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I feel great diffidence in submitting the present volume to the public, being aware that, in it many shortcom- ings may be visible, not only to the critic, but also to the general reader. In judging of the work, however, I request that the fact may be taken into consideration, that 1 have been, since six years of age, compelled to earn my own subsistence ; and consequently, whatever education I possess, has been the result of chance, not of arrangement. The contents of the volume, with many other pieces which I have destroyed, were writ- ten either in the workshop or during the evening, more for the purpose of amusement than for publication. The " Recollections of a Convict" must not be looked upon as fiction. The majority of the incidents recorded were experienced in the life of one person. The whole of them were recounted to me by parties conversant with the facts. It has been my endeavour so to ar- range them as to form an interesting narrative, in or- der, if possible, to arrest the attention ot young men, and show them the evils and hardships which result from becoming the companions of those who depart from the path of duty and the fear of God. In the hope that neither the reader nor the writer may lose by the undertaking, I am, the public's humble servant, y-LE. Montreal, March, 1847. AiJ ' il^^M I i*"/!*! -.»■.; ^j(iiiju;}tiuK I?! •>. i^^/tiHi' 'i;*iii:! it rff j(^f{i •■»'?c/fr •^H^. «i'>"^ !^!' iR^,-?«fi -jj; „-i|,i :iili-!r; ,:Ji;:| >^f VtOO JO '"-" */!i iu 'Ji't ?i;"n I ipr -jfj fpi'j )'iu\ i;'. ^i Syi"; jM •■*■<;-.' j;"?! ■■( r>. ;yn rf t-/'..!-. •■> ii ! ^. • ii 1. -"U )>t i?'. ■iOi L>£I ':■"!■?)'» (■! rjiMi 'S**/- HUI ■ » • i i|ftf/t<»l sh,i,; i-* i .'\ jint/. .^ .« RECOLLECTIONS OF A CONVICT, I I ? fi . - -.n » }'• ' c.i iV* w I »-iil ^:. ^>.i' .: \ X* ^'t. RECOLLECTIONS Of J..;, t '\i^titli- A CONVICT. I '!! :«> CHAPTER. I. ■ - fr r.ff INTRODUCTORY AND PARENTAL. Pardon me, kind reader, if, previous to laying before you the hardships I endured as a convict, 1 state a few particulars respecting my early history, and the circum- stances attending my transition from a state of liberty to one bf worse than slavery. We have all a begiiming in life, and that beginning, so long as our shield of second causes remain, is more Hkely to be one of inno- cence than of vice ; but should He, in whose hands is the issue of all things, be pleased to take from us that shield, our life, taking the world as it is, is more likely to be influenced by evil than good; as there are few hands or hearts — few indeed — willing to help or feel for the sorrows of a parentless or a fatherless child. The foregoing I take for granted, as, had it been otherwise in my own case, the painful recollections called up in giving publicity to this history, might have been spared , There is an adage which says that "those who are born to be hanged will not be drowned." I narrowly "** ft RECOLLECTIONS OT S i •i^ escaped the former, and regarding the latter, I have so often nearly realised being eo, that I begin to think the above aphorism has no bearing on my case. Having introduced myself to you thus, allow me now to pro- ceed with my narrative. In 1811 there was a small thatched house standing at the outskirts of a village, situated a few miles from Glasgow, N. B. In that house it was that my parent* were blessed with a son, and that son was myself. There were no bells set a-ringing j no bonfires lighted ; no roar of artillery; no addresses presented in honour of my first appearance ; although, I believe, the usual assemblage of neighbours and blythemeat seekers were not awanting ; but whether out of respect to the happy couple or otherwise, it is not for me now to enquire. The bustle of this era over, 1 became, in time, capable of paying visits to our neighbours, and enjoying the luxury of dabbling in a dub of stagnant water, which erst had been a pond, lying convenient to our thatched domicile ; and no duck very exhibited more real plea- sure in its aquatic gambols, than I did when jumping knee-deep in this green-surfaced village lake. School-boy days succeeded, and with them the rou- tine of fighting, flogging, crying, coaxing, and learning; but, were the truth told, the last received the smallest share of my attention. I had, somehow or other, a peculiar knack of getting into mischief, and it was a rare case in which I managed to effect a retreat, honor- able or otherwise, without carrying wilh me indubitable evidence of being concerned in the affair, whatever it might be. I had few coinpeers at " bools and but- m .'c-'iWy^'!:^!'^.'!^^ '*^^'^i^^eit&iaismiSMitJKij*'itH%im,' A CONVICT. 8 tons ;" I could 'u'ow a stone as far and as high as most boya of my age; and, on one occasion, in attempting the latter juvenile feat, I sent a pebble through a pane of |;las8 in front of a house, the said pebble, after wind- ing its way along a passage, making its exit through another pane in the rear of the dwelling. But why should I dwell on such things ? Why ! Is there a being possessed of his faculties who does not look back with pleasurable feeling, almost indescribable, to the days spent around the home of his birth, and remem- bers the «:cason, with jill its joys and sorrows, only as a glorious feast o^ early associations, of the most interest- ing character! Friendships are often formed at that time, which end only in the grave — ^loves, not unfre- quently, which, as " heaven is love," may last us eter- nally. Yes, home of my boyhood ! when all else has failed to yield a happy moment, to thee have I turned as a never-feiling source, capable of affording, as far as worldly pleasures are concerned, a stream of the kind- liest waters that ever flowed from the sweetest spring on earth. ••.''''•" •'- ■■':'•"■' '/vv/rr^o My father, previous to my birth, had carried on an extensive trade in a neighbouring town. He was shrewd and intelligent. There was no society con- nected with the place, in which he was not interested. His advice was asked on many occasions of doubt by his less gifted neighbours, and his workshop was a com- mon resort for parties discussing the various measures in which the town was interested. His advice, as I have already stated, being often asked, it became, un- fortunately, the custom with those i>erson3 who wished A3 ■■* RECOLLECTIONS OF to have the benefit of hia judgment, to send for him to a pubjc house in the locality. Although, for many a day, no evil resulted from this circumstance, still, there it was, that the germ was first engendered which ulti- mately wrought his destruction. Beware, reader! if God has given you talents above your fellow inen, beware, I say, least those very gifts become the means of luring you from a high path to one of degradation and misery. Beware that ye be not hurled from your station of religion and morality to the detested life of a drunkard. If I have had a feeling jf regret for actions committed ; if I know what it is to suffer ; if 1 ever had a pang, (and many keen ones I have had), at being banished my fatherland, and made the companion of the hard-hearted and cruel, — I owe them all to the curse of drunkenness. Do I stand alone on this dark- ened precipice 1 Look around you, reader, and the investigation you make, be it ever so slight, will tell you the unfortunate truth, that there are few corner of the rock on which I stand, where the flag of distress is not exhibited in all its dirty and tattered glory. But I must return to my story. It will be under- stood from what I have stated above, that my father fell; yes, fell from his high standing: his business was neglected — in short, he became a . I dare not name it. The memory of that being is too sacred to me to be associated with such a detested word. But fall he did; not at once, oh no! the enemy was too cowardly to show his real colours at first, nor was he aware of the design of this arch-deceiver, till he became so completely hemmed in, that escape seemed impossi- A CONVICT. 5 ble. It was only when all- hope had fled that he opened his eyes lo his true position. After this un- fortunate event, my poor father, unable to bear the thought of seeking employment in the place where he was wont to employ, removed to the spot described at the opening of this chapter. ' Time wore on, and with each succeeding year some little was added to my personal bulk. My father's un- happy propensity, however, kept our domestic hearth but barely supplied with worldly comforts, although that hearth was presided over by one of the best of mothers. No flaw was ever found in her character ; no spot of her existence, surrounded as it was by afflictions of the severest nature, was ever stained or tarnished. She was one of those beings whose very " failings leant to virtue's side." When her spirit winged its way up- wards, far, far above, I could truly say, with Pope, that the place she lefl had ilpr " Lent heav*n a mother to the poor and me." It was net essary at the end of each week for my father to return the work finished to his employers in Glasgow ; and on these occasions it but too frequently occurred that the money he received, and which should have gone to the support of his family, was spent in the ale house. Consider what our situation was under such circumstances. But for the character of my mo- ther, starvation might have been the end of our exis- tence. We had kind neighbours, however, who com- pletely understood the position we were placed in, and who lent us both food and money, in the hope that a a3 6 SECOLLGCTIONS OF change might come over the spirit of ray father's dreams. At last all hope was abandoned, and our neighbours^ kind and good though they were, got tired of assisting us farther. It w^s at this juncture that my mother, wearied with expostulation, impressed upon my father, with tears as sincere as ever were shed, the necessity of changing his hitherto infatuated career. Reasons as strong as a naked and starving family, and a heart-broken woman, could urge, were given; and my father, who really loved both his wife and children, with silent grief confessed his error, and proposed that, in future, I should be his companion each Saturday, that he might the more readily excuse himself to the solicitations of his boon companions. " •' » * /;^>->^- This was a new era in my young life, and how I kept the trust committed to my charge, will be seen. To those who have been brought up in a country village, and remember their first visit to a large city such as Glasgow, I need not describe my feelings on the morn- ing of that day on which I was to make my debut on the world's stage; for so the event appeared to me. Shoes in my case were superfluous, and the covering for my head, a Kilmarnock bonnet, had " seen better days," for when placed on my pericranium, a bunch of hair could be seen peering through its upper portion, similar to an overgrown cluster of grass on a pasture field, and what the aborigines of this country, in their hey-day, might have considered an excellent " scalping lock." No matter, off we went — I dreaming of ships, minus "colonies and commerce," my father probably brooding over his own degradation, which made i' ne- ■^ A CONVICT. '« 4. I. ^ cessary that I should thus accompany him, or on the cause which gave rise to it. ''.hniH ''fd *'' I need not say that "the sun had reached its meri- dian height" when we reached " the city of the West ;" neither do I mean to state how I went gaping about with " eyeballs distended," and a mouth as large as the newspaper receiving-box of a post office ; it is sufficient for you to know, that after my father's business had been transacted, and while I was urging our speedy retuirn, an acquaintance made his appearance and ac- costed my devoted parent. A slight shower of rairt hegihning (;'r ■>u_ > !