had ever seen before ; this we
read witli an increasing interest, until we became entirely
captivated by the fascinating style of the author, and by the
peculiarity of his descriptions of the Pilgrim's Avanderings.
Nor was it without its moral influence on my mind. His
description of the Pilgrim hastening from the City of De-
struction, struggling through the Slough of Despond to the
little wicket-gate, and his pursuit of the heavenly journey
with so much watchfulness and effort, taught me the neces-
sity of re[)entance and regeneration. I saw that I must be
cleansed by the washing of the Holy Ghost, and be united
by a spiritual bond to our blessed Lord and Savior Jesus
Christ, and that, by his grace, I must become obedient to
his will, or forfeit enternal life. When v. e read of Chris-
tian losing his burden at the foot of the cross, a strong de-
sire for a similar relief awoke in my heaving heart, and,
ere we had reached the close of the work, I was laboring
under deep and genuine conviction for sin. What a blessed
work is that of Bunyan's ! Doubtless many sor'"- will
have to bless God for its production to all eternity ; it is so
true to nature, to grace, to experience, and withal so in-
teresting in its style, that it must always be both useful
and beloved.

How various are the means used by that Mighty Agent
of the gospel, the Holy Spirit, to produce conviction in the
human heart! Sometimes it speaks in the thunder, and
sometimes in the whispers of the breeze ; now it works in
the lightning's flash, and anon, in the darkness of the silent
midnight hour ; in one, it speaks with the hoarse roars of
Sinai, in another, with the sweet sighings of Calvary ; to
some, by the living minister, and to others, by the silent
book, wonderfully adapting its modes to the various con-

h :>■

■'I !:-

iiii

140

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOUTOK.

A piouM visitor.

Delay of duty.

stitutions and circumstances of man. O blessed Spirit !
my heart adores theo ; my spirit yields its humble sacrifice
to thy glory, and to thy eternal praise. May thy influence

till my soul, and lit me for the inheritance of the saints in
light.

liy a peculiar dispensation of Divine Providence, \vc
were visited at this era of my experience by the Eev. Mr.
Archibald and another gentlcnuui, whose name I have for-
gotten, an olHcer in the royal engineer department. These
gentlemen, moved by the spirit of Jesus, came to visit us
in prison, in hoi)es to find a disciple for their Divine Mas-
ter within its wails. Theirs was a benevolence of the right
stamp — a Christianity developed through a propei' medium ;
they labored personalli/ with sinners, and that is the kind
of labor that the Head of the Church requires. They
manifested the utmost sweetness of disposition, and piety
shone conspicuously in their deportment ; their mildnc^>
and suavity soon inspired confidence, and we listened with
respect to their instructions.

Perceiving my seriousness of manner, Mr. A. used to
take me aside, and, with much affection and gentlenes.-,
urge me to seek a change of heart, as necessary to salva-
tion. He warned me most faithfully of my danger, show-
ing me that I was a sinner, at an almost infinite distance
from God ; and that, if I would be at peace, I must repent
of all my sins, and take the I^ord Jesus for my Savior.
But, like too many sinners, though under deep conviction,
I thought I could not seek religion then ; I was surrounded
by v.'hat might have been truly called " the devil's own
children," who would doubtless m.-ike me the butt of their
filthy wit, and low, unmanly ridicule. After I was libera-
ted, it seemed as if a more convenient season would ofl'er

LlfE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

141

Spirit I

sacrifice
ifluencc

,aints in

nee, Nvc
lev. Mr.
:uivc ibr-
, These
D visit us
inc Ma.s-
the riglit
uietliuni ;

the kind
:s. They
\nd piety

miltlner->
cued with

used to
rentlenes?,
to salva-
!!•, show-
dititance
lust repent
ly Savior,
conviction,
lurrounded
ivil's own
lit of their
tas libera-
rould ofier

A strange preacher.

An effectual sermon.

itself. Thus, for a long time, I strove to quell my tender
feelings, and to grieve the Holy Spirit ; yet, like the patri-
arch's dove, I found no rest ; for though I could grieve the
Spirit, I could not resist conviction ! it followed me in spite
of every procrastinating effort. Blessed, thrice blessed be
God for his long-suffering and tender mercy I

"While in this interesting state of mind, I attended the
prison chapel one afternoon, when we were addressed by
an entire stmnger, an elderly gentleman, dressed in the
garb of an old fashioned Methodist preacher ; such a dress
I had frequently seen worn in England. His peculiarly
solemn appearance arrested my attention, and prepared me
to hear with profit. His prayer was fervent and powerful ;
it took hold of God, and, like the wrestling patriarch, he
seemed unwilling to let go until Jehovah had blessed him
and his sinful auditory. While praying for the prisoners,
he seemed to carry my case especially to the throne of
grace ; under that prayer my convictions increased mightily,
and my sinking, but wicked heart strongly tempted me to
leave the chapel for very shame's sake. Glory to God, that
temptation did not conquer me ; that mesh did not entangle
my unwary feet.

Christ, the sacrifice for sin, was the lofty theme he chose to
speak upon in his sermon : he showed sin's exceeding sinful-
ness, and its damning effects, from the fact, that, to redeem
a world from death, so great a gift as the Son of God was
necessary. After dwelling a sufficient time on the great
doctrines of his text, he addressed lumself with deep pathos
to the prisoners ; he showed us how all our past wretched-
ness and suffering were occasioned by nn, and how sin
world ruin us in the future ; he invited us to Christ, urging

the most weighty motives to repentance and fai'h, and

-yt

i .■ I!

iliil

:; if'

142

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTO??.

A cunfctisioii.

Good advice.

pointing out the glorious and peaceful results. My soul
roultl not resist the eloquence of his pleading, and it was
only by violent efforts that tears were prevented from re-
vealing to my comrades the workings of my heart.

At the close of the mectinir, I went to this venerable
messenger of the new covenant, and, taking him aside, said
to him, as I burst into a flood of tears,

" Sir, I am desirous to become a better man ; I wish to
be pious ; I am sensible that I have hitherto lived an enemy
to God ; will you give me your counsel, and pray that your
labors may not be lost upon me ?"

Taking me affectionately by the hand, he replied with
much earnestness of manner,

" Do not stifle your good impressions, but submit to them
until they are followed by an evidence that you are born
of God. Pray for mercy and pardon ! Believe in the
Lord Jesus Christ ; confess your sins and forsake all your
evil doings, and he will receive you."

" Sir," said I, " I cannot prny ; I do not knoAV hoAV."'

" Not pray ! " replied he, as if astonished ; " cannot you
repeat the Lord's prayer?"

" Yes sir," said I ; " my mother taught me that when I
was but a child."

" Then use that, my dear j oung friend," answered he,
" and make it a model in all your addresses to the throne
of grace."

He then offered me some advice relative to my future
course, and, with an earnest wish that my heart might soon
be filled with the full fruition of divine love, left me to my
reflections.

My mind now labored under the deepest distress ; I saw
God's holy law was against me, and my guilt pressed like

in
0,

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. UGHTON.

143

Tuniptiitions to delay.

Serious state of mind.

cc.

My soul
(1 it was
from ro-

rcncvablc
.side, said

I wish to
an enemy
that your

)lied with

lit to them
I are born
vc in the
c all your

how."
cannot you

liat when I

severed he,
the throne

my future

might soon

me to my

ress ; I saw
Iressed like

an insupportable load upon my conscience. To increase my
npproliensions, the EVil One suggested that, in yielding to
religion the)i and there, I should, like Sampson of ancient
story, have to make sjwrt for the Pliilistines, for my com-
panions were still bitterly opposed to religion. Yielding to
these wicked insinuations, I buried my feelings deep in my
own bosom, revealing tliem to none but the Rev. JMi*.
Archibald, who still continued his visits. To liim, however,
I gave a circumstanial account of all my mental conflicts,
and received in return the best possible advice ; he loaned
me such books, also, as he su])posed would be useful to
me in my state of mind : one of these was much blessed
to my advantage ; it was called the Prodigal's Life : such
was its elfect, that my convictions increased so as to deprive
me of rest day and niglit.

]My time I now spent as much alone as possible, occu])ying
it chiefly in praying, reading, and walking our room in serious
meditation. On one occasion, having thoughtlessly joined
these sons of Belial, in their walk to and fro in oiir apart-
ment, they began to talk of what they Avould do when relea-
sed, and they Avanted to know if I would not join them in
their wicked plans ; as they talked, their feelings waxed hot-
ter and hotter, until they seemed ripe for the i)erpetration ot
some diabolic scheme. Suddenly I paused ; an overwhelming
view of my sinfulness and danger passed before me, and I
felt that I must either yield to God at once or be lost forever ;
my wicked heart sought an excuse, but my horrors contin-
ued and increased ; my only alternative appeared to be, to
yield then or be damned forever ! Hell was all open before
me, gaping to swallow me up, and my spirit shuddered lest
in a few moments it should mingle its wailings with the lost !
0, that was an awfully-solemn moment.

ii.^ f

i(.!

I >

144

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON".

Powerful conviction.

The conversion.

Thii3 overpowered by the almighty power of God, I left
tlic company, and rushing to my bedside, fell upon my
knees, with my sins swelling like mountains before me, and
])rayed God to have mercy upon my soul. While thus en-
gaged, one of the prisoners came into the bed-room : it be-
ing dark, he stumbled over my feet : as he struggled to rise,
he was about to speak, but discovering me to be engaged in
])rayer, he stopped short, astonished and confounded. After
giving vent to the feelings of my soul in prayer, the load
upon my heart was removed ; the insupportable burden was
gone. My spirit felt refreshed and renewed, and I felt as
if I could forever travel the heavenly road without weari-
ness or pain. I felt like a new man — every thing around
me was different, or, at least, it appeared so. Surely it
was a new creation by the grace and power of God, even
the transformation of ray so„l from darkness to light — ^from
Satan to God. New feelings possessed me ; love to God
and love to my fellow-prisoners filled my heart, and I could
willingly do the worst of my companions good. But a
few minutes before, a consciousness of the divine displeas-
ure and of my nearness to hell bowed me to the dust; now,
a knowledge that Jehovah smiled propitiously, and owned
me for an heir of bliss, elevated my feelings to a state of
holy serenity and peace. O ! blessed be God ! I felt re-
deemed from sin and guilt, despair and misery, death and
hell. The Lord Jesus was my advocate, and I was justi-
jied and pardoned by his precious blood ; lost to every
thing beside, my heart was filled with thanksgiving and
praise.

I retired to bed that night with'a confidence, that, whether
I slept the sleep of death, or lived until the morning, I was
the Lord's. Full of joy in the Holy Ghost, I awoke in the

\\i

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

145

The young convert.

Favorable impressions.

I'erdecution.

■.■ ■,

, I left
)n my
le, and
lus en-
: it be-
to rise,
aged in

After
lie load
3en was
I felt as
t weari-

around
5urely it
od, even
it — from
3 to God
1 I could
But a
displeas-
ist; now,
id owned
I state oi'
I felt re-
loath and
vas justi-

to every
iving and

t, whetlier
ing, I was
oke in the

morning : heaven wa» my all, and earth a dream. My
soul was happy, truly, inexpressibly happy, and it seemed
impossible that the bright sky of my hopes should ever be
darkened. Alas ! how little the young com ert knows, in
the hours of his first love, of the iierce contests and fiery
trials that await him. 'Tis well he does not, else would his"
strength fail him, luid he would melt at the thought of fu-
ture ii'ials.