•:,: ^•^r^ A CONViCT. mivy r> > ■* ,.'^j,'- fn.,fi •y'fofcM , i CHAPTER II. PARENTAL AND INCIDENTAL. ■'-' "A weeping mother !" What recollections are called up wiih these words. Now, while I write, an involuntary tear forces me to pause. While I do so, I cannot help thinking there may be a wide difference be- tween a " weeping woman," and a " woman in tears." The one is real, the other fictitious. Anger, malice, spleen, envy, or any olher of such evil emotions, may cause a woman to shed tears, but this cannot be called weeping. It is recorded in sacred writ that "Jesus wept."^"* Will any one suppose that the Apostle states this merely because our Saviour shed tears? Oh, no, he who was " a man of sorrows and acquainted with griefs," had great cause to weep. Let us think of this. But to return. > .^ ^ ^ ; / . .v ;r n, tt When we entered our smaM, cold-looking comfortless dwelling, a scene sad enough was exhibited. There sat my poor mother surrounded by her sorrowful young family. No stir was made when we approached them ; and, young as I was, I could see that had my mother endeavoured to rise, she must have fallen in a faint in the attempt. There she sat, the youngest on her knee, its little liny hand moving playfully back- wards and forwards across its mother's woe-stricken face. Oh, what a heaving was in the breast to which my little brother was pressed ! What a load of sorrow a5 io RECOLLECTIONS OP on that heart! If I may use the expression, it was like the inward commotion of a volcano previous to che belching forth of its burning lava. There was deep and severe internal suffering, as if the very heart would burst; and when a little relief was yielded ly a (low of tears, she turned her face towards my penitent father, and in accents of tender severity, mildly exclsimed, " Oh, William, William, ye're unco, unco cruel !" There is little use in dwelling on the explanations which followed. I may merely state, from that night forward, my father was an altered man. There was no more sorrow or suffering on his account, and so long as he lived, ours was the happiest family in the neighbourhood. Ultimately we became, instead of re- cipients, capable of administering healing bdm to many a wounded heart. Two years elapsed, as happy as ever were spent during the bud of boyhood. At t' e end of this time a strong and unaccountable fancy took possession of my mind — a growing desire to visit the sea-shore. I had been often told of the mighty power and the vast- ness 6f the waters of the sea, but I had never seen it, and every additional particular which I learned con- cerning the wonders of the ocean, only rendered the desire more intense. I had, on the occasion alluded to, got a glimpse of a few vessels at the Broomielaw of Glasgow, but I was told that they were not fo be compared to what coulJ be seen at Greenock. I knew that my father had a relation in Rothsay, and that both Rothsay and Greenock were " down the water:" this, however, was the maximum of knowledge which TN ^ fit, . ' IB • A <'0\VICT. u ;r. I tlien possessed rcganiisig the situation of lK>th places. For weeks ttie desire was nursed, till at last I could withstand the temptation no longer, and resolved that fay wish should be gratified, and this, too, without the consent of my parents. This was my first actual (ransgresision. To carry my purpose into executiofi money "'as necessary, and the devil having been allow* ed a lodgnient in my heart, beat about so keenly that he soon po^essed himself of my whole mind ; and, as money was necessary, he argued that as I had none, nor a.iy means of procuring it honestly, the only alter- native would be to borrow it from the family repository. This point being settled to the satisfaction of myself avid the Wicked One, I took the first opportunity of my mother's absence, stole the money, and, thus pro- vided, I took my passage to Greenock in a steamboat from a place known to " Paisley bodies" as the " water neb." --'."■ -"'■^'" ' " '"'',r:'J' TT'i, ,':-.- Jp my anxiety to carry this plan into operation, I never once thought of the agony such a step would cause my parents, or of the fearful crime I had com- mitted. I only thought of gratifying a curiosity, inno- cent in itself, but made altogether reprehensible by the means used to gratify it. Nevertheless, after the steamer was set in motion, I could not help nmning first to one ride, then to the other, in order to watch the boiling of the water caused by the splashing of the paddle-wheels. Every thing I saw was new to me ; and in my search after the pow<*r which propelled the vessel, I at last alighted on the man at the helm, an(l ^1 »> V2 KE('OLLE<.TlO:^S OF / put him J own as being tlie party who compelled the 'boat to ' " *"' *'■ •'•'•■i . ■ ■•'' fi' iiy- ''■•iJiJt i-i i. , , ,. "Walk the waters like a (hing of life", . * thus amusing myself, wo arrived at Greenock, when 1 went on shore, and had equal cause to wonder. I wandered about the docks till near dusk, with another lad, with whom I had picked up an acquaintance. Being tired out, my friend invited me to his mother's, assuring lue of a good lodging for the night. I went with him and was made very welcome. His mother, a widow, suspecting I was a runaway, gave me some wholesome advice, and advised me to return home in the morning, which I promised to do. ' '-' ' - '^ ■ ^'"^ On the following morning when I awoke, I did not feel comfortable. It was the first night I had ever spent from home, and the fact of my parents not being aware of my departure or where I was, rendered me extremely uneasy; I therefore determined to return and ask forgiveness. After I had partaken of some break- fast, I left the good woman under the belief that I was to take the first steamboat for Glasgow. Arrived at the quay, I fourtd a steamboat about to start for Roth- say, the very place I had left home to visit. I rumi- nated a little on the course I was to pursue, and in the end found myself, instead of returning home, on my way down to Rotlisay. • • ■ ■ ' '■'■ '" ■-•'-**••' -*' The sceneiy hetueen Grcenoik and the Island of Bute, on which Rothsay is situated, is capable of call- ing up in the contoniplalive mind ideas of the ino^t yub- ^T A CONVICT. lime character. On the right, towards the North, rise far up, one over the other, the dark mist-covered hills of the Western Highlands, :rtf '!! ** Where the clouds love to rest On the niounlains' rough breast. Ere they journey afar o*er an islandless sea.'* ' 1 ') ' '■■ ■'■'>i On the left you have Gourock with its beautiful cres- cent-like bay, and its bold point, opposite to which, at the dead hour of midnight, the fated Comet went down with its living freight, having come in contact with another vessel called the Ayr, at the very moment when the passengers were killing time by dancing to the merry strains of a violin, thinking of every thing save their latter end. What a time to be called to judgment ! On the opposite shore again you have Dunoon, with its lightsome dot. ngs of marine villas. Crossing again, and near to where " Clutha meets the sea," are seen the white fronts of the houses and cot- tages of Largs and Ihe Fairlie. Thus I might run on for a length of time, but I must return, for here we are rounding Toward Point, and entering Rolhsay Bay, after crossing which, the vessel drew up alongside the quay. ''■■'■^'-'^ • ••' * ■■^■■^ ■' i- '• • - ' ** On landing, I had some little difficulty in finding my relation, as all the knowledge 1 possessed respecting the good lady was my being able to repeat her maiden name; but whether married or single I could not tell. Fortunately for me, it was customary there, as it still is in some small towns in Scotland, to call ladies, even after marriage, by their maiden names, and from this ^<^ 14 BECOLLECTIONB OF circumstance I at last stumbled upon an old woman who furnished me with all the intelligence I desired. When I found my friend, I had little trouble, in making myself known to her, and, without suspecting the truth, she gave me a hearty Highland welcome. She felt proud, she said, that the " dear laddie" had come so far to see her. With this assurance I soon made myself at home, and before going to bed, I handed her what little money I had saved, which, however, she only took to let me have again at my departure. Next morning I was up betimes, and enjoyed the luxury of a sea-bathe. Being a good swimmer, I felt proud in showing off before those parties who durst not venture beyond walking distance. Among those who hati wa ^hed my first performance, was the son of a Glasgow merchant, somewhat about my own age. This young gendeman was anxious to learn the art of Swimming. By the time I had got dressed, he had lefl his own companions, and stood at a little distance, as if waiting for an opportunity of speaking to me. I trust the reader will bear with me in the littie mat- ters I may have heretofore mentioned, or may yet have occasion to notice, as I deem it necessary to state these things in order that incidents of greater moment may be introduced, the one being to the other what cause is to effect. My acquaintance with this young man bears mightily on all I have to say hereafter; and having made this statement, I will now resume. ■ ^ • ^ ' • As I mentioned, John, for so he was named, seemed anxious to enter into conversation with me ; therefore, when I reached where he stood, he accosted me by (•^ Jl A CONVICT. 10 asking if I had learned to swim in fresh or salt water. I answered that this was the first time I had ever been in salt water. Some further conversation passed, when I socn found him to be one of those, who, though like Burns' dog, ' , , i Hr;/ u " His locket, lettered, braw brass collar, Showed him the genlleman and scholar ;" I. • I*-- viT; J.r--,*]; '-Miiirs^r'hii' ym Under such circumstances, T have many times since wondered that self-destruction did not occur, as a ready B 4 20 hbcollections of II means of freeing me from all worldly perplexities. But my time was not come, neither were the purposes for which I had entered the world fulfilled. As glimpse after glimpse of the past came shadowing forth, and reason worked more and more into play, the feelings belonging to my bodily frame also showed signs of sus- ceptibility. I began to feel the cold, and at last I pro- posed, although in a most desponding spirit, that we should endeavour to retrace our steps and seek home. At length, at a late hour, we reached home, and soon after entering the house I was stretched upon my bed. The transactions of the day rose up before me in vivid colours. A sum of money had been placed under my charge on that day for a specific purpose, more than the half of which I had taken with me, at the instiga- tion of John, to the gambling-house, and out of which we had been fleeced. I spent a restless night. What means to adopt to ward off the evil day, I knew not.. I felt as if I could have given the wealth of the worlds had I possessed it, for the guileless innocence in which I was en wrapt when I first entered the office. The clear rays of a winter morning's sun were be- ginning to dart into my bed-room, yet sleep had not visited my eyes, and I was still undecided what course to pursue. My better judgment told me that I ought at pnoe to confess my delinquencies, and ask forgive- ness. This mode I would have adopted, but in doing so I must necessarily throw a share of the odium on my unfortunate friend. My evil heart suggested ano- ther mode, and I am sorry to say with too much success, Ml A CONVICT. 87 Nine o'clock — an hour earlier than usual — found me that morning entering the office in a hurried manner. My head was in a fevered state, and my eyes were red and inflamed. I hastily applied the key to the lock of the desk, and having abstracted the remainder of the money, hastily took my departure. I made for the Broomielaw, in the hope of getting on board a Liver- pool steam-packet, to make my escape to England ; but I found the vessel was not to sail before mid-day. During the time I was in waiting for the sailing of the packet, being a novice in roguery, I threw myself more than once in the way of parties to whom I was known. My absence from the office was soon dis- covered, and this leading to inquiries, it was ascertained that I had been seen on board of a Liverpool vessel. John was questioned as to my disappearance from the office, and although he knew nothing of my intentions, he made a complete expose of the whole of our transactions. The consequence was, I was appre- hended on a charge of embezzlement, and thrown into prison. What were my feelings, I need not describe ; neither is it necessary to detail the various proceedings attendant on such a state of matters: suffice it there- fore to say, that when the day of my trial arrived, I was found guilty of the charge, on my own confession, and was sentenced to fourteen years' transportation. Mr, S would have saved me if possible, but in the warmth of the moment, when my guilt was first made manifest, he had gone too far to enable him to recede. B5 V ■f'-^ ';■»,;;*■?;-■• r ' , ^5 ' s.r ■ 1^ ,( •• ; 1 >!::•, -h^ fM '-'UYi ■IfWi:. ■» . ..-'.f •I^ ■ T I i. i>!M <•')! '■{'• »f; ,;■'>• H^COLLECTIONS OF A CONVICT. 00 .. .( I . CHAPTER IV. THE DEPARTURE. THE CONVICT. — THE COXSWAIN. The agony of my trial over, I had sufficient time to reflect on the degraded position my short but unfortunate career had placed me in, and that, too, within the gloomy walls of a convict's cell. I saw the light from the sun -come and go day after day, and as that light slowly and stealthily entered and departed, and no sound reached '■ 30 RECOLLECTIONS OF wished to be far away from the scene of my ignominy, vainly imagining that remembrance would become ob- literated as distance intervened. All things being ready for our removal, the prisoners were led out handcuffed to a coach which stood at the entrance to the prison. As the great door opened, and the re- freshing breeze of the morning fell unbidden on my burning cheeks, I raised my eyes to look upon the sur- rounding objects for the last time. But from whence comes that hum of human voices? They are not shouts of joy, nor peals of laughter. They sound like the whispers of persons in eager conversation, mingled with stifled groans, and heavy sobs. Half a dozen paces forward, and all is explained. On each side of the passage leading from the jail to the coach, are con- gregated crowds of eager gazers, — some brought there from curiosity — others deeply interested in the fate of some one of the* prisoners. Could my poor mother be amongst the number ! This thought made me tremble. I determined not to look round, for fear I might en- counter her mournful gaze; but the more I felt in- clined to do this, the stronger became the desire to satisfy myself, whether she might be present. Not being able to control this feeling, I cast a quick and anxious look, first on the one side, and then on the other, and had all but come to the conclusion that none was among the crowd who felt uneasy on my ac- count. I was about to withdraw my eyes, when a move was made amongst the assembly near to the place where the coach was placed. I had no power to withdraw my eyes from looking in that direction, and A CONVICT. 31 on the crowd opening to adnnit of some one who was eagerly pressing forward, I was nearly struck powerless on beholding the very person who had been the chief instrument in causing my downfall, — it was my unlucky companion, John. His eyes were red, and the tears on his cheeks told that he had been crying. In an instant my mother stood at his side, — to please her, he had forced a passage that she might be per- mitted for the last time to look upon her lost, but dearly-beloved son. I have stated before, that she was sadly changed, and when I recollected that all her suffering had been on my account, I could not help inwardly cursing my folly. Tears came as a relief, and while I lifted both hands to wipe my eyes, the flight of the handcuffs excited her so much, that she had only power to repeat my name, when she fell back into the arms of John. I rushed forward to support her, but was soon reminded by one of the officers in attendance, that this could not be allowed. I cast one glance at the unconscious form of her who had watched over my childhood, and who had so often prayed to God that I might be kept from evil. From her I turned my eyes on John. He seemed to read my thoughts, for, as 1 entered the coach, he called aloud, " Forgive me, James — I vill be a son in your stead." How can I forget that morning — big as it was with so many things to be remembered. On that morning I was forced to bid a long farewell to the land of my fathers and the land of my birth. True, my acts had disgraced me, but I was not hardened in guilt. Had I - been so, the pangs of that learful dav would have been :i 32 RECOLLECTIONS O*' llli spared me. Seventeen summers and winters have come and gone since then, and yet the remembrance of my agony at that time, forces the crimson to my cheeks, and compels conscience itself to shrink from the encounter. Oh, Glasgow, Glasgow ! not far from thy precincts I first drew the breath of life. Within and around thee I had built airy castles. Happy hours I had spent near thee, and though many agonising thoughts have dwelt within my bosom since I last saw thee, yet the bitterest, the keenest, the most trying pang ever I experienced was brought into play on that never-to-be-forgotten morning; and as the sad sound of my dear mother's "Jamie, Jamie!" died upon my ■ear, I became dead to all around, and as the rattling of the coach went on, freighted with its wretched cargo, I was soon borne beyond all familiar spots. On that] morning I had parted from all that was near and dear to me — friends, home, acquaintances — and — de- grading, painful thought ! — I was a convict, and my -destination New South Wales. -^ -j , After varioiw incidents of slight interest, we at last •reached the "hulks," on board of which we were kept for some time till a transport was in readiness, to carry us to Botany Bay. The preparations for this event being completed, we were huddled on board like so many beasts, and the vessel shortly after weighing anchor, we commenced our passage for England's penal colony. How the time passed I need not state, as most of my readers know something of what a sea- voyage is; and from the strict watch which was kept over us, our own minds were the only monitors or A CONVICT. 