On the return of Mr. Archibald I related all my feelings
in liis eager ear. He .iskod me several (piestions, gave me
much useful instruction, and promised to continue his visits
every week, to my no small consolation.

ISIy conversion produced a favorable impression upon my
fellow-prisoners ; for u time, we hud comparative peace ;
God had stopped the mouths of the lions for his servant's
sake. They Avere mostly Catholics, though they gave no
practical evidence of being Christians, but were saints and
sinners by turns, as convenience or interest demanded : be-
fore their priests they confessed their sins, and, receiving
absolution, felt as safe as if there were no day of judgment,
no retribution, no God to judge. Alas ! that such a human
system should be palmed upon the credulous and ignorant
for the religion of the Bible. May God soon save the
world from the curse of Roman Catholicism.

With this steady frame my enjoyments continued for
some time, when some of the prisoners commenced a sys-
tem of persecution that, for a season, marred, but did not
destroy, my enjoyments. My persecutors were the most
hardened and vicious of this guilty crew, and their persecu-
tions were of the most cunning and malicious character.
Once they reported to the turnkey that I had conspired to
mutiny ; that my plan was to arm m\'self with a cudgel,

13^

■ ! i

' I

f J- re

lie

LIFi: OF WILLIAM D. LIGIITOiV.

A Sutanic Inventhm.

Dlfinpimlnted hatred.

.'ukI, as lie cumc his round at nine cA'luck, to knock him
clown, take his keys and clothes, and in his dress, liberate
them and myself from confinement. Strange to say, the
turnkey gave a partial credence to this most egregious,
though ingenious lie, and actually prepared himself for the
anticipated onset. When the hour arrived, he (ramo into
ihe room and inquired for me. lie found me in the bed-
room quietly engaged in my studies, and entirely uncon-
scious of the reason of his inquiry. Notwithstanding my
peaceable occupation, he came to me, and addressing me,
said, " I understand, Lighton, you are calculating to muti-
ny — to knock me down, take iny keys and clothes, and es-
cape with the rest of the prisoners."

As he spoke, he became highly excited, and swore like a
maniac, and holding up his bunch of massive keys in my
face, he declared he would beat my brains out with them if
I dared to attempt any such thing. This uftlooked-for, and
to me mysterious, address so filled me with surprise that I
was utterly unable to clearly defend myself from the
charge. With much effo't , T at last made out to tell him
that no such plan had entered into my heac", and that I was
disposed to be quiet and harmless, and should continue so
until the day of my discharge.

This low cunning of the devil and his agents greatly af-
flicted my soul, and I'or a time was a sore thorn in my
flesh ; at last, the turnkey became convinced that the re-

port of the prisoner

s v*'a.5 a iic,

fabricated for the purpose

of injuring me ; so that they, in their turn, were con-
demned, while I tilumphed in the a indication of my inno-
o.cnce. Thus was Satan entrapped in his own snare, and
God turned the wrath of man to confusion.
Amidst these petty thougli painful persecutions, the grace

LIFE OF WILLIAM ft. LlOnxOX.

147

hiiu
)erate
y, the
igious,
or tlie
c into
ic bed-
uncon-
ng my
ng me,
) muti-
wd es-

•e like a
s in my

them it*
.for, and
that I

•oni the
ItcU hin\

at I was
[itinuc so

•catlv af-
p in my
It the re-

puvposc
lore coii-
Imy inno-
Imrc, and

the grace

Tho pcnce-nmknr. A prisoner (ilarmcd. Thn Holy Ghnnt resisted.

of the Lord Jesus sustained and enabled nic, us a good
soldier, to endure hardness ; and by degrees 1 gn.-w bold in
reeommending the Savior to my fellow-prisoners, and in
interfering to prevent or heal their frecpicnt quarrels : for
my success in my efforts to silence these brawls, they lion-
ored me with the appellation of peace-maker.

About this time my heart was rejoiced at witnessing the
awakening and concern of soul of one of the prisoners,
named John Hart, occasioned by the following incident : —
His comrade, whose name wa^ Kobinson, and who with
himself united to abuse and i-ob me of my food when con-
fined in the dungeon, had been dismissed from jail, his time
having expired. Soon after his discharge, in attempting to
rob a house, he fell from the roof, and was so seriously in-
jured that he died. This appalling news filled Ilart with
fear and horror ; trembling with an awful idea that liis own
death-hour was nigh, he begged of me to send foi Mv.
Archibald, which I did immediately. This worthy minij^tor
of the gospel came, and my deeply-convicted comrade,
though his anguish had partially subsided, promised, if God
would spare his life, that he would live better, and never do
again as he had done in his previous life.

Alas for this resolution ! like the morning clouds or early
dew it passed speedily away. Ere a few day:* had passed,
he forgot his terrors, and returned to his former sin and
neglect of God: it may here be added, that after his dis-
mission from prison, this rejector of the overtures of divine
grace engaged in robbing a cliurcli, iind finished his blaclv
<^arecr n})on the gallows. AVhat an awful lesson docs this
solemn fact teach us ! How dangerous to irrieve away the
Spirit of our holy God I Ivcadcr are you trifling with that
Spirit ? Beware, lest i/ou trifie your ;-oul into hell ! Care-

f .

M : i 1

.1 1.

^ l'^

mn.,

148

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Dei>arture of a friend.

The prison scliool

fully follow its sacred ^teachings, and it will lead you to the
blissful walks of paradise and bliss.

Being very desirous of communicating the glorious
change, which hud renovated my heart, to my parents, I
wrote them a letter which Mr. A. promised to send by the
earliest mail. But I never received any answer to this or
any other letters, which, at different times, I had sent home.
This was peculiarly painful to my feelings.

Soon after this, the gentleman who had accompanied
Mr. A. in his visits of mercy to our abode was called by
Divine Providence to leave Quebec. His farewell visit
was an interesting and profitable season : after giving us
much valuable advice, and fervently commending us to
God in prayer, he took us euchby the hand and bade us an
atfectionate adieu : so touching was the scene that every
eye was bedewed by tears — every heart was full ; and as
he left us, the blessing of the rer.dy to perish, followed him.

Not only did the Lord pour his grace into my soul, but
lie opened a door through which I received some relief to
my circumstances. The jailer perceived the change whicli
had passed over me, and acquiring confidence in m) " utcgri-
ty, he employed me to mark the prison bedding, clothes,
&c. : this gave me a lighter employment and the occasional
liberty of the yard, and very nmch ameliorated my condi-
tion.

About this time it was proposed to establish a scliool in
the j)rison for the benefit of the more illiterate of the pris-
oners : by the advice of Mr. Archibald, I was chosen to
teach the English branches, and a young man of suitable
talents to instruct in the French language. For our en-
couragement, liberal rewards were offered us if we succeed-
ed in gaining their approval. Our operations were com-

o the

)rious

nts,

)y the
his or
home.

panied
ed by
1 visit
ing us
; us to
? us au

every
and as
ed hira.
)ul, but
elief to

which

utegri-
clothes,

asional
f condi-

hool in
he pris-
; oseu to
suitable
our en-
succeed-
;re com-

LlfE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

140

A gift.

A plentiful provision.

Doctor Morula.

merced with prayer, in presence of Mr. A. and the com-
mittee.

For a time our success was such as to call forth the un-
qualified approbation of the committee. While engaged in
it, my old friend, Mr. Weidenbecker, sent me four dollars — a
present which came very opportunely, as I received nothing
for teaching, and had only the still miserable prison rations
for my support.

Standing in great need of provisions, I sent out and pur-
chased a whole sheep, some peas, &c., with Mr. W.'s dona-
tions ; the man just arrived with it as Mr. A. came to visit
the school, and being unwilling h< hould see it, I hasti ned
to secrete it in an adjoining cell ; but my haste attracted his
notice, and excited his suspicion, and, looking into the cell,
he saw, to his utter astonishment, a whole sheep, ready for
cooking. Returning from the cell, he asked,

" William, is that sheep yours ? "

With some confusion, I replied, " It is, sir." " Well,
then," replied he, " you mean to live M'ell, I see." — Here
was an error. I ought to have told Mr. .\. the facts in the
case, and no doubt, from the benevoh nee of his heart, he
would have exerted himself in our behalf ; but as it was, he
never gave me any remuneration for my labor in teaching.
Probably lie supposed we were ^v oil enough off without any
pecuniary aid, — On the approach of spring, tlie prisoners
growing weary of study, our school ceased ; but the jailor
having nothing against my cliuractcr, permitted nie to enjoy
the liberty of the yard.

Things were in this situation, when a Freneli gcntlemanj
named Moruia, by profession a doctor, was unjustly commit-
ted to prison for six months. This gentleman soon conceiv-
ed an attachment for me, and as he occupied a private rooni,

! ,■•-{

150

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Plans of escape.

A disinterested friend.

Ill

lie succeeded in gaininp^ permission of the jailer for me to
room with him — a circumstance which made me compara-
tively happy. While with this worthy man, he cured me
of a cancer, which for some time had filled me with alarm,
and threatened me Avith early dissolution ; he also gave me
some clothing, which, with the prison allowance, made me
quite comfortable.

The providence of God still Avrought in my favor. The
boy, whom the jailer employed to take care of his liorses
left him, and, his stables being within the prison walls, he
put me into that station. Here I soon discovered an almost
sure way of escape ; and it appeared to me, that, as my
happiness and usefulness depended on my being once more
a member of society, it w\as my dutt/ to attempt it. Filled
with the thought, I told the doctor, who, transported with
the idea, cautioned me to be careful, and he would abscond
with me when the favorable hour should arrive, for the sake
of making my escai)e complete. Meanwhile he commenced
sending out liis books and other articles to the care of a
city friend ; but as his time was nearly expired, this excited
no suspicion.

The motive that influenced the doctor in his determina-
tion to escape with me was purely disinterested ; his own time
of imprisonment was nearly ex])irctl, and by escaping he
only exposed himself to an inci'cascd penalty ; it was for
1)11/ sake he did it. Speakhig upon it, he said, " When I
think of your situation, the misery you have undergone, and
very probably will have to undergo all your life ; and when
I take into consideration your tender youtL, and the proba-
bility of your future usefulness, both to yourself and the
world, could you be free, — I cannot decline an act which, I

deliverance from

your

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

151

Facilities for csc!i|)e.

An auspicious inoiiicnt.

Groundless iitarni.

vmina-
n time
|)ing he
as lor
hen I
|ne, and
d when
proba-
ind the
hich, I
:e from

all your present and future misery, and which will restore
you to liberty and happiness. "With these feelings I sacri-
fice all regard to future consequences, for your happiness'
sake ; and should I be taken for my escape, I shall have
the satisfaction to know that you are free, and that my
memory is cherished in your affections for the act."

Upon the propriety of escaping I had some occasional
doul)ts, but the idea of ultimate transportation was a goad
to urge me onward — a justification of the attempt — and me-
thinks every re. ler will justify tlic act too.

As ostler or groom to the jailer, I had access to the south
garret of the prison for grain, it being used as a sort of
granary. This garret w^as close to our room ; and my plan
was, to secure the keys of this i)lace, and, with the aid of a
rope, descend from the window to tlie street, as there were
no bars for its security. The doctor prepared every thing
for our departure, and we only waited to obtain the keys.

One evening, being in want of grain, I went to the kitchen
as usual for the keys ; there was no person there but a little
girl about twelve years of age, and I took them down and
passed out unobserved ; running up to the garret, I got my
grain, and WMth the doctor made all necessary observations.
We then left the inner . or unlocked, but the outer one we
locked as usual, to avoid suspicion. This done, the doctor
secured the kevs in our room, while I went down and atten-
ded to my horses, and returned to my apartment without
exciting the least -nspicion. How did my heart flutter at
the prospect before me I How anxious did I feel for the
success of the enterprise before me ! How impatient for
the hour of attempt !