33 companions we had to commune with ; let it suffice^ therefore, to say, that at the end of five months and four days, we were safely landed at Hobart Town. Whatever opinion I had formed of my future pros- pects during the voyage, I must candidly admit that, bad as I thought the situation of the convict would be, my mind was not prepared for the sad scenes brought before my eyes, in the contemplation of which, I found, in truth, that my situation was one much worse than I had ever conceived of the state of a slave. At the time we landed, Hobart Town was very ill supplied with water, and the governor had set a pro- ject on foot for cutting into Wellington Mountain, — a high hill at the bottom of which the town stands, — in order, if possible, to discover a spring by which the inhabitants could be supplied with water. As all the convicts who had arrived before us were otherwise engaged, the governor ordered that twenty of our number should be set apart for this undertaking. It was my lot to be appointed one of the party nominated for this task, and a fearful task we had to perform. It was in the very depth of winter, but to interest us some little in the enterprize, we were promised, if successful in finding the spring, some indulgence in our situation as convicts. Drowning men are said to catch at straws, so, in our position, anything which had even the most distant hope of alleviating our sufferings, was eagerly seized upon. This hope kept us for some time alive, else we must otherwise have sunk under the influence of the extreme cold. It was, however, all to no purpose, for at the end of seven weeks, wo 34* RTJCOI/LEOTIOXS OF were carried back to town, almost frozen to death, and were obliged to go into hospital for the treatnnent of our frozen limbs. While in hospital, circumstances took a turn in my favour, for which, at the time, I sincerely thanked God. My appearance and behaviour was not that of a person who had imbibed vicious habits, but, on the contrary, I was unassuming and thoughtful ; I was also extremely cautious not to commit myself by any unbecoming act. One day a Captain W called to examine us. He seemed pleased with my demeanour, and entered into conversation with me. This circumstance gave me no thought at the time, but on recovering, I was agreeably surprized to learn that the Captain had got me appointed coxswain of his gig. Whatever situation a convict may be placed in, he can- not expect either kind looks or words, so, when put into a place of trust, however limited the power, he gene- rally uses it to make those under his jurisdiction, already miserable enough, ten times more so. Being tyran- nized over by those who are their superiors, they act the petty tyrant in their turn. However little expe- rience I had, T was perfectly aware of this fact; but on revolving the course I ought to pursue in my mind, I resolved to act in a way contrary to the above. I felt no wish to become a tyrant. I, therefore, did all in my power to make those under me as comfortable as my means would admit, and, in return, I experienced the kindest usage from the captain. Thus seven months passed very pleasantly ; but it is said of some things, " they are too good to last long," and sp it A CONVICT. 35 turned out with the pleasure 1 experienced in the cap- tain's service. .^ . One day the captain informed me of his intention of taking a trip to an Island on the coast, called Maria Island, situated about 150 miles from Hobart Town. He intended taking a party of ladies anJ gentlemen with him. For this purpose he was to be favored with the governor's barge, his own ^jig being too small, and the governor's barge pulling eight oars. The captain only allowed me a given time to have the barge brought round to an appointed place, with a full complement of hands to woi'k her. Fortunately I ac- complished my task in good time, but I had scarcely seen that all was right, when the captain and his party arrived. The party consisted of his daughter, niece, and other two ladies, and three gentlemen. The word "all right" being given, we hoisted a lug sail, and, with a fine breeze from the N. W., we were soon scud- ding gallantly along on what turned out to be a rather perilous voyage. Everything went " merry as a mar- riage bell" for the first day, and when the gloom of evening began to darken around us, we had reached as far as Sloping Island, where it was agreed we should go ashore. We were soon landed, and, with the assistance of the crew, tents were erected for the ladies and gen- tlemen — having brought canvas and poles with us for the purpose. As for myself and the crew, the lug sail an- swered to screen us. After a hasty but no less hearty supper, we prepared for sleep, and arose in the morning well refreshed by a night's sound repose. Having pre- pared breakfast for the party, it was soon partaken of, fr j 96 hbooll£<:tioins op and we again embarked, a stiff breeze having set in from the S. W. We continued our course without encoun- tering anything worthy of remark, and, at five o'clock in the afternoon, landed at East Bay Neck, where we k'ndled a fire, and pitched our tents for the second night's rest. From the circumstance of my being often up and down the coast with the gig, I had become well ac- quainted with the history of the various places along its line. I was aware that our situation that night was neither so safe nor so comfortable as I could have wished. Not a few seamen had been murdered by the natives of the place, and I felt certain that if we escaped being surprised by them, it would only be in consequence of their having retired far'hpr inland, or from our own watchfulness. Accordingly, after supper, and when the captain, his party, and the crew had retired to rest, i continued seated at the fire, determined to act a cautious part, and, if possible, guard against being surrounded by a host of savages, for I looked upon the natives as such. While 1 was thus seated, I could not help thinking on the many changes I had experienced ; my mind, at times, soaring far, far away, and, in imagi- nation, I was once more mingling among my merry youthful companions. Then again the truth would dart across my wandering thoughts, and, thinking on the hor- ror of my position, the warm tears trickled down my 8un-burnt cheeks. The scene around was well calcu- lated for reflectior». On each side towered ponderous trees, the huge branches creaking and groaning with their own weight. At a lililo distance from the fire stood the A CONVICT. 37 canvas tent, and the flickering light of the burning wood falling faintly on it, gave the scene a solitary appear- ance ; while overhead the clouds were dark and heavy looking, and the hollow muraiuring of the ocean close by, rendered the scene, to my simple ideas, wild and romantic. < While thus reflecting, I was suddenly startled by the sound of what I conceived to be a foot tread on some broken brushwood lying in the bush at some little dis- tance from the place I occupied. I involuntarily started up, gazing anxiously and uneasily around, but I could discover no object to cause alarm, aijd was about to set it down as the eflect of overheated imagination ; but scarcely had I applied this flattering unction to my mind, when the noise was repeated, even nearer me than when I at first heard it. Fears now crowded upon my mind, and a sense of danger laid its agitating fingers upon me. The inmates of both tents were asleep, and what would be the consequences if a host of savagea were to dart upon u.9 from the surrounding thickets ? Were such the case, our deaths would be speedy and inevitable. I scarcely knew how to move ; but God having restored calmness to my mind, I made toward the spot where the crew lay, in the most cautious manner 1 could. There I stood, ruminating on what course I should next take. 1 did not wish to awake my com- panions, without being fully assured that danger was near. My suspense was but of short duration, for the figure of a human being that moment passed between me and the fire, as if in the act of reconnoitring. No lime was now fo be lost, as I frit fonfident ho wouict C 38 RLCOLLECTIOAg OF not be alone. I therefore proceeded ca'utiously to awaken the crew, and making them aware of the danger, we prepared our fire-arms, with which we had been furnished by he captain, and then silently crept to the tent occupied by the ladies and gentlemen, determined to save them, if attacked, or perish in the attempt. Scarcely had we secured ourselves here, when we ob- served about forly of the natives surrounding the tire. At last they discovered the tent, towards which, after &ome little consideration, they quietly advanced, each armed vi^ith two spears — the right hand which held one being raised above the head. The spear was thus ready to be thrown at whatever object might present itself. From the position in which we were placed, we had a decided advantage ovpr them, for besides their approach- ing between us and the light, we were partially con- cealed from them by intervening trees. Having no wish to create an alarm among the ladies, we did not make tliem aware of their critical position, and the men, used to obey my instructions, readily gave in to the plan I intended to pursue. I therefore allowed our savage fxiieaiies to advance pretty close to our hiding-place, when, giving the words " now for it," we fired in a body. The suddenness of this proceeding struck terror to our foes, for seeing some of their party shot dead, and others wounded, the rest uttered a yell past all descrip-^ tion, and hastily fled to the bush. A s might be expected, the captain and his guests rushed out to ascertain the cause. I had no words to meet their inquiries, but pointing towards two or three dead savages, this silent language told all that was necessary. The gentlemen I A CONVICT. 39 then again returned to explain and soothe the ladies, while the captain remained with us, that we might have the benefit of his advice sjii. direction in our further proceeding!*. .• ^- c2 RECOLLECTIONS OF A CO.WICT. 41 ^:ji CHAPTER V. PERILOUS POSITION. THE ENGAGEMENT. OUR LOSS. ESCAPE. I do not deem it necessary to say, that the position of the ladies was one of great anxiety. This much may be imagined. Aroused as they had been from the sweet embrace of that soother of sorrow — balmy sleep ; awak- ened from their slumbers of security, by the sound of f.re-arms, to a sense of danger, their hearts almost for- sook them, and they gave vent to their feelings in pierc- ing cries. The attention of the gentlemen, with the intelligence that we had driven the natives back, coupled with assurances of safety, tended in some degree to calm their agitation. Tn this position I leave them for a little, and return to the state of affairs outside the tent. The captain's first movement after he was made aware of all that had passed, was to order the fire to be ' extinguished, for the purpose of concealing from the natives a knowledge of our numbers; which he was afraid might be obtained from the reflection of its light. This we endeavoured to accomplish by throwing earth over the still burning embers, but it was a task of a rather dangerous nature, from the circumstance of one or two of the more daring of our enemies having secreted themselves in the vicinity of where the fire was placed. We did not discover this fact till one of c 3 1 if ■.:i 42 RECOLLECTIONS OF our party, in the act of throwing some earth on the burning wood, received a wound in the arm from a spear, which was thrown with nearly fatal effect. Our tactics, therefore, had to be changed. Retiring behind a cluster of trees, one only advanced, while the rest remained stationary, and kept up an irregular firing in order to frighten our enemies. In this manner our object was attained. But for this proceeding some of our little band must have fallen. The natives of this creek are so adept at spear-throwing, that they can strike an object with unerring precision at a consider- able distance. Had we therefore continued together near the light, unprotected by any covering whereby we could be screened, a shower of spears from hands so dexterous could not have been otherwise than fatal. In the performance of this duty an hour had elapsed, and the captain, anxious to learn the state of the ladies, ordered me to proceed cautiously to the tent, and bring him intelligence of their condition. He would have undertaken this business himself, but preferred re- maining for a short time in the position he occupied at the head of the few but gallant fellows v;ho com- posed the crew. It may be a natural question to ask, why not proceed altogether ? If the circumstances narrated do not form a sufficient answer to the query, allow me to remark, that had we moved in a body towards the tent, its situation being known to those we were extremely anxious to avoid, we would have paid dear for our temerity, and I think the sequel will show that the captain had judged correctly as to the proba- bility of this being the case. V--.* -^■^- V-' ' * -—— * — A CONVICT. 43 M ■ SB m m The tent stood at a distance of not niore than fifty yarda from the spot occupied by the captain and crew. I had not, therefore, far to walk in the performance ot my mission. I had loaded my gun in case its services might be called into action. With the utmost silence and caution I then made towards the tent, but with all the caution 1 could exercise, I occasionally disturbed the fallen leaves and dried branches, which were plen- tifully strewed around. These sounds which had been the cause of my alarm at first, tended also to point out my whereabouts; and to the practised ear of a native, my position could be told as plainly and as readily as in th'^ glare of the mid-day sun. I had accomplished about half the distance, and the certainty of reaching the tent in safety and without molestation began to occupy my thoughts. But, alas ! how frequently are we the subjects of disappointment ! and in this instance I was made lo experience this fact in a most tr}''ing manner. At this moment I had fortunately reached the shelter of a large tree, when a whistling sound came hastily through the air, fol'owed by a stroke as if from a hatchet, on the opposite si«^e of the tree, and seemingly in a level with my head. It was the act of a moment, and my scattered thoughts were forced into a new channel. My progress and place had been dis- covered ; the cunning enemy had sent a spear to greet me, but, thank Heaven, the friendly tree interposed between me and the messenger of death. In an instant my hand was pa.ssed around the tree to satisfy myself of the truth of my supposiition. Yes, there stuck the vvcnpon .so firmly fixed as to refuse yielding to a violent (■4 41. KECOLLECTrOi\S OF m: m effort I made to extricate it from tlie tree. What mode of attack to expect next, I knew not ; but there was no time for deliberation. I, therefore, threw myself .lat upon the ground. I put my gun in older, and there I lay, silently waiting the result. The sounds which had betrayed me, soon told the spot where my enemy was, but whether there might be one or more the darkness of the night prevented me from ascer- taining. All nature seemed at rest ; no sound reached my ear, save the stealthy step of one, who, although I had never seen, I knew to be a deadly foe, and that he VV9S thirsting for my blood. It was a fearful mo- ment ; and never did tiger watch more closely the movements of its devoted victim, that I did the wary advance of my enemy. At last I could discover a dark ioim moving in a crouching position, behind a thicket Hi the icinity of my hiding place. The next moment it iiecame visible on the opposite side. My heart beat fiercely and almost audibly within my bosom. I felt as if one oi us must die, and I breathed out a silent prayer to Him in whose hands is the life of all men, t" I He would sustain me in the dreadful conflict which I saw before me. Nearer my opponent came. To have shot him dead would have been my safest remedy, but I could not bring my mind to do it. Besides, my near jnoximity to the tent — the state of the ladies — the pro- bable rushing forward in a body of my companions — thus exposing them to unforeseen danger, which was sure to follow the discharge of my gun, and my igno- rance of how many natives were near the place — all crowded on my mind. As it were by instinct, I un- ■■' l-^*—- •»-•-= Vliat mode there was evv myself aider, and he sounds ivhere my ! or more 3m ascer- J reached , although , and that arful mo- osely the the wary er a dark a thicket moment leart beat I felt as It prayer tl i He h I saw lave shot ly, but I iTiy near ■the pro- mions — i^ 46 RECOLLECTIONS OF m '■;•! itjj a young lady of about seventeen years of age, that when I entered the tent alone, she was so much excited that she sprung from the arms of one of the young ladies who had been supporting her while in a faint, and from the influence of which she had only recovered when I entered, seized me by the arm, and in the most heart-rending tones inquired for her father. The effort was too much for her strength ; for becoming exhausted, she would have fallen to the ground, but for the timely aid of one of the young gentlemen. From one faint to another, she continued in & very alarming stslte, till the arrival of her dear father, for whose safety she was so much concerned. Owing to my long absence, the captain had become uneasy for the safety of hii^ friends, and ordering each of the crew to keep a good look out, and hold well together in case of surprise, and also to discharge their muskets alternately as they moved forward, they succeeded in reaching the spot where all that was near and dear to him lay pale and motionless. The knowledge of her father's presence, however, with the gentle and affectionate attention of her companions, in a short time happily revived her. The sad state of my young and gentle mistress, with the energy of mind required to soothe and calm her agitation, kept her female friends from thinking seriously on their own condition ; but on her recovery, and when they were left to reflect on what had passed, and the dangers still before them, they shuddered with horror, yet felt secure when surrounded by those whom they knew would save them from death and violence, or perish in their defence. ♦ • •• .»-♦»»• (►Jl.rf' r**'-^ -ir-f ^/-v ,,— 'i-*- l-^--,J>^!-— '*»— A CONVICT. 47 The captain, when cahnness had been restored, and tranquihty had resumed its place in each breast, posted the crew at convenient distances round the frail dwel- ling, and in this state each anxiously waited for the hour of daylight. • V Morning ! welcome morning lo those whose sorrows make the long night irksome, at length opened on us. All nature seemed rejoiced and happy : " The bee, Uio bird, and butterfly, Were on their lijrhtet-t wing ; The sunny sky, tlie very leaves sceincd glad." But with us — the bond and the free, the convict and the master — it was very far otherwise ; — for, under present circumstances, there appeared but little dis- tinction between the felon and the innocent. We felt glad, however, that day had broken, and happy that the sun had began to pour its lightsome influence on things animate and inanimate ; but the scene before us was nearly of a nature to check our rising aspirations to heaven for safety vouchsafed to us during the night. Opposite to the tent, and in a direct line between the tent and the creek, was a small piece of rising ground covered with beitigs, who seemed eager to glut their savage propensities in the blood of those who wished not to shed a drop of theirs, and who had only been di'iven to do so by stern necessity, and the natural feeling of self-defence. In such a predicament, what was to be done ? To enable us to escape, our savage foes would have to be driven from their vantage ground; but our little band, trusty and faithful though they were, seemed but as one to a hundred, compared to the 7^ '%-^»*^ w 48 KECOLLECTIONS OF ■rJ'V y^l ' % number of our enemies. How, then, were we to effect our escape ? Tliis thought appeared to occupy more minds than one, at least if the countenance can be held as an indication of what may be passing inwardly. We had one ; ipe left, and only o-^e. In a line to the right of the tent, our barge had bfcui drawn up on the previous evening. Close to where it lay there was a small neck of land, which the keen eye of the captain had observed when he landed, and across wh' 'h, with some difficulty, could the natives be kept off during the attempt, ihe barge could be drawn, and then launched. The captain, therefore, called us together, and, pointing in the direction of our enemies, he said he hoped we were not dismayed in consequence of the numbers opposed to us, for, with God's protection, firm resolution, and the proper management of our fire-arms, our escape, he felt confident, was certain. He then proposed that we should proceed in a body towards the barge, and make the attempt to lift it across the neck of land ; which we did. Having turned the barge keel down, we lashed the oars across, and then commenced to drag her over. Scarcely had we begun our operations, when the natives moved gradually toward us. The crew kept busy at their work, while the captain and the other gentlemen watched the movements of our foes. Our labour had not continued long, when the idea seemed to enter tlie minds of the natives, that we were afraid of tliem, and wore thus endeavouring to elude their vengeance ; for their iuthorto gradual approach changed into a hasty attempt to close upon us. Seeing their drift, the cap- A CONVICT. 