Every thing remained tranquil and undiscovered through
the evening; at nine o'clock the turnkey came his niglitly

■ -I

■

152

LII?E OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOH".

A nipht's excitemnnt.

The crisis.

The escape.

round ; he entered our chamber, looked about, wished us
"good night," and retired. "We now fancied ourselves
secure, and our feelings were highly animated ; but, .about
ten o'clock, we were greatly alfirmed by the turnkey, whom
we heard unlocking the doors which shut across the passage
leading to our room. Terrified, and fearful lest we were
discovered, we threw our half-prepared bundles under the
bed, and then sat dcvn, apjuirently deeply engaged in study,
to wait the event ; but it was only a new prisoner, who was
placed in a neighboring room by the turnkey ; after perfor-
ming this duty, he just peeped in upon us, and wished us a
second " good night," evidently without the least suspicion
of our design — a narrow escape truly.

Feeling no disposition to sleep, we spent the night watch-
ing for the moment which was to free us from the gloom of
the prison. Every thing remained perfectly silent, save the
city watchmen, who occasionally cried, ^^ AlVs well" — a
sentiment that truly accorded Avith our own feelings. At
four o'clock, just before the dawn of a new day, the watch-
men left their variou^s posts, and retired ; then was our fa-
vorable moment, while darkness still overspread the face of
nature, and men were still locked in the arms of slumber.
Taking our bundles, we carefully unlocked the door of the
garret, which we effected with little noise ; next, we secured
the rope to a brace, and dropped it over the eaves of the
building ; these, being covered with tin, made considerable
noise, and we paused a moirent, fearitig w<i had alarmed the
sentry, who was in the yard at no great distance. Hapi)ily
he did not hear us. I was so transported with prospect of
lih(M'ty and freedom, and so afraid of being hindered, that 1
told the doctor I would not take my bundle ; he urged me,
and bade me take it by all means ; but, without attendiiii>"

I^^w^^^

an»tm<iit iinr-iai>>

icape.

I I

shed us
irselvcs
t, about
r, whom
passage
we were
nder the
in study,
who was
r perfor-
;hed us a
suspicion

ht watch-
gloom of
, save the

ings. At
le watch-
as our fa-
le face of
slumber.
)or of th(^
re secured
^'63 of the
nsidcrablc
armed the
Happily
rospect of
•ed, that I
urged me,
atteudiii!;"

■ >

x
^

'zr.

r.1

'a\

I .'lis

I'll

if;-

'I?,

:!!i

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

153

Farewell to ray prison.

to his wislies, I seized the rope, and was speedily in the
street ])elow, where I i*etired to a short distance to await my
companion. He was somewhat longer in descending, having
cncumhei'ed himself with my bundle ; thus burdened, he
had but one hand at liberty to descend with on the rope ; he
had contrived to place it between his feet at starting, but,
on tun ing the eaves, his feet slipped, and he slid down the
whole four stories with one hand only. The suddenness of
liis descent fired the rope before he half reached the bottom,
so that he nearly lost liis hold, and narrowly escaped a
deadly fall. His hand was useless for some time after.
Thus did we providentially escape a prison, in which I had
been confined two years and two months. Joyfully I bade
it a long farewell.

" Dark prison dome, farewell.

How slow the hours
Have told their leaden march within thy walls !
Toil claimed the day, and stem remorse the night ;
And every season with a frowning face
Approached, and went unreconciled away.
Ah! who, with virtue's pure, unblenching soul,
Can tell how tardily old Time doth move,
When guilt and punishment have clogged his wings !
The winter of the soul, the frozen brow
Of unpolluted friends, the harrowing pangs
Of the last prayer, learned at the mother's knee, —
The uptorn hope, the violated vow.
The poignant memory of unuttered things, —
Do dwell, dark dome, with him who dwells with thee.
And yet, thou place of woe, I would not speak
Too harshly of thee, since in thy sad cell
Repentance found me, and did t,£eep with tears
My lonely pillow, till the heart grew soft,
And spread itself in brokenness before

ill.

I
If

ii i

354

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LiairTOJT.

Poetry.

The eye of nicrey. ******
■H. » -It * * * But when I view
Onee iiioio my liome, when inild, forgiving eyes
Shall bc.'im npoti nie.Jind (he long-lost \iiighl
Of freedom nerve my nnn. uiriy the Plrong lines
Of ihat hard lc?ieon sin hnlh hinuht my soul
(rlenm like a fhuiiing bencon,

(I'od of heaven '.
Who, not for our infirmities or crime?,

Dost liM'n thy face a\v;iy, gird thou my sonl^
And fortify its purpose, i«o to run
lis future pilgrini-raee, an not t() los(>
The sinner's ransom at the bar of doom-''

CPIAPTER VIU.

art thou then

Desolate of friends?"

As the bent bough, relieved of the obnoxious weiglit
that made it droop to earth, springs back to its original po-
sition, and yields gracefully to the passing breeze, so my
nnnd, freed from the shadows of the prison walls, and from
the weight of a tedious confinement, rejoiced in its own
wonderful elasticity ; it filled almost to bursting with tu-
multuous joys ; it felt emotions indescribable by language-
emotions only to be conceived by those who have experi-
enced them ; it was a storm of bliss-
After my companion joined me, we hastily passed out of
the city, and without alarm or discovery we reached the
suburbs. Here we crossed the river on the ice, which,
though it was the 25th of April, (1825,) was still passed
by teams. While on the ice, the doctor fell upon his knees,
and offered his thanks to Divine Providence for our de-
liverance. Though I felt equally grateful, I was too
anxious to consummate our escape to follow his example,
but kept running on, praising God by the way. Such was
the mingling of fear and animation, that I scarcely knew
what I did : sometimes I hurried the doctor, who, being
somewhat advanced in years, could not keep pace with
my buoyant footsteps ; then I ran on before him, and
beckoned him to follow ; and again I jumped, laughed,
talked, and sung, like one who has taken leave of his rea-
son ; frantic with joy, my mind could not retain its balance.

ii>:

1,^

•^mfmum

loG

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGIITOIT.

The journey. Pniceetlsi towards the back country. Ti.iveUaiiMcrvitnt to thedoctor.

Wc determined to travel down the St. Lawrence, among
tlic French population, partly because the circulation of
news was very limited and slow in that direction, ap.d part-
ly because our pursuers would not probably suspect us of
going by that route, but would naturally ccmcludo that we
liad gone towards the United States. By sunrise, we reach-
ed a [)iccc of woods, from which Ave had a view of the city
and prison. There wc paused to look back upon the
gloomy walls, which, a short time before, deprived us of
liberty, and to imagine the surprise and astonishment of
tliG keepers, when they shoukl discover our absence. "We
mdulgcd in these imaginations with much merriment, and
with frequent bursts of loud and liearty laughter. How
pleasant wnij that Iiour ! — it v is the hour of prime ; the
bright sun was riding uf the eastern cloud-paths, the song-
sters of the gi'ovc were just beginning to utter their mellow
rotes, and every thing seemed to us to be rejoicing in our
deliverance. That moment was sweet ; it reminded me of
those morning hours spent in the groves of England, and
begat in my mind strong, burning wishes for a return to
the hearth of my parents, where I might once more briiathe
the free air of my country's salubrious clime.

At first, we determined to spend the day in the woods ;
but the keenness of the morning air compelled us to keep
travelling for the sake of warmth ; so we pursued our way
across the fields into the back country. To prevent sus-
picion, the doctor proposed to travel as a physician, and I
was to attend him in the capacity of a servant. A\ noon,
we dineil with a French family, which was the first social
meal I iiad eaten, except in the barracks and in i>rison,
since my departure from England. Towards night we
came to a retired spot, where wC both united in humble

I doctor.

Ht. Aim's.

St. .\nn's church.

Interi(»r of the church.

mong
on of
part-
us of
lat we
reacli-
le city
n the
! us of
icnt of
. AVe
lit, and

How
e; the
e song-
mellow
in our

me of
nd, and
uni to
breathe

woods ;
o keep
ur way
,nt sus-
, and I
noon,
social
prison,
ght we
humblo

prayer, and in licarty ])raisc for our deliverance, and Jir-
dently prayc<l for divin<^ guidance in the future. This ex-
ercise was peculiarly refrcfihing to our souls, and we arose
from our devotions v 'th increased confidence in Clod. We
then sought a house, and, having found one, j ut up for the
iiight.

Tiie following night we stai<l with a friend of the doctor,
who had visited him in his confinement. This gentleman
had no idea that we had broken jail, but supposed we had
been regularly discharged ; and as he was not very curious
in his encpiiries, we did not undeceive him. He hospitably
entertained us the next day and night. Our next place of
rest was St* Ann's, where was a Roman Catholic church,
which was helu lU high estimation by the inhabitants of
this part of Canada. Having heard murh of this place
from the Catholic prisoners in Quebec, I proposed to visit
it, to which my companion assented.

St. Ann's church is held in high and sacred repute by
the French Catholics in Canada, as a place from whence
many healing virtues were to be derived. It is belicAed
that St. Ann, the patroness of the church, will heal and re-
store to their original health and bodily perfection any wiio
are sick, lame, or mutilated, who liave faith in her power,
and will pay their devotions at Iter shrine. Pity St. Ann's
diocese does not extend over the whole country !

As we ascended the church steps, the doctor, in agree-
ment with the custom of the people, knelt down, crossed
himself and said a short prayer, while I stood gazing with
a sort of superstitious aw^e at the sacred edifice. Upon en-
tering, the first object that struck my attention was, a num-
ber of wooden legs, crutches, staves, &c., hung up in regiv-

lar rows as ocular demonstrations of tke cures wrought hy
14*

.1^

•4

. .1

158

MKK OF WILLIAM B. LIOIITOW.

The n)K(l-itido r.to^'wn.

Hup4!n>tUlun.

the mystic power of St. Ann. A.s I entered, my blood
eljillcd, and a shudder of awe crept over my frame. The
whole scene was new and overpowering, as I had never
seen the splendor of a Catholic church I)efore. On our
right was a tiguix) of our blessed lledeemcr, nearly a.s
large as life, hanging in a relaxed posture upon the cross,
and besmoaretl with blood. Yielding to my crowding as-
sociations of devotional thoughts, I fell upon my knees and
prayed, not to the imago, but to my Savior — the world'.-*
^lediator, who died upon Calvary's bloody summit for my
bins.

There is one superstitious observance which is very com-
mon in this part of Canada : it may be called their cross
homage. At short distances, crosses are erected by the
road-side, to which the devotee does reverence by pulling
otf ids hat, crossing himself, and saying a short j rayer, and
sometimes even kneeling at their base. On these idolatrou.s
conveniences are frequently suspended various articles, said
to have been used at the crucifixion of the blessed Savior,
placed along in order on the cross-piece or horizontal beam
of the cross. They also pretend to have the cock that
crowed when Peter denied bis Master ! Astounding su-
perstition ! Profound ignorance ! IIow different is the
simple worship dictated by the gospel ! IIow opposite is
Popery to the gospel I IIow ruinous its effects upon the
interests of man ! Reader, look at the fruits of Koman
Catholicism. See how it darkens the page of revelation by
its mi.sts of false interpretations and dead languages. And
how has it spread ignorance over the face of society ! Look
at its history, full of tyranny and blood. True, the power
of the inquisition is nearly lost ; but the spirit of that church
i^ unaltered, and its practice would correspond with its pre-

■

LlFH 0^ >TtLLIAM B. LIOIITON.

150

blooil

The
never
II our
'\y a."*

cross,
ng HA-
es and
vorld'rt
or my

y com-
L' cross
by the
pulling
cr, an«l
(latrous

St saul
Savior,
il beam
3k that
ing su-

i3 the
osite is
)on the

Koman
ition by
And
Look
power

, church

its prc-

The dr ^tor and I rvMolve to pnrt. Tim iiiilhnr lets hlmnfllf. DulneM of ultuatlon.

viou.s doings, did it not lack the power. May wc feel
thankful for the pure, unmixed, simple gospel.

The doctor's profession afforded us ample means of sup-
port, as he seldom visited a family without having some ail
to relieve for some of its inmates. Unwilling to remain
dependant upon his charity, I determined to leave him, and
find some honest employment. At first he dissuaded me,
but finding my resolves to be firm and decided, he turned
his attention towards the procurement of a situation ; to
avoid detection, he thought it expedient for me to assumo
another name, which 1 did calling myself Thomas Ellen-
court.

Arriving at a large farm in the parish of St. Joachim,
about thirty miles below Quebec, my companion incjuired
if they wished to hire. After some conversation, and an
abundance of recommendation from the doctor, I agreed to
work for the owner for fifteen shillings per month. This
was low wages, but it was rather out of season to hire then^
and the man said he hired me more out of charity than
from need of my services. The highest wages paid in
that vicinity was only four dollars per month. The bargain
being made, I accompanied the doctor a short distance,
when, after promising to see me in two months if practica-
ble, he bade me .in affectionate farewell.

My first task was to chop wood ; but at this I was very
awkward, and could accomplish but very little, as it was my
first attempt at such work. Upon this, and in considera-
tion of my weak and fragile appearance, they soon gave
me lighter and easier work. My situation, however, soon
became irksome, as I found none with whom I could con-
verse in my own tongue, except an old Englishman, who,
in early life had been a soldier, but who, from thirty years

160

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

Character of the people.

Antagonism of intelligence and Po{»ery.

residence among the French, had almost lost the use of his
native language. He was my only companion ; and life
without society soon became intolerably dull.

The family were rigid Catholics, and required of all
their domestics the strictest conformity to the outward
formula of their religion. The first time I entered their
church, being ignorant of almost all their ceremonies, I did
as is done in all Protestant churches ; seeing myself the
object of the laughter of the people, I looked around to di-
vine the cause, when I saw that each person, as he entered,
dipped his finger in a basin of water, and crossed liimseH
with it, and then, in a mumbling manner repeated an un-
known prayer : afterwards, though it was somewhat galling
to my feelings, and was evidently wrong, I followed their
example, and ever after passed currently among them as a

good Catholic.

Much might be said of the character and morals of the
people among whom I resided. They were extremely ig-
norant, knowing but little of the Deity, or of themselues ;
they went to their worship like saints, and acted like devils
on their return. They frequently held a vendue at the
church doors on the Sabbath, the priest himself being some-
times a bidder ! Sporting, fiddling, and dancing, were -their
umuseme'us after the solemnities of the holy day. I dis-
covered no common schools among them, nor anything that
indicated even a desire to gain or communicate intelligence,
and but a very few of them could either read or write.
But, inquires the reader how came they into this deplorable
condition? The answer it; clear : It is consistent with the
very genius of Popery to keep the mass of its subjects as
ignorant as possible ; and why ? Because, like despotism,
it can only exist where ignoraiice reigns ; and therefore the

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

161

Fears of discovery.

A visitor from QiidK-c.

wily ecclesiastics labor to prevent the growth of knowledge-

Should intelligence universally spread among the Catho-
lics, it would be to Popery as a fearful anathema — an ex-
ecuted curse. How carefully do they hide the Bible from
the open gaze of their people, where the penetrating eye of
Protestantism does not watch them, and expose them to the
public ! In its stead tliey demand implicit belief in the say-
ings of unholy priests, whom, with the pope, the lower
classes of Catholics believe to be infallible. How easy to
lead such a people astray ! to bind chains of steel upon
their limbs !

The unsanctified conduct of this people, together with
my own indecision, broug' t me into a backslidden state,
and I soon lost my confid ';nce in my Savior ; communion
with God was at an end. O sad relapse, in so short a time !
"Well may we exclaim, Alas, poor human nature !

Having learned that the farm where I labored belonged
to the seminary of priests at Quebec, I became alarmed for
my safety ; especially when I learned that they frequently
visited the farm, and as I knew that some of them had seen
me in prison. Other causes also combined to excite my
fears. My clothing bore the word Jail, or rather had
borne it, in large letters of white paint : these I had care-
fully scraped off with a knife, and it would have taken
strict and close scruitiny to discover them. To remove this
dangerous clew to my real character, as soon as my wages
were sufficient, I purchased some very common garments,
and, retiring into the woods, buried my prison clothing deep
in the ground, beneath the roots of a large tree

Another little incident gave me extreme uneasiness. My
employer had a son who resided at Quebec, but Avho occa-
sionally visited the family. As he could speak English

vi'i

H ?a.r.

162

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

A fellow-prisoner.

The prison baker.

very fluently, they used to order me into their .'"oom to talk
with him for their amusement. Once he returned almost
immediately after a visit, and my fears ever alive, construed
his return into a discovery of my relation to the govern-
ment. These fears were wrought to the Mghest pitch,
when the gentleman called me and said I must go in, for
his son had brought home some newspapers, and I must
read them. Suspecting foul play, I hesitated whether to
obey or run away ; but fearing to excite suspicion, I obeyed
his wish, determined, if detected, to struggle mightily for my
escape. But there was no cause for alarm ; they had not
the remotest suspicion of my history, and the papers con-
tained no advertisements concerning my escape from prison.

Shortly after this little occurrence, I Avent to church as
usual on the Sabbath, where, to my utter astonishment, I
saw a gentleman Avho had been confined for debt in Quebec
jail, and who, of course, knew me perfectly well. Without
betraying my feelings, I hastened home in a very agitated
and painful state of mind. To stay there any longer was
dangerous, and to leave was equally so, as I was profoundly
ignorant of the geograj^hy of the surrounding country, and
had no way of crossing the St. Lawrence without exposing
my life. What to do I scarcely knew, but, on the whole,
determined to await the retiirn of the doctor, resolving to
keep myself as retired as possible.

The next Sabbath I declined attending church ; but the
family began to abuse me with high indignation and hard
words, calling me a doa^ a heathen, &c. To escape this fire,
I accompanied them, though with a palpitating heart. When
arrived there, I was more than ever confounded, by seeing
the baker wIj used to supply the prison with bread, and
who had frequently seen me. As before, I retired with

LIFE OF AVILLIAM C. LIGIITON".

163

Resolves to leavo.

Now Ciiuses of tear.

An !i<,'roo!ilil(3 surprixp.

•ing to

seeing

great trepidation, tor lie was looking towards me as I enter-
ed ; whether he recognized nie, or not, I cannot tell ; bnt it
is pretty certain, it' I iiad reniaine 1, that he would have
don(> so, and the froAvn ing walls ot" {Quebec jail woukl again
haA'O enclosed my weary frame.

Tiiese repeated alarms determined me to run ofll' into
some <)th(ir part of the country, and I resolved to do so, that
same evening; hut while sittin;:f in the house, meditatiii'j;
u})on my plan, two hired men helojiglng to the family came
in, talking together in French, and in a low, cojilidential
tone. To my susi)ici(jus mind, it see'med as it" they were"
talking about the absconding of two men from prison, whom
they suspected to be the doctor and myself. Anxious to
understand their conversation, I crept close to them, when
they ceased talking. Leaving them, I lay down on my bed,
not ijitending to undress, but to get up, and escape from their
hands in the ni;.dit; but soon after, thev asked me if I had
gone to bed. I told them, '" No." " Then," said they, "you
had better do it."

Fearing from this remark that they designed to watch
me, it seemed useless to attempt to get av»'ay that night ; so
I submitted to my supposed fate, and went to bed to sj)end a
very unha})py night ; but hearing no more of tlu'ir talk, I
concluded that my fears were the mere creations of my own
mind, and felt more at ease, until my em])loyer asked me,
if I were ever a soldier, to which I returned a disdainful
negative.

Those circumstances confirmed me in my conviction of
the necessity of leaving the place; and hnpj)ily I soon found
an opportunity. While busily engaged in cliopi»iug wood,
one of tli(i hired men came running towards me in great
haste, and said in French,

i"i,

•si

" r

pill. wu.p||i,gi|i I

M<'P"'>,Wi«WI'

I h
I

r t

" y
'i

164

L1F15 Of WILLIJLM B. LIGIITON.

The doctor relates his adventures.

" Thomas, you must come home ; there is a gentleman
wants to see you."

" "Who is it wants to see me ? " I responded, while an al-
ternate flush of heat and cold passed over my frame.

" A gentleman," said he ; " who it is I can't tell."

Upon this, my face became pale as death with agitation,
which the man perceiving, said,

« It is the doctor."

Not understanding him, and thinking he said the tiirnhey,
my terror increased, and the dictate of my heart was to run,
when the man again said,

" It is the doctor who came here with you."

This was news indeed ; it scattered all my fears in a mo-
ment, lighted up my countenance with joy, and lifted an
intolerable weight from my soul. With haste and delight I
hurried to the river-side, where he still remained in the boat,
ready to escape if my character had been detected. Our
joy was mutual ; mine was almost as ecstatic as on the night
of my escape ; the gratification of both was extreme, and
after the usual inquiries respecting health, <fcc., we proceed-
ed to state our experiences since our separation.

The doctor had been down the St. Lawrence about one
hundred miles. While practising in one place, he was
recognized Jis a runaway i)risoner by an individual who
betrayed his knowledge by the closeness of his inquiries.
To pacify him, the doctor politely promised him a visit the
next morning, but immediately hired a man to conduct him
up the river in a boat that night. He had also been at
Quebec to purchase a fresh stock of medicine, and while in
the act of purchasing, the jailer's wife entered the store ; it
being dark, he escaped notice by turning his head and leaving
the sho^). One of his old friends informed him that our

cntleman

ile an al-
e.

[igitation,

turnkey,
RS to run,

in a mo-
lifted an
delight I
the boat,
id. Our
the night
eme, and
proceed-

ibout one

he was

lual who

inquiries.

visit the

duct him

been at

while in

store ; it

d leaving

that our

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LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

105

Arrival al Orleans.

The author and doctor separate.

unceremonious deiRirturc excited a mighty uproar in tlie
city on the day of our csca[)C, and thousands of citizens
went to look at the window from whence we descended.

The next morning I left my employer, and we proceeded
to the ishmd of Orleans, where the doctor was called to
attend a sick lady, and where he intended to remain for some
time ; he wished me also to stay with him. This I positively
refused to do, as it was my intention to reach the United
States as soon as j)ossible. Finding he could not prevail
upon me to stay, the next morning he engaged two men to
carry me to St. Thomas, a distance of eight miles.

On my departure, the faithful doctor, with his eyes filled
with tears, gave me tlie true kiss of friendship, and wished
LiC peace and prosperity ; in return I thanked him for his
constant kindness, and wished him corresponding blessings.
The scene was interesting : it was friendship's parting — ^the
separation of hearts which grew together in adversity. As
our eyes poured forth their briny streams, our hands re-
mained clasped, as if unwilling to let each other go. At
last he commended me to the care of Heaven, and we parted
— perhaps forever.

Never will that hour be blotted out from the pages of my
memory; it was the last link of a precious friendship — a
fricndtihip genuine, and seldom paralleled. My mind loves
to dwell upon him as the instrument of Divine Proviilencc
in ejecting my deliverance from inlkmv, destitution, and
suifering. Xlie singular cirvumstance that first united us,
the success we met with on the niglit of our escape, and this
last interposition, all conspire to convince inr that he \va«
the instrument of God's mercy in my behalf. J>ong as I
live, his name and fri<'n<lshi[> will live in my remenibi iince,
and the siiicerest gratitude will accompany the recollection.

wmm

16G

LIFE OF WILLIAM D. LIGIITON.

The journey.

Groiindlass nlarm.

Passes Quebec.

I mi

'/::ii'

About noon I landed at St. Tlioma», and travelled on to-
wards Quebec, though on the opposite side of the river. Fear-
ful of discovery, being only eighteen miles from the city, I
walked but slowly, and after a few hours secreted myself in
the woods, intending to pass Quebec in the night. Towards
night I called at a house, and procuring refreslnnent, pro-
ceeded on my way. It was now dark ; not a noise disturbed
the air, but all was hushed in siler.j and tranquility. AVhile
proceeding on my journey, I suddenly approached a female
form bowed before one of the numerous crosses erected on
the way-side ; this sight, to my timid feelings, was an omen
of gladness and peace. / '

Coming to a low swamp, I was greafly alarmed by per-
ceiving the air to be filled with almost innumerable sparks :
as I proceeded they increased, until it seemed to me that
the woods were full of fire, occasioned, as I at first imagin-
ed, by the dark agency of the devil. As the sparks flitted
close to my person, I at length mustered sufficient courage
to try to catch one with my hand. This effort, after repeated
trials, succeeded ; and, upon examination, I found it to be a
species of bug, which, fearing it were poisonous, I threw
away. As the reader is aware, this was nothing but the
common fire-fly, or lightning-bug, which, though perfectly
harmless, and to native Americans familiar, was to me a
perfect stranger, and very alarming.

At ten o'clock I wae opposite the city of my imprison-
ment, Quebec, where every thing was calm and silent, save
the waters of the river, which smacked playfully against
the sides of the vessels tiiat lay at anchor in the noble St.
Lawrence. Soon it lay far behind me, and I continued my
journey unmolested, save by the numerous and savage dogs,
who frequently assailed me, to my no small disquietude and

if
I

ebec.

I on to-

Fear-

city, I

yselt' in

'owardd

nt, pro-

aturbed

While

I female

;cted on

m omen

by per-
sparks :
me that
imagin-
is flitted
courage
epeated

to be a
I threw

but the
3crfectly
to me a

iiprison-
nt, save

against
oble St.
lued my
ijio dogs,

udc and

A pleasant renconter.

A di«n(!recal>)c renroiinter.

discomfort. The next morning several miles stretched their
distance between me and the city ; but still fearing appre-
hension, I i)rosecuted my journey the whole of the next day.

At the end of two days' tedious walking, a gentleman,
who spoke English, told me that by a new road the way to
the United States was much ^liDrtcned. Following his di-
rections, I arrived about noon at a log-house, where T stopped
for refreshment and rest. This hut — for it deserved no
higher name — was owned by an Kngli^ma^n from Wakefield,
near Leeds, in Yorkshire. We met as countrymen in a
strange laud ; and, being both from the same part of the
wave-washed isle, we entered into a very animated conversa-
tion about the places we had seen, our homes, and all the et
ceteras which generally engage the attention of wanderers
in a distant clime-

While thus pleasantly engaged, we were interrupted by Pi
man, who, after asking me some questions, charged me with
being a sailor, and with having run away from my ship. In
reply to my denial, he cursed and swore like an infidel,
probably supposing he might terrify me into a confession,
and then gain a few dollars by securing my apprehension.
Finding this trick failed him, he left me to i)ursue my jour-
ney, which J. speedily recommenced after this rencounter.
Passing through a piece of woods thirteen miles in length, I
put up at a log-cabin for the night. After partaking of a
little coarse food, I lay down upon the hard floor and sought
repose ; this, however, was out of the question, such was the
abundance of mosquitoes and black flies that kept up their
constant attacks : stern necessity drove me to the work of
self-defence that night, and robbed me of the refreshment of
sleep.

My road wa:' now exceedingly difficult ; it appeared to

1C8

LTFK OF ^VILLIAM R. LIOIITON,

r.i'Cdmns a hired niiin.

A nurniw cscupo.

Tho hi)rnrt'« nr-{.

luivo been once cnt out, and n^^ain overp^rovvn with iinder-
l)i'iisli, and was in ni.'tny jdaees iin[)eded by nnincroiis Avind-
f'alls. At the close of a halt-day's travel the road tcnnina-
tt'd, and I was bewildered ; after awhile, however, the track
of an ox was discernible, which conducted me to a clearin,i»; ;
in((uirin;if at the honse, they informed me that I was on the
banks of the St. Francis Kiver. Thus ended a journey of
twenty-six miles througli the -woods.

Seven shillini^s and sixpence > comprised my whole ex-
cbequer when the doctor and myself parted ; this was now
exhausted, and it appeared essential to replenish it as early
ns practicable ; and as it was many miles to Quebec, and in
« swnewhat retired part of the country, it appeared to me
that it was politic to seek employment. With this view, I

let myself to a man named Abercrombie, in K , twelve

miles below Shipton.

Here, venturing somewhat rashly into the St. Francis, I
narrowly escaped drowning — an accident which produced a
temporaiy seriousness, and, by calling up mj former experi-
ence, led me to pray a few times ; but my impressions
passed like oil over marble,leaving no permanent impression.

The following anecdote may be amusing to the reader.
"Walking one day through the woods, on an errand for my
employer, musing on various topics, I espied something in
the bushes that looked very curious ; supposing it to be a
knot on one of the young trees, and anxious to secure it for
a w^alking-stick, I placed my hand upon it to see whether it
■was of a convenient size, and to ascertain its solidity ; in
doing this, the ball broke beneath the pressure of my hand,
and a host of angry hornets stung me in the forehead, in
revenge for my assault upon their nest.

This little incident led. me to indulsre in manv useful

tWR OV' WILLIAM ft. LIGttTOX.

T)0

undor-
s M'iii<l-
crnnina-
le track
earini!; ;
a on tlie
irney of

lole ex-
vas now
as early
, and in
id to me
view, I
-, twelve

pancis, I
)duced a
* experi-
►ressions
iression.
5 reader.

for my
jthing in

to be a
ire it for

ether it
dity ; in

y liand,

head, in

RoachoM tliP Unltf'd St;itPJ».

An old (losin* urn tilled.

Tcflcftions ; thn;*, tlioiijjfht I, are nxni iilliired hy the fasruia-
titij^ a])i)oai'an('(' of the worhl ; tlicy gras|» al'u-r it as for a
))riz(', and ere they are aware, they are .stmi;^ to llu^ very
(luick l>y tlie vi[)er.s it eonceals. The worhl is a hornet's
nest, and its stiii^ will ruin the immortal soul, if it h(,' not
healed hy the i)reeions halm of (lilead.

Ahont the 20th of October I lei't my employer, and pro-
eeeded towards the United States; bnt, reflectinij on my
need of more elothini^, at the end of a day's travel I a;iain
let mypelf. There I remained .about six weeks, when I
again set out for the States, resolving not to stop shoi-t of
reaching that soil of freedom. In two days I crossed the
boundary line that divides the Canadas from the United States
of America • and so rejoiced did 1 feel for the consciousness
that my feet pressed the sods of Columbia, that I would fain
have kissed the soil on which I stood. Now, said my hope-
ful imagination, liberty and happiness await me under the
protection of the eagle's wing — a feeling none can know
who have not felt the pressure of the paw of the lion.

The desire which had been lighted up in my young bosom
in the earlier periods of my life, had never been extinguished
by the floods and trials through which I had passed, but it
had brightened, and burned vigorously up to the moment
that gave birth to my republican liberty. Unto God, who
guided me by his omnipotent hand, be endless praises !

X5*

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CHAPTER IX.

•t"'

'■* I

" Thy Ijearth, thy home, thy vintage lanu,
The voices of thy kindred band,
O I midst them all, when blest thou art,
Deal gently with the Btranger's heart."

■ .' . ;: .1. ♦ . ■ . Hemans.

V .t^A

"f.

i To the reader who has patiently toiled with me through
the numdmus changes and trials of my past life, I shall
offer no apology for conducting him through another chap-
ter, by giving him a brief account of the providences which
have befallen me up to the present time. * > - '^v tj x

Having resumed my original and proper name, I deter-
mined, as I trod the conlinea of the republic, to begin my
life anew, and to regulate my conduct by the strictest prin-
ciples o^ virtue and integrity. To facilitate my design, I
resolved to learn a trade, as my a^,e was only twenty yearb.
For this purpose it appeared proper to direct my steps to-
wards the Atlantic cities, as affording the greatest facilities
for the accomplishment of my purpose ; but shortly after,
arriving at Waterford in Vermont, a gentleman told me
that a fellow-countryman resided about two miles from the
village, named Furby, a cabinet-maker. Accordingly I
called upon him in the morning, and partook of his early
meal. At first he felt disposed to engage me as his ap-
prentice ; bu; being ignorant of my character, he declined.
He advised me to call upon another Englishman, who lived
in the village, named Bellamy, a Methodist preacher by
profession. * •

Calling upoa Mr. Bellamy, and stating to him my de-

LIFE OP "WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

171

11.

li!

The author becomes nn apprentice.

ly de-

sire, he gave me a very cordial reception ; and a warm at-
tachment, such as countrymen should ever feci, was soon
mutually conceived. He told me of an opportunity to ac-
quire the saddler's business, as one Mr. Cobb wanted an
apprentice to that trade. The next day I waited on Mr.
Cobb, and he agreed to take me a month on trial. At the
expiration of that term, if both parties were satisfied, he
was to take me as his apprentice. The month expired, and
we formed an agreement, by which he was to teach me his
business, on condition of my devoting three years of my
life to his service. '

While in this place, my mind was powerfully o»-'>used
to a consideration of my spiritual danger — to a sense of
guilt for having wandered from the good and the right way.
So strong and deep were the monitions of the Holy Spirit,
that rest forsook my heart, and per,ce and sleep fled from
my pillow, and eft me a sinner, wretched and forlorn. By
promising to be pious at some distant day, my heart, my
wicked heart labored to evade the force of these convict-
ions, despite of my fears and alarms lest, after all, I should
everlastingly perish. Thi^s many weeks witnessed my in-
decision, until, in the month of September, when, at a camp-
meeting held at Concord, Vermont, about four miles from
Waterford, my mind was led by Divine Goodness to decide
to seek religion at once, as the great essential of my life.
I thought I would obtain this precious blessing before the
close of the meeting, if it could be obtained by effort. • '

On the second day of the meeting, I attended in company
with Thomas Bellamy, a son of Mr. B., who has since be-
come an able minister of the New Testament. He was al-
so a backslider, and such was his indisposition to serious
things, that we soon parted company after our arrival at

^P^^I^WPPBPP

^pp

ipai

172

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

L^crioii'i i(!<^rMi|;s.

The ciirnp inceliiiR.

!* I

the pliiv-o of prayer. The solemn appeals of the preach-
ers pi«'r(M*(l my heart and inereas(;d the fronhle of my mind
to such a (h'lxree, ms made me feel forsaken of God and
man. I rctin d into the woods to pray, but was followed
by an overpowering temptation, which whispered, " Your
sins are too great to be forgiven ; and if you dai-e to pray,
the Almighty will crush you in a moment !" IJut the re-
membrance of the precious pmmises contained in the Bible
scattered tlie temptation, and encouraged my mind, as it
heard the Savior, say in his word, "^ Ask, and it shall be
given you ; seek, and you shall find ; knock, and it shall be
opened unto you." Kneeling beside a log, I prayed, but
without experiencing any special relief or consolation.

At a class-meeting held that evening in the Lancaster
tent, an invitaion was given to those who were anxious for
their souls' salvation, to manifest it by going forward for
prayers. At first, none arose, although the tent was crowd-
ed with persons yet in their sins : at last, rising from my
feet, I told the peo{)le that / was determined to get religion
if it were to be obtained ; many others then came forward,
and w?, all joined in solemn prayer to God the Father of
Spirits ; many found peace, and went away rejoicing. My
mind though not wholly relieved, was comforted, and I left
the tent deei)ly convinced of the value of religion, and the
necessity of speedily obtaining it. - • ' • ' " ''- '

On my way home, I reflected on my newly-formed re-
solves, and felt more strongly confirmed in my determina-
tion to perform them forthwith. From that night I began
to practise the duties of Christianity, and to cultivate a
further acquaintance with the word of God. Not having
much leisure to devote to study, I used to spend some time
every night after nine o'clock reading the Bible on my

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

173

The backslider ro:»torc(l.

Unites with the niclhfjdlsts.

knees — an employment whicli proved to be very instructive
and profitable. , ^^ * * ^ , • '"'

To assist me in improving my mind, my friend Mr. B.
permitted me to lodge at his house, and have access to his
library — a privilege I indulged until midnight: As my ex-
perience increased, my unbelief gave way, and I obt'iined a
clear and undoubted evidence, that God, for Christ's sake,
had blotted out my sins, and adopted me into his family.
O, bless the Lord for his pardoning mercy — for his renew-
ing gmce. Truly my soul was a brand plucked out of the
fire. O, glory to God ! Hallelujah to the lamb !

Being desirous of attaching myself to the visible church
of my Master, and conceiving the doctrines and usages of
the Methodists to be strictly in accordance with the spirit
and doctrines of the gcf'pel, I was received into the class at
"Waterford, on the usual probation of six months, by the
Rev. Chauncy Richardson. " •. ' ' ''^

Continuing to study the way of Salvation, and to medi-
tate on the state of a perishing world, my heart burned
with a desire to warn poor sinners to flee from the ^vrath to
come ; and by punctually attending every means of grace,
and by praying and exhorting to the best of my ability, my
poor heart was greatly blessed and watered by the Great
Shepherd of the sheep, the Bishop of souls. V ' >'

On one occasion Providence called me to visit an aged
gentleman and lady, who were both on the borders of the
grave. My labors with them were greatly blessed, both to
their souls and my own ; they were both awakened, and
led back to him from whom thoy had wandered. This, and
other circumstances, moved me to ask if it were not my
duty to improve my gift in public ; and my mind was soon
impressed with a strong conviction that it was my duty to

174

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIOHTON.

Removes to Bradrurd.

The author is desirous to prench.

'y^

preach the everlasting gospel. My weakness and ignorance
made me shrink from the task ; but I nevertheless deter-
mined to seek out the will of Grod, by watching the open-
ings of Providence, and also to follow that will, whatever
it might be.

The following February Mr. Cobb and myself parted by
mutual agreement, and I left Waterford to seek further
employment At Bradford, Vt., I found business in the
shop of a Mr. Corliss. By presenting my certificate the
class received me into its bosom, the first Sabbath after my
arrival. Here I enjoyed many blessed privileges amoiig
my Christian brethren, especially in the family of my em-
ployer, the heads of which were sincere and devoted follow-
ers of the Savior. Among my other advantages was the
use of the town library, which was kept at my employer's
house, he being librarian.

During my stay in this place, my mind was again power-
fully exercised upon the subject of preaching, and the more
I resisted the impression, the stronger it became. After
much fervent prayer, I disclosed my feelings to those who
knew me best, and they thought it to be my duty to go
forward. Still I was unwilling, my talents and information
were so limited ; when it was suggested that many able
ministers of the gospel, whose talents and services now do
honor to the church and themselves, began young and fee-
ble as myself, but who, by pursuing a course of untiring
study, and by the aid of divine giace, had risen to celebrity
and usefulness. Encouraged by such considerations, I di-
vulged my feelings and views to the Rev. P. C. Richmond,
the preacher in charge, who advised me to go forward
and improve in exhortation and prayer. He then furnished
me with his written permission to exercise my gift as an
exhorter.

n"i

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LIOIITON.

175

The first sermon.

ReinovHl to Lisbon.

Bludies.

more
After
who
to go
mation
y able
low do
id fee-
ntiring
ebrity
I di-
imond,
)rward
nished
as an

Having now no excuse for further refraining from duty,
an appointment for a meeting was made for me in the vil-
lage for a week-day evening lecture. When the day ar-
rived, the clergyman of a neighboring church called at my
shop, and after transacting his business with my employer,
he turned to me and questioned me rather sarcastically
about my preaching that evening. He told me I had bet-
ter attend some theological institution before I attempted to
preach, together with many other things to discourage and
deter me from going forward in my duty. Though some-
what staggered by his attack at first, I determined, on re-
flection, to make the attempt, believing the grace of God in
a warm heart to be a greater assistance than all the learn-
ing of books and colleges, which, however, I believe to be
greatly advantageous to a gospel minister.

That evening I entered the sacred desk with much tre-
pidation, and spoke to a large and attentive congregation,
from Mark x. 17 : " Good master, what shall I do that I
may inherit eternal life ? " The Lord was manifestly pre-
sent, and blessed me abundantly ; and from that time to the
present I have continued to labor in the vineyard of my
blessed Redeemer, as faithfully as my small abilities have
permitted.

From Bradford I removed to Lisbon, N. H., and entered
the employ of Mr. Stevens, on Sugar Hill, the 28th of the
following May. Here there was no class of Methodists
within five miles, and I was conse'quently deprived of the
fellowship of my brethren. However, I devoted myself to
the duties of my profession with the utmost punctuality*
and, having been received into full membership by the
church at Lisbon, and had my couiniission renewed as an
exhorter, I went forward procluiming the Lamb of God un-

^, ■;■

• i

:.\

176

LIFE OF WILLI/ I B. LIOIITON.

Ti^mptntioriH.

The drunkard.

m Si

f ' !i
'.I

to all who came in my way. To incrca-sc iny qualifications,
I adopted a systematic course of living ; devoting my
business hours strictly to my employer, and my leisure to
the improvement of my mind by study. As an assistant, I
procured a copy of Dr. Adam Clarke's invaluable Com-
mentary, together with some other theological works, which
gave me much important information. , i ^ .

So reserved were my manners, that many doubtless took
occasion to think me scornful or proud, though my reserve
originated in a desire to prevent myself from being drawn
away by the example and conversation of the ungodly, who
surrounded mc on every Iiand. This caution was doubly
necessary from th^fact that Mr. S. sold spirituous liquors,
which drew into his shop many wicked and profane men,
who, Avhen the fumes of their drams had filled their brains,
talked over their grog-shop divinity until their conversation
was loathsomely disgusting. How often the debased drunk-
ard, poor and penniless, talked as if he wei-e a wealthy man,
a profound statesman, or a devoted Christian ! »

What a miserable picture of depravity does a drunkard
present to the observing eye ! Should the drunkard see
this, he is entreated to pause and reflect upon his character
and prospects. Considoi', dear, deluded one, that l>y drunken-
ness you lower yourself beneath the poor brute whose labor
furnishes you with the means of indulging your appetite.
Think ; you are murdering your soul, and ruining your
family, if, indeed, you have not done it already. Let con-
science speak, and, as she speaks, give ear and turn your feet
into the right way, and thou shalt save thy blood-bought soul
from hell. O, may the haj)py day soon arrive when this
" liquid Jlrc," this " distilled damnation,'" — for it deserves
no better name,— shall be banished into tue oblivious deep.

'ations,
iig my
sure to
staiit, I
e Coni-
» which

2SS took
reserve
r drawn
ily, who
doubly
liquors,
lie men,
L- brains,
crsation
i drunk-
hy man,

runkard
ard see
iiaracter
runken-
•sc labor
ippctite.
)g your
iC't t'on-
[our feet
[gilt soul
n this
cserves
lis deei),

lit

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

177

Billy rc|Nirt8.

liinifUnes*.

from whence may it never more return to intoxicate the
brains of men ! . -" • '* '-^

Thus beset by profane characters, I couW but frequently
ailministcr the word of reproof, for which they returned me
volleys of fearful oaths and drea<lful imprecations, though
ultimately it prevented some of them from swearing in my
pi*esence. * • '•' ■' ''-

Another and most strange source of persecution wa my
adherence to study, which many thought to be inconsistent
with the character of a minister of the gospel ; 'Contending
that he ought to preach entirely by inspiration ! These
ignorant jwrsons circulated a report that I had a large nun:-
ber of prayer and sermor. books, from which I committed to
memory all my public in.provements. This silly report,
though it injured me for a time, soon met with its deserved
fate. Though deprived of the fellowship of my brethren in
the church of my choice, yet I enjoyed many privileges with
my Free-will Baptist friends, whose evidences of brotherly
love and affection I shall ever remeaber. But this love
and fellowship at length declined, as was apparent by the
conduct of many. The occasion of this declension I could
never imagine, unless it was that they believe<l the false re-
ports concerning my prayer and sermon books. Of any
other cause I was never sensible, as, on a strict examination
of all my conduct, I could discover nothing in word or action
that could be construed into a just ground of oflfcnce.

These circumstances were, however, a source of trial to
my mind, and I looked aix>und in vain amon^; the hundreds
who surrounded me for a companion ; amid them all I was
alone and solitary ; and I naturally sighed for an opportunity
to change my relation in life, and seek a partner who should

relieve my loneliness ; for now, there were none into whose

I ^-

178

LIKE OK WILLIAM 0. LIGtltON,

Writes home. A lnvc«l ncqunintance. Marriage. A letter from England

>-r

bosoms I could pour out my sorrows, from wliose «ymputhif»s
encouragement could be derived, or with whom I could
claim kindred. Like the poet, I could L'uy,

' > " There are no friends or fathers here, , ...

Nor spouses kind to sniile on me ;
, . A brother's voice I cannot hear ;
A mother's form I never see ;
A sister's love I may not share.
While here ill ex;7e still I roam.
"■ - ' '.' 0, could I breathe my native air ..r
Beneath that dear ancestral dome,
,, "' ■ . I'd rest content >_

Till life was spent.
Nor sc^ek abroad a better home."

■ W '

"■4

About this time, I wrote a letter to my parents, informing
them of my state and pro-ipects, and cxpcstulating with
them for their suj)posed neglect in not answering my previ-
ous letters, supi)osing they had not ansAvered them, through
being offended with my former conduct ; this, however,
proved not to be the case, as will hereafter appear.

As I continued to improve my gift, my acquaintance with
neighboring families enlarged. Among my especial ac-
quaintance was the family of Mr. N. Judd, who, although
they ranked among the mediocrity of the honest and indus-
trious, were rich in faith, and in the knowlec ge of divine
things. My first introduction to this family was in the month
of August, 1827, and in April following, I was married to
Susannah, their daughter. i^" . ' - ' «• *' *■

A few weeks previous to my marriage, a gentleman in-
formed me that there was a letter in the post-office for me,
and as it was directed to North America, he concluded that
it was from England. Hastening to obtain it, it proved to

L -E OP WILLIAM B. LICIITON.

179

A letter.

be from ray father ; and us it may give the reader an idea
of his feelings, it is lierc inserted.

" Frampton, Decemfcer 1, 1827.

"My dear Son, , » , .....

" I received your letter, dated October 6th, 1827,
and I am very much surprised that you have not received
any letter from nic, which is the cause of your most unhappy
com[)laint. I liave received many letters from you, to which
I have immediately sent answers. Your information that
you have not received any since you left the Isle of Wight,
gives me but poor satisfactian. The cause of those failures
is, no doubt, owing to the great distance which sei)^rates us
from each other ; and my letters have probably been lost on
the way. ,.. « , '

*• Dc'sir soil, yoiir request has been gratified, in that I have
attentively pciMsod your letter ; and in the first place, I
commend you to God, and pray earnestly that he may be
your guide, protector, and redeemer ; tliat you may honor
and fear him all your life, be a useful and dignilied member
of society, and, eventually, that we may all meet in heaven,
where nothing shall separate us from th'it union and felicity
which have been purchased for us by our blessed IJedoemer.

" Let me also affectionately advise you, as you have es-
caped your unpleasant condition and situation, for one of a
more social and endearing character, to i)reserye it with
deep-felt gratitude. Use every effort to make it agreeable
to you, and be content in those fortunate circumstances in
which providence and the mercy of God have placed you.

" You will accept the ardent love and best wishes of your
parents, and also the same sentiment of respect from all the
family. We should be glad to see you return to your native

"^^^W"!^' #

ISO

T-.~: v,-?

LIPR OP WILLIAM B. LIGHTOK.

^•%

BecniiiOT n raniier.

DiMiimCic happlnent.

I hi,.

•

land^ which may God grant. This leaves us all enjoying
good beftlth, except your mother, whose weak constitution
obligei) me to say that at times her health is rery precarious.

Your cousin, James L , of S , died about twelve

months ago. Your brother J is no better of his

lameness. May this find you in the enjoyment of health ;
and, O, may God bo with my transmarine son ! and bless
and save you io his heavenly kingdom, which is the prayer
of, dear son,

" Your affectionate father,

"William Ligiiton."
'^ Tlie peiTTsal of this letter had no small influence over my
feelings ; it was the first news I had received from my dear
parents for seven loiig years ; it relieved me of the idea that
they did not care for my welfare, which had long been a
load of son-ow on my heart. Since that time, I have re-
ceived two or three comniunieations from lliem every year;
and nothing subsists between us but feelings of the most
l)crfeet friendship and cordial affection.

My term of hire having expired, I went to live with my
wife's father, according to a i)revious agreement ; and, as he
was considerably advanced in life, and somewhat infirm in
body, I took his farm, and agreed to support him and his
partner through life: in addition to the farm, I received
ninety-six dolhirs a year, being the amount of a pension he
received, as a reward for services rendered during the revo-
lutionary war.

Thus situated, we lived in the most harmonious and happy
manner, a perfect contrast to the misery of my former days.
Then I was the subject of the most inexpressible hardshii)s,
doomed to bear the frowns of tyrants, and the insults of
covetous masters ; now, thanks to a merciful Pi-ovidence, I

ii i.

^.^.

* .St

Ml..

ffrf^.

plnem.

jnjoying
stitution
cftriouf.
t twelve
• of his
health ;
fid bless
prayer

ON/

ver my
ny dear
lea that
been a
ave re-
y year ;
le most

'ith my
I, as he
irm in
and his
3ceived
?ion lie
(3 revo-

happy
r days,
dships,
mlts of
apce, I

ii
V- '

i ■■ '

i ':

i:'

»' t

•s*^--^

LIFE OP WlLtlAM B. LIGHTON.

181

Another letter.

The letter.

v^ ^

•i •^

wa8 freed from my oppressors, had a happy home, and
enjoyed the best of human comforts, a pious and godly com^
panion, who was dear to me as my own soul. Added to
this, I was amid friends, whose generous kindness will ever
endear them to my memory, and had neighbors, who had a
high regard for the things of God, and whose hearts Avere
touched with a Savior's love. These were blessings once
foreign to my expectations, but now enjoyed in fond reality.
Ojwhat shall I render to God "or all his goodness towards nie ?
A few months after I wrote my answer to my father's
fii*st letter, I received the following from him, which I beg
leave to insert, as it breathes so mucli of the spirit of affec-
tion and love : —

" Frampton, Ekg., October 15, 1828.
" Dear Son,

" Your kind letter was received with great pleasure,
and, O, what inexpressible joy I have had in perusing it, to
find that you received my letters at last, after the numbers I
have sent these seven years I It affords me much happiness
to find you are enjoying good health, and also that you are
married ; but above all it fills my soul with the* greatest
possible satisfaction to hear that you love your God and
Savior, and feel a deep interest for his glory. O, may the

Lord bless and preserve you unto his holy kingdom.

* * * m « « If #'

" I should like to accept your invitation and emigrate to
America, but my komef my native isle, has a charm almost
too powerful to admit of a separation, in this my advanced
stage of life. As yet, I know not how I shall act. I am
not able to determine, at present, so as to give you a satis-
factory answer, but return you my sincere thanks for your
endemess towards me. * ♦ • » *

16*

v..

]

182

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTOX.

Hr^

The uuthor licenced to proiich.

More communication!! from England.

"In closing this, I commend you to Almighty God, who
alone is able to watch over and bring you to his kingdom. —
O, may he bless and enlighten you as to your duty, that you
niJiy live a devoted and usefu^ life. We are all well, and
all join in giving our love to you, and your dear wife, and
her relatives, praying, if we should never meet each other
on earth, we may be so unspeakably haj)py as to meet in
heaven, to receive a crown of glory, where we may mingle
our friendly souls in praising God forever, through Jesus

Christ. .

"I am, dear son,

I "Your very affectionate father,

- "William LiGHTON."

Having continued to improve as an - xhorter for about
two years, with the advice of my brethren, I obtained a
license to preach at a quarterly meeting conference, held at
Lisbc«i, April 25, 1829, the Rev. John Lord presiding elder.
With this renewal of my commission, I felt the vast impor-
tance of honoring it to the glory of God. May he forbid
that I should ever be slack in warning the wicked to flee
from the wrath to come. Save me, O Lord, from every
principle of error, from the love of the world, and from
every thing else that cannot bear to be tested by thy holy
word, and by the things of* eternity.

After receiving my license as a preacher, I again wrote
to my parents, acquainting them with the interesting fact.
They returned me the following answer the next Decem-
ber:— . .-»*^j4^.., ..,.■.■.—--■-■ -"■'--- ■

! r

" Framktow, near Boston, August 8, 1829.

" Dearly beloved Son,

^'I began to think the time long since I received a

LIFE OP WILLIAM B. LlOnTON.

183

L-='tters from home.

»»

letter from you ; but the time has ai'rived in which I have
received yours : it came to hand August 7th, 1829. Nothing
gives me more satisfaction than to hear from you ; believe
me, my son, when I say it is a happiness I enjoy above
every other pleasure of the Avorld. Yes, thank God, I can
now retire to my closet, and hold converse with my dutiful
son, while I read your epistles. O, what a delightful hour !
How much I am obligated to praise the Lord, who has per-
mitted me to see this moment ! TliC pleasure I have re-
ceived from perusing your kind letter, has animtited and
filled my soul with such exquisite happiness as words cannot
express. And why all this joy and gratitude but because I
have reason to believe my long-lost son is found ; that you
love God, and the way of life and salvation ; but above all,
that you are favored, by God's blessing and mercy, with the
privilege of preaching the gospel of the Son of God ? O,
this is too much for a father to bear ! So thoughtless were
you about your soul before, and so regardless of friendly
advice, and leaving the bosom of friends and home, as you
did, — who can help rejoicing ? Ah, who could have thought
of such a change ? Truly, * with God all things are possi-
ble.' 'V ' . :. . - ^ ^

" With this feeling of soul, I eagerly seize my pen to
communicate with you, in the form of a letter, and hasten to
lose no time in so pleasing an employ. I have much to say
by way of encouragement to you ; but I cannot express
myself. Let me advise you to be humble ; abstain from
every thing that does not bear the impress of that blessed
gospel you profess to preach. Live near to God, and then
I have no- fears concerning your prosperity and usefulness.

M";

,//4.»M*<f '^JlUi' ^i^'-T:^

« « « «

184

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGHTON.

The author urges hi* parents to emigrate.

" May the God of peace be with you, and keep you from
all danger through Jesus Christ our Lord.

" I remain • ' , ,

" Your most affectionate father,
■ * .„. . " William LiGHTON."

The contents of this letter filled me with the highest con-
cern for the general happiness of my father and his family,
and I wrote to him an impressive reply, urging him very
strongly to emigrate to this country, and begged him most
seriously not to delay, but to proceed hither forthwith.
One of his answers to this appeal is as follows : —

I . Frampton, Ocfoier 31, 1831.
"My dear Son, -4^

" I received your most greatful and intelligent let-
ter, dated June 10th, and am truly enamored with your
simplicity and kind treatment ; it breathes a sincerity too
powerful to be doubted, that fills me with true parental af-
fection and sincere respect to a loving and dutiful son now
in a transmarine state.

" I received your kind invitation with warm emotion, and
should like to come to America to pass the rest of my life
with you in your free republican country, where peace and
retirement alone can be found to refresh and relieve the
suffering sons of oppression. But, my son, the thought of
leaving home and friends to traverse the ocean in quest of
a more free country, at this age of my life might be probably
an imprudent step. I know not what to say any further upon
the subject, but would give you my hearty thanks for your
kind in.'itation, and pray the Lord he may, by his divine
influence, bring us to heaven, where waves and billows

LIFE or WILIJAiM B. LlOnTOJC.

185

Their refuaal and the reasons.

>»

let-

shall no more rise between us^ to obstruct tis from the eti'

joyment of our beloved fraternity.

« « « ».« # * «'«

: " Your most affectionate father, ■, ..' i. .

i «i .i ij;r» "William LiGHTON." >; : -^i

''J

Finding that my letter did not produce its intended ef-
fect, but merely set him to ixiflocting upon my proposition,
I wrote again upcMi the same subject, to Avhich I recei\'ed
the following reply : — . .

■ :s*^,.\.-*' TRAyiTTOit, September ^, IS^2.

« Affectionate Son, . > -^ "^ v^ * , ' - ''

• " Through the blessing of God, we received your
communication, dated April 24th, 1833. Your argument
for me to come over to you is very strong and sincere ; but
I cannot at present, determine so as to give you any deci-
sive satisfaction about the subject. Yet, let me tell you, my
dear son, the ties of parental affection are so strong as al-
most, at times, to induce me to resolve ripon the undertak-
ing. I should be very happy to sec you all, and to enjoy
sweet solace, and end my days in your yVte and happy coun-
try, and in the bosom of an affectionate and greatf'ul son ;
but tlie distance seems too far, and the journey accompanied
with a degree of mental anxiety and danger, which are the
only ditKcnlties that seem to prevent that ha[)i>y meeting,
which would be accompanied with all the feelings of an
affectionate father. '. '^ ' *"•'", '?' *:. f^.'

.( "Our country is progressing in oppression and wi*etched-
ncss, which almost induces me to believe its fate is fixed.
The reform bill has proved a dead letter, at least at pro-
sent ; in consequence of this failure, the people have turned

186

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

A heavy Ions.

a deaf car to all plans of reformation. "What will be the
consequence, I know not, but I fear it will result in a
bloody contest. May the Lord have mercy upon us, and
deliver us from the evil. W3 are all in sentiment, as usual,
and enjoying good health. Accept our love and best wish-
es. "Write at every oi)portunity ; and may the propitious
smiles of our heavenly Father attend you and your be-
loved family forever, which is the prayer of, dear son,
" Your most affectionate father,
♦ . "William Liguton."

About April of this year, 1833, I was visited with a
very serious affliction in my temporal circumstapces, and
thus most effectually taught the mutability of all earthly
things. For five years I had lived in tlie connubial bond
with the utmost content and hapi)i»ess. Providence had
blessed me with a young family of three children, a son
and two daughters. Being located in a situation where my
trade was of but little service, and feeling disposed to de-
vote myself to it more exclusively, I concluded to sell my
farm, and establish myself where it would be of more val-
ue. , '

I sold my farm to a Mr. M'Bain Jamison, a man who
had hitherto been upright and of whose honesty I hod not
the remotest doubt ; lience I confidently reposed my prop-
erty in his hands with no other security than his notes.
Knowing he had obtained the command of my farm, some
poor, miserable, notorious wretches influenced him to sell it
and leave the country. He did so, and out of seven hun-
dred dollars, the price of my little farm, I lost five hundred
and twenty-five. He proceeded with his family to the
west where, tcr aught I know, he is at present.

LIFE OF WILLIAM fi* LlGlitOK.

187

wlio
not

some

3llit

tiun-

Ired

the

Moral effect of temftoral trin>.

Rertections.

This unfortunate occurrence threw me into deep trouble ;
it come like a winter's cloud over my mind, and darkened
my rising prospects of comfort and prosperity. However,
by the grace of God, I was enabled to pursue a course
which in every respect promoted my welfare. Though
somewhat involved, it can be said, to the honor of my credi-
tors, that they never injured so much as a hair of my hetul.
Truly, the lord is merciful and good, in that he overrules
every thing for my peace. I truly pity the man who I:i-
jured me, and those who influenced him ; and M'ith all their
gain I am still better off than they, lor I possess a con-
science clear from guilt. My prayer to God is, that they
may repent of the evil they have done, and be saved.

The ensuing fall I hired a house in the town of Landaff,
about five miles from my former residence, where aided by
the smiles of an iiidulgcnt Heaven, I have been blessed far
beyond my expectations with food and raiment, and, what
is better than all, with spiritual prosperity. Truly, my loss
has been sanctified ; it has taught me the utter fallacy of all
earthly dependences, and led me to trust supremely in Him
who is the well-spring of life, and whose resources never
fail. , \ J' ' - ' . '

Thus, dear reader, I have presented you with a plain un-
varnished detail of the events of my life, hoping that if
you are still the subject of parental government, or in youj.
minority, you will learn to be careful how you treat lightly
the advice of you parents. Let all mj/ difficulties be bea-
cons to warn you of the dangerous shoal. O, beware of
folly. Shun every appearance of evil. Give your heart
to God ; in all your ways ocknowledge him, and he will
direct your paths. ^' ; -. '

I rejoice in being permitted to close this narative on my

168

LIFE or WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

VVhnt is ilcHth ?

birth-day. Thirty years have rolled over my head! they
arc gone forever ! O, what wonders God has wrought for
me, through all the years of my short life ! I have had
my lot of sufferings and difficulties from the hands of
wicked and unfeeling men. I have felt their frowns and
their wrath ; but God has interposed, rescued and saved me
from every evil, and brought me to a land of liberty and
peace ; he has given me dear and affectionate friends.
Truly God has been my refuge and present help in time of
trouble, and, with all my unworthiness, my trust shall be in
him for evermore ; ere-long and I shall sleep the sleep of
death. O, that the Savior may be in my heart, and that the
strength of God may sustain me in a dying hour, and grant
me a triumphant resurrection to a glorious immortality.
May my life on earth be henceforth spent to the glory of
my blessed Master. May my labors for precious and un-
dying souls cease only with my life. May He so teach me
to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wis-
dom. A few more fleeting years, and what a change ! what
new scenes will burst upon my ravished vision ! While
living, changes will await me, and when I die, I shall see
as seen by Him, and know as known to Eternal Wisdom, to
the Ruling Spirit of the universe ! and O, what a change !
to become an inhabitant of the world of spirits !

•' Thou must expire, my soul, ortlained to range
Through unexperienced scenes and misteries strange ;
Dark the event and dismal the exchange.
But when compelled to leave this house of clay, '

] And to an unknown somewhere wing thy way ;
When time shall be eternity, and thou . v

Shalt be, thou know'st not what, nor where, nor how, —
Trembling and pale, what wilt thou see or do ? T

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

isa

DollKhtH of ImniortalUy.

Amazing state ! No wonder that we dread ^ '
The thous^hts of death, or faces of the dead : -^
His black, retinue sorely strikes our mind,
Siekness and p.'iin before and darkness all bt-hind.

Some rourleoiis ghost, the secret then reveal ;
Tell us what you have felt, and we must feel.
You warn us of approaehint^ death, and why
Will you not teac'- us wiiat it is to die ?
But having shot the gulf you love to view ^

Succeeding siiirits ])lunged along like you ;
Nor lend a fri'mdly hand to guide them through.

When dire disi-aso shall cut or age untie.
The knot of life, and sutler us to die —
When, after some delay some tremblitig strife,
The soul stands quivering on the riiige of life, —
With fear and hope she throbs, then curious tries
Some strange hereafter, and some hidden skies."

■•-Mr-.^-

Nonnis.

■ But, O, if I am pvopared for such a change, how delight-
ful it will be to awake from death, to be immortal, and live
forever ! — to be among immortals, to renew those associa-
tions with dear relatives and friends, which have been sus-
pended for a season ! I can carry no tidings thithei*, for
the affairs of this world are known to disembodied spirits.
I can look around me for relatives and friends, and those
refined principles of love and joy will there be renewed and
enjoyed Ibi'cver. O, happy, happy region of boundless
bliss ! There will be no changing then of time ; it will be
eternity. O, ETERNITY ! that dreadful, pleasing thought !
I shall be immortal ! But shall I possess a crown of life ?
Here rests the awful pause ! A crown of life ! My God,
O thou eternal antl everlasting Father, hear thou a sinner's
prayer ; lead me by thy good spirit, and so sustain me in

?f?B""'"

190

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITOX.

AiUirosN to the reader.

I. ■■■''.

my course, that I may find my all in thee, both in time and
in eternity."

And now, before I conclude, let me ask you, reader,
"What are thy prospects beyond the grave ? O, what are
thy hopes ? ITast thou a well-grounded hope of a blessed
immortality, or art thou still in thy sins, an enemy to God
by wicked works ? If thou art, is it not high time for thee
to bethink thynelf on thy condition, and prepare thyself for
the great event of thy life. Think, 0, think, how soon thou
wilt have to leave this sh6rt, transitory scene of existence !
A few years, at the farthest, and then all will be over with
thee here, and thou must appear a naked, disembodied spirit,
at the awful bar of the august Majesty of heaven, to answer
for thy conduct. O, let me urge thee to fly to Christ ; he is
thy only Savior and sure friend. Have faith in his merits ;
be deeply humble ; live in view of eternity, and in the
solemn consequences of that vast and trying scene. Re-
member that if you neglect to walk in the commands of
€rod, *v on will be damned forever. %

" Be wise, nor make

Heaven's highest blessing venf^eance ; O, be wise,

Nor make a curee of imniortalitf !

Say, know'st thou what it is, or what thou art ? ' "

Know'st thou the impoi lance of a soul immortal ?

Behold this midnight glory ; worlds on worlds !

Amazing pomp! Redouble this amaze ; .^ •

Ten thousand add ; add twice ten thousand more ; '

Then 'weigh the whole : — one soul outweighs them all,

And calls the astonishing magnificence

Of unintelligent creation poor." " ' ' '

Jj;

'.r

Let thy soul bathe itself in the blessed Savior—

" Sink into the purple flood,
Rise to all, the life of God."

'■V <

/r/1'f

ji^-.^r "'H^'^'^T*' '

LIFE OF WILLIAM B. LIGIITON.

191

Btiiily of the Itlltlu ut\!v^.

The C'hrtstlan nlltlru^tMC(l.

Seek and retain his sacred image in thy lieart, live on him
by holy, conquering, irresistible faith, and thou shult be saved
in heaven. - .• •* >

Let me advise the to a constant and prayerful perusal of
the Holy Scriptures ; acquaint thyself \vith them, as thou
wouklst with thy chart, wert thou lost at sea, and exposed to
perilous dangers near an unknown shore. Remember the
J^ible h the star of eternity, a chart to guide thy frail bark
into the haven of eternal rest. Make it the constant book
of thy life. .• , -^ ,

With holy faith and prayer, - '

" Read God's word once, and you can read no more :
For all books else appear so mean, so poor,
Verse will seem prose ; but still persist to read,
And God's word will be all the book you'll need."

Never lay it aside because thou hast read it over and over,
or because it may not be altogether so congenial to thy
natural views and feelings ; but persist in thy acquaintance
with it, with sincere prayer to God that thou mayst fully
understand it. The Holy Scriptures are of indispensable
use to thee, as they teach thee every thing relative to thy
salvation, and to thy duty while a probationer here below.
Let the dear reader, therefore,

" Read, and revere the sacred page; a page

Where triumphs immortality; a. page

Whic'i not the whole creation could produce ;

Which not the conflagration shall destroy ;

In nature's ruins not one letter lost." . ^ =

Ignorance and neglect of the Scriptures are the prime
cause of so much infidelity and irreligion in the world. In-
stead of men's approximating to them,and forming their lives

'^'^^^■

193

LIFE OF Wn.LIAM B. LIOIITOX. -•

Conrluslon.

by tlieir unerring authority, they set up their own systems,
creeds, and notions, and foolishly war[> them to their un-
Runctified designs. May God grant, dear reader, that you
and I may come to the light of (iod's Word ; if we are
condemned and cut off", amen ; but lot us come to the truth,
ns it is in Jesus, that we may be saved in heaven.

Christian reader, awake thou to thy duty ; sec thou hast
every thing ready and in order for tiiy exit into another
world, lie on tl:y post, and watch against the summons of
the Captain of thy salvation. See thon maintainest family
and secret prayer, and see that thou boldest daily commun-
ion with thy Lord. Examine thyself as to thy title to
heaven and happiness. I)o?it thou live, every day, a holy
and devoted life, such as adorns thy i»rofession ? Hast thou
Christ formed within thee, the hope of glory ? Hast thou
an abiding witness, that thou art a child of God ? O, in a
word, art thou, in the strictest sense, a true Christian ?
Answer thy conscience, and 0, answer truly ! If thou art
n<ft, thou art in the broad road to ruin and destruction j rtnd
may God have mercy upon thee, and alarm thy guilty soul !
If thou canst respond in the affirmative, go on, with God's
blessing ; and may thou, and I, and the whole Israel of God,
be so unspeakably happy, as to be saved in heaven, through
our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Now to the ever-blessed and glorious Thinity, — Father,
Word, and Stirit, — the infinite and eternal One, from
whom, alone, wisdom, truth, and goodness can proceed, be
glory and dominion, forever and ever. A^ien* ,.;, .,^

-i/J ^ ,4:

' "^^ ■•i>^ ■-r^^--