49 tain immediately ordered us off from dragging the barge. We then turned it bottom up, and placed the ladies under it, to secure them from danger. Our fire-arms and tomahawks being placed in proper order, we stood prepared for further instructions. Anxiety was strongly developed in every face, although all were strangers to any feeling of fear, our minds being made up, either to conquer, or sell our lives at a round interest. " Now, my lads," said the captiain, addressing us in the plainest language, " I have but one proposal to make, and I will explain to you what it is. You see these savages arc still approaching ; they think we are afraid of them. Well, we will show them whether we are or not, but we must wait our opportunity. See that your muskets are in order. I will head you, and give the word when to fire, and there must be no hanging back. After your muskets are discharged, take to your tomahawks ; and I promise you I will not desert you even then. If you agree to this, I will stand by you to the last. I see no other mode of escape ; and if we fail in this, there is not one of us can leave the island alive. The gentlemen will remain where they are, to protect the ladies ; but your w^ork, and mine too, must be to drive these blood-hounds back. Are you agreed ?" This proposal met with a hearty and ready response, and with " hearts resolved and hands prepared," we waited the command o{ our captain. Our resolution was soon put to the test. The cap- tain, judging our enemies had advanced near enough, gave an encouraging look to the gentlemen, and then ."X,"' 50 RECOLLECTIONS OF exclaimed, " Board them now, my lads." We rushed forward. " Fire," cried the captain ; and the ranks of our foes told how well his orders had been obeyed. Giving them no time to recover from the confusion our discharge had created, we seized our tomahawks, and rushed amongst them, dealing death on every side. In fact, so sudden was our movements, that not one of their party had the power to cast a single spear ; for, turning with dismay, they fled into the bush with the utmost precipitation. We continued to follow them for some time, till the report of fire-armr in the direc- tion of the barge caused the captain to call a halt. We then returned in haste to the '. dies and their pro- tectors, and only arrived in time to save them from being taken prisoners or butchered by a party of the natives, who had been lying in ambush, and who, dur- ing the time we were in chase of the main body, had taken that opportunity of attacking our friends. It was fortunate that we returned to the barge at the moment we did, for one of the gentlem,en had received a wound with a spear, and was consequently unable to render further assistance ; the ladies were uttering cries of despair, while the two gentlemen, as yet u rmed, were only enabled to keep their enemies from rushing on them, by firing in turns. It was at this juncture that we made our appearance ; and seeing the jeopardy of our friends, we sent forth a hearty shout to cheer them, and flew with the speed of grey-hounds to their rescue. On perceiving us, the natives did not wait our attack, but fled in terror to the bush. The rescue of our friends being thus accomplished, A OONVtCl*. 51 a few minutes was allowed us to rest, being nearly worn out with the fatigues of the night, and the ex- citement and exertion of our morning's work ; and ds onr enemies did not make their appearance, we flat^ tered ourselves that further interruption would not be offered to our departure. With this hope, the barge was again put in motion, and we soon succeeded in dragging it to the water's edge. This important duty being performed, the ladies were allowed to go on board first, and were soon followed by the gentlemen and the crew. Scarcely had the captain taken his seat, and the barge shoved off*, wheh a number of the desperate beings inhabiting the island, suddenly sprang fromi behind a thicket where they had concealed themselves, and, taking aim, hurled a shower of spears amongst us, killing the gentleman who had already received a spear wound, wounding the captain's daughter, and another lady, and three )f the crew. With bard pulling, we soon got out of the danger to be apprehended from anotiier discharge of spears ; but the captain, enraged beyond measure at the death of his friend, and the thought of so many of our little company being wounded, ordered us to stand up and repay our treach- erous assailants with a volley from our guns. There was no want of alacrity to obey this order, and as they stood on the beach scowling at us like so many demons, we poured a well directed fire into their very centre with such effect as must have made them wish that they had still kept behind the thicket. And here let me pause a little. Could this summary vengeance bring back the breath to the being who now 1 * fl 5S RrcOLLKClDlONS OF met our eyes locked in the firm embrace of death t Could the fall of one, aye, or of twenty of that terrible race, call back the look of intelligence, which, but a few minutes before, beamed in that youthful but manly countenance? Could the extinction even of the whole tribe, summon him from the sound sleep of death, where the " wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest." Alas, no ! Vengeance to Mm was fruit- less ; and yet how very often are the best energies of our minds paralysed — their holiest streams dried up in scheming out plans of revenge for some imagined injury. Time flies while we feed the cherished but unholy thought, nor stop we till the fiend-like wish is either accomplished, or the being possessing it is himself engulphed in the ocean he had created to svi'allow up the object of his hate, who, more than hkely, rises from the attempt to blast him a triumphant Conqueror. And now to my subject. What an unhappy condi- tion was ours! — one of our small party dead, and six wounded ! In this state, and yet fifty miles from Maria island, how were we to reach that place ! Scarcely knowing what to do, each having sufficient cause for reflection, we remained for a time almost unconscious how to act; but a half gale springing up, ana the wind being from the proper quarter, our captain seized this opportunity of arousing us ; and ordering a single reef in our lug sail, he determined to endeavour to reach our place of destination without further loss of time, where we fortunately arrived in the alternoon of that day, without any other notable occurrence. A CONVICT- 53 for ious wind (his reef our lere CHAPTER VI. OUR RECEPTION. — RETURN TO HOBART TOWN. — AN APPOINTMENT AND ITS RESULT. — DEATH OF CAPT. W. — A PRISONER. THE ESCAPE. INCIDENTS AT- TENDANT ON A RUNAWAY. ' On our arrival, the captain and the whole of the party were very kindly received by Major L , the com- mandant of the Island, and his amiable lady. The wounded were also sharers in the Major's humane at- tentions, and were immediately placed under the care of the surgeon, who exerted himself as far as possible to alleviate their sufferings. Three days after our land- ing, the body of the gentleman killed in our encounter with the natives, was consigned to the grave, and in a day or two following, despite all the care and attention bestowed upon him by all parties, one of the crew died also. The two bodies were laid side by side, all distinc- tion between their rank and circumstances being laid aside; and although both had breathed their last far from their friends and home, still they were not laid in their last narrow bed without tears of sympathy and sorrow for their untimely end. These sad events over, we remained about a month on the island, expect- ing eveiy day the arrival of a government brig with provisions. It was intended, in case of the brig calling, that the captain and his friends should take their passage RECOLLECTIONS OF « fi^ in her, as the ladies were extremely unwilling to ven- ture a return voyage in the barge. Day after day, how- ever, passed on, and no appearance of the brig. Every day's disappointment added to the uneasy state of the captain's mind, and ^t last it was agreed between Major L and him, thai 1 should be sent back with the barge, and that I also should be entrusted with the go- vernor's despatches. On the evening of the same day on which this arrangement was made, I was sent for and ordered to put the barge in order, so that we might be ready to start next day. I was also instructed not to touch at the scene of our unfortunate disaster, nor indeed to touch land at all on my way back. It was also intimated to me that the government despatches were to be kept in my own possession, and that when we reached Hobart Town, I was to proceed directly to the government office, and deliver them to ihe governor, through his principal secretary. With these commands I took my departure fr^m the island on the following day, the Major having appointed some of the hands on the Island to take the place of those who had been wounded, who, he intended, should be sent back with the first vessel that loucLed on her way to Hobart Town. We were four days and three nights on our passage, but it was accomplished safely, and the instant we reached our destination, I waited on the governor with the de- spatches. On the receipt of them by the secretary, he ordered me to be in waiting in the event of the governor wisiiing to see me ; this step was the more necessary, as I wished for instructions as to the ni: *^ner I should employ myself to the captain'!^ return. . , ' ••• ' A CONVICT. 55 go- The governor having perused the contents of the packet, expressed a wish that I should be called into his presence. After putting several questions to me, he stated his satisfaction at the manner I and the crew had conducted ourselves in the perilous situation of Captain W and his friends, and before leaving him, he rewarded me with the present of a sum of money and a free pass till the return of the captain. The same indulgence was also extended to those of the crew who had come down with me. Thus freed for a time from the trammels of the convict, I passed nine happy days in the enjoyment of every rational and instructive amusement within my power, as far as the little money I had received from the governor would admit of. At the end of nine days, Captain W and his friends returned in the brig Prince Leopold, and imme- diately waited upon the governor. In the course of their conve];sation, the captain took occasion to speak very much in my favour, and the consequence was, that some days afterwards 1 was appointed to the command of a sloop of thirty tons, to be engaged in carrying provisions to several stations on the coast. For this responsible duty, I was not only to be at perfect liberty, but I was to receive a certain sum monthly. With this appoint- ment, I had reached the pinnacle of my greatness, and for some time every transaction I was engaged in pros- pered under my hand, and for which I really felt grate- ful to God. But alas ! the time of my trial was near at hand, — my prosperity and happiness were but of short duration, and the phial of God's wrath, opened on ac- count of my inquities, was almost too much to bear. D i il fl ■- 1 1^ 11 56 HECOLLECTIONS OP The first token I received of this, was the death of my esteemed and worthy patron, Captain W . In his death I felt that I had really lost a friend and protector, and I shed tears on his account, as sincere and full of sorrow as if he had been my father. In my deep sor- row for his loss, there was nothing selfish, although on many occasions aftei' I had cause to regret his death. From this point, therefore, I begin to note the second series of my troubles. Few months elapsed after the melancholy event I have just recorded, when the sloop was sold. I was therefore transferred to a schooner, named the Finisher, and I thought often afterwards that there was meaning in the name, for with her all my hopes of happiness in the colony were finisfied. My air-blown bubbles "were all ^urst, and I was torn from comparative comfort and liberty, to undergo a second time the realities of a con- vict's life. In the schooner, I had two men to assist me, both, like myself, having *• Left their country, for their country's good." One of the two was a quiet, easy, good-tempered fellow, and who, I really believe, had no viciousness or malice in his constitution more than the common run of man- kind, but his neighbour was very differently constituted. He had, long previous to his transportation, connected himself with an obnoxious and daring gang of burglars, and, from all accounts, he w^as an adept at his unlawful profession. In his youth he had been apprenticed to a locksmith ; so that, in joining the lawless association, he became a great desideratum. In confirmation of ■*ummtm A CONVICT. 57 this facf, i will relate an instance. After he had, with other two of his accomplices, been apprehended, and was 1^ ing in prison awaiting trial, by some means or other, a small saw had been concealed about his person. The window of the cell in which he was confined was strongly guarc'ed by strong iron bars. He thoroughly examined the s'ate of the whole, and then coolly calcu- lated his chance of escape. The lead with which the bars in the window were secured in the stone, was within his reach ; he, therefore, set about picking from the mass as many small pieces as he considered would be necessary for the construction of a key, with which he intended to open his cell door. He had no fire, neither had he any thing in which to place the lead for the purpose of melting. At last he discovered in the corner of his room a small piece of sheet iron, placed upon a broken piece of the floor. He had little diffi- culty in forcing this oft', and appropriating it to the intended purpose. His ingenuity was next turned to the melting process. In accomplishing this desired object, his attention was directed to the small lamp furnished him in the evening, over the light of which he placed the sheet iron, on wh'ch were laid the small particles of lead. In this manner he formed the whole into a key. The next step was to procure the impres- sion of the lock on the cell door. He examined the door minutely. It was studded with strong iron nails, running up and down in an oblique direction. His plan was to cut a small piece out of the door, directly under the lock, to enable him to thrust his arm through the aperture thus formed, and putting his leaden key ih: li m r, it, f m 58 RECOLLECTIONS OF into the key liole, by this means he would be able to fix the lead so that it would fit the lock, and thus open the door. The task he had assigned himself was a difficult one, but it was one he was determined to pro- secute to completion, and he succeeded ; so neat, so clean, had he performed his work, that unless with tiie closest attention and inspection of the part, it was im- possible to detect the spot where the door had been cut, so very close were the joinings when the piece was inserted. He was now master of his own room, and could walk out and in when it suited, but which was only at a time when neither turnkeys nor gaoler were at hand. He and his accomplices possessed certain signals, and he was not long in finding out the cells in which they were confined, and he soon managed so to alter the key, that it opened their cell doors also. Thus having the means of meeting and acting in concert, a plan was soon formed, by which they intended attempt- ing their escape. They had thus met for two or three nights, and always on retiring, the locksmith secured the cell doors, and then retired to his own, making the , door fast by means of the opening he had cut under the lock, replacing the piece afterwards as if nothing had taken place. At last it was agreed as the most likely means of escape, that the three prisoners' blankets should be cut into stripes, and attached to each other, and in this way let themselves down from a window, and so bid the gaol and gaoler farewell. The above arrangement had been agreed upon at their last meeting, and the night following was fixed upon for putting this project into execution ; but their foiulcht anticipations were . A CONVICT. 59 thwarted. On returning to hig cell that night, in order to while away his time for one short day, and dream the intervening night over in pictures of future scenes of plunder, it so fell out that in the act of turning the leaden key in his own lock, the key snapt in two, in such a way as defied all his exertions to extract the one portion from the lock, and there it had to remain. The turnkey, on examining the cells on the following morning, was unable to introduce his key into the lock of the door on our hero's cell, and on an investigation taking place, the circumstances here recorded came out in evidence.* It is needless to detail further particu- lars. I now found him one of my crew, and well may 1 regret the day he set his foot on board of the schooner, as the sequel will show that his character was net changed. It being my duty to carry provisions to the stations along the coast, I was, in the performance of that duty, necessitated to be often absent from the vessel, while in port, for the purpose of receiving orders. One day, while lying in Hobart Town, not many months after I had joined the schooner, I was ashore, and during my absence, the ex-locksmith took on board a quantity of stolen goods, of which fact I was entirely ignorant. The robbery became known, and, amongst other places, the schooner was searched, and the stolen articles found. The villain denied all knowledge of the transaction, nor could evidence be procured to convict him. The goods being found on board, and all denying * This circumstance occurred in the Kirkdale Bridewell, near Liverpool. d3 M H -M i it ;l I'.- i I ' 'I 60 RECOLLECTIONS OF I ill 1 i hi ■ 'i* any knowledge of them, the charge was preferred against me. In consequence of the vessel btxng under my care, I was held responsible, and committed for trial, as either having stolen the goods, or as being a party to their coming on board the schooner. Protes- tation was useless, appearances were against me, and I had the mortification, on my trial, of hearing myself pronounced guilty, and condemned to work in chains for twelve months. This was a sore stroke to all my sanguine hopes. Innocent, and yet condemned ; guiltless of the crime laid to my charge, and yet branded with the mark of infamy; the guilty wretch himself being at liberty, and I compelled to suffer a punishment earned by him, and \xhich ought to have been visited on him alone. My heart burned with an anger which availed me not, and I was carried to a dungeon, more dead than alive, although the wish was more than half ^pressed, that, like Job, <' I had never been born." After I had passed a few sad, melancholy days in prison, I was ordered out, for the purpose of being removed to join a party who had been condemned to work in chains. This was a galling thought ; and on my way to join them, I made up my mind to make my escape. My existence was now miserable, and this feeling determined me in concluding to free myself from the heavy, and, to me, unbearable yoke. In taking this step, I was perfectly aware of the risk I ran, and that in making the attempt, I might have my existence altogether terminated by a bullet from the sentinel's gun. Ruminating in this way, and with a soldier on -""••I idMwdba A CONVICT. 61 each side, I kept mechanically moving onwards, heed- less of surrounding objects ; but my reveri* ^ were brought for the time to a sudden termination, by the sweet tones of a voice which I had known in more prosperous times. I felt ashamed, in the degraded position in which I was placed, even to look up, but when I did so, my eyes met those of the daughter of my late lamented master. Captain W. It appeared that she had been walking in the neighbourhood, and on recog- nising me in such a sad situation, and although she was aware that it was against the rules, yet she could not resist the opportunity of inquiring into the cause. Before T could summon courage sufficient to answer her, one of the persons in whose charge I was, stepped forward to prevent any interview ; he, however, took her aside, and gave her an account of what I had been charged with. She expressed great sorrow, and be- spoke for me kind treatment ; placing two guineas in the fellow's hand, to lay out to my advantage, which he solemnly assured her he would do, but which he never did ; she then departed. I could not help following her with my eyes, wet, indeed, with unavailing tears, yet I was eager to catch a last glimpse, as I believed it would be, of the lovely daughter of my deceased benefactor. I travelled in company with my guards till night-fall, when we took up our abode in a small house which stood by itself, about a quarter of a mile from the main road. The dwelling was little more than a hut, although it consisted of two apartments, and was inhabited by an old man and his wife. After enjoying some scanty refreshments, the inmates, myself and the soldiers ejc-r D 4 la I ^"' )f 4 , f m !l ii '\\' i ■I' ■ I III ( 62 RECOLLECTIOIVS OP cepted, retired to rest ; a hard wood seat being thought sufficient for me. The soldiers were obliged to keep a look out, in case I might endeavour to escape, which I had determined in my own mind would be a very likely occurrence, at least if an opportunity offered itself. I noticed that the latch on the door was one of an ex- ceedingly hght construction, and which, with a very small force applied to it, was sure to yield. Could I but get quit of the chains upon my hands, I thought I would try and dart from the house, and trust the darkness of the night to aid me in eluding pursuit. These thoughts, it may be readily guessed, were too important in my estimation to allow me to close an eye. The soldiers, knowing the difficulties a runaway had to encounter, and that but few escaped, flattering them- selves, at the same time, that the manacles with which I was bound were sufficient to prevent flight, yielder! to the influence of the drowsy god. There was only a small table between them and me, their seat being the one neyt the door. Wistfully I watched their move- ments, till at length 1 had the extreme pleasur'^ of hearing them breathe heavily, denoting that all their cares, crosses, and losses, were* drowned in a deep sleep. Now, thought I> or never. Gently, yet forcibly, I began to push the iron rings over my hands ; it was desperate work, but it was worth persevering in to gain liberty. The skin on the thick part of my hands was drawn off*, bit by bit, as the rings were forced downwards; pain I felt none, for the thought of being free, and the deep trouble of my heart, chased bodily pain afar olf. At last I succeeded : but the eagerness 1 rht a I I A CONVICT. 63 with which I had completed the task, sent the heavy chain ratthng upon the floor. The sentinels started ; I rushed across the room, giving the door the weight of my body, desperation rendering my strength double to what it would have been in ordinary circumstances j it burst open, but at the same instant a ball from one of the soldiers' guns went whizzing past my head. I heeded it not, but rushed onward towards the river side, expecting that I might be enabled to secure a passage in some vessel bound for another part of the globe. In this hope I was disappointed, for the guard- boat was in the neighbourhood, and had I shown myself, I would have been instantly seized, cairied again to prison, and my punishment would have been doubled, if I even escaped hanging. This circumstance I learned from a poor fellow whom I accidentally stumbled upon in the dark, but who did not betray me. He also advised me to make for North West Bay, where, he said, I might fall in with a whale ship. I accordingly turned my course in that direction ; but no sooner had I done so, than I heard the sound of my pursuers, which immediately frustrated my designs, and compelled me to make at once for the mountains. I continued, sometimes walking, sometimes running, during the whole night, and when, as day broke, I found myself at the foot of a high hill, which was plen- tifully covered with trees, it gave me some hope that here 1 might remain for a short time undiscovered. A small stream of water near the spot quenched my thirst, and, entering some brushwood, I stretched my weary d5 64 RECOLLECTIONS OP *' .*:.; ! i\ limbs upon the ground, to enjoy, if possible, that repose of which I stood so much in want. Fear of being taken or starved kept me for some time in a feverish state of mind. At length the softener of human sor- rows, sweet sleep) took me in his kind embrace, whis- pering in my ears the tales of happy childhood, and carrying me far away from the perils and dangers by which I was then surrounded. Happy moments ! why- did I ever awake to other scenes, and only to wish that that slumber had been my everlasting one? I awoke, however, in a state of terror at hearing the barking of dogs, engaged, as I supposed, with their master, in hunting the kangaroo. I drew myself more closely into the centre of the thicket, expecting every moment to be pounced upon by the dogs. In this state I lay for a considerable time, but no one approaching, I ventured out, and walked 'n the direction from which the sound had proceeded, keeping an anxious and watchful eye on every thing around, afraid that every step I took would lead me into the arms of my pursuers. In about an hour I perceived the dogs in close chase after a kangaroo. I concealed myself behind a tree, to watch their motions, and, if possible, discover from the countenance of their owner, whether I might venture to intrust him with my secret. No one appeared, and, at last, the dogs mastered the poor animal. This act reminded me of my own situation and probable fate, and I could not stay the progress of a tear, as it came trickling down my weather-beaten cheek. I was hun- gry, however, and I saw there was little use indulging in such reflections ; I consequently went up to the vie- A CONVICT. 65 )se ling lis- tim and its conquerors. When I approached, they left off worrying the animal, as they had, no doubt, been trained to do on the appearance of their master. For- tunately I had a knife, with which 1 cut a piece from the kangaroo for myself, and gave the remainder to the dogs, which I now perceived were four in number. I then went forward, in the hope of reaching Big Sandy Bay, with the view of crossing the river at Storm Bay Passage, and thus get on to Brunie Island, where I would be, for a time, secure. Whilst jogging along, sorrowful enough, I was astonished at the baying of the dogs a little in the rear : they very soon joined me, nor would they, with all my endeavours, quit following me, wretched and unhappy as 1 was. This circumstance appeared quite a myster}^ A stranger, and to meet with them in so wild a spot, it was altogether unac- countable why they should thus voluntarily join their fortunes, as it were, to a creature who dared not show himself openly. This fondness on their part, tended, in a great measure, to soothe my trou])led mind, and, after caressing them, I pursued my journey till night forced me to seek shelter in some part of the mountain affording security. After having cut some small branches, and placed them as a break-wind, I laid myself down ; the dogs creeping close to my body, and from which I derived great warmth. My sleep, how- ever, was very much broken, in consequence of the barking of the dogs, to keep off a verj^ dangerous animal, termed a " devil," a small species of the tiger, I believe, and which are plentiful about the mountains in thai quarter. f/ ■7-*T'J'"S" "■*"■' 'Vi, ip * RECOLI.F.CTIQNS OF A CONVICT, 67 CHAPTER VII. THE HUT AND ITS INMATES. THE SOLDIES'J. AN ENCOUNTER A COLD BATH AND A LONG SWIM. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. UNFORTUNATE BARTER, —AN ALARM AND ITS RESULTS. From the many causes of Tineas', ess with which I was encompassed, I slept but little ; notwithstanding, I arose very much refreshed, and hiiving carried with me a portion of the kangaroo fl h, which I had cut from the carcase, I endeavoured to satisfy my appetite by masticating it in its raw state, there being no means within my reach of lighting a fire with which I could cook it ; but, hungry as I was, the task was too much for me, and, after cutting it in four parts, I threw it to the dogs — (these animals are larger than a grey hound, and more strongly built.) I commenced my third day's journoy hungry enough, but with four faithful protectors against the attack of either man or beast, the hope of yet escaping sustaining me in my tiresome journey. Thus I continued from one mountain to another, liav.ng only the sun to guide my feeble judgment. However, about the middle of the afternoon, I had the great satisfaction of descrying the river, and very 8o«m after- wards I reached the beach, which was some aileviation to the sorrows and anxieties I had snfVer(^d= 0:i looking round I had also the pleasure to seo Sandy Buy i;i n k r^l m I ! ii i); if- r 1 i,i 68 FiSCOLLECTIONS OF T kept along the beach until I arrived within hail oC two free men, who were employed in burning lime at a lime kiln. I did not wish to venture too near till I could ascertain whether or not there were any parties in the vicinity on the look out for me. T accordingly seated myself behind a httle hillock, keeping the dogs by me, till midnight, when I stole cautiously onward to the house occupied by the men. Finding all quiet, I next proceeded to the cre^k, in the hope of finding the boat to cross with, but fate was still against me, the boat having been sent that day to Hobart Town. It is an old adage, that " misfortunes never come singly ;" whether there is truth contained in the above, those who have gone along v/ith me in all my vicissi- tudes and wanderings, may judge how far the axiom can be applied to my case. I would fain have crossed the river without the boat, had I thought it possible ; but the distance from bank to bank seemed too great for mortal strength. The hope of being able, at this point, to effect my escape, had sustained me in my heretofore long and painful journey ; but when the truth came to be known, fact taking the place of imagination, 1 became completely helpless and hopeless. Weak with hunger, I sunk upon the sloping bank, and, in the midst of my distress and danger, fell fast asleep. In this state 1 migb. have remained long enough, but my trusty companions, as if aware that my liberty was not to be gained by lagging in the attempt, came to me, and commenced licking my face and hands. 1 awoke hurriedly, and, for a while, was unconscious of where I was. Alter a few moments' reflection, I became fully A CONVICT. 69 lil of at a till I Irties logs to \t, r the the sensible of my forlorn condition, anil, though weak, arose with a full determination to follow up what I had begun. How to accomplish my fond wish to be at liberty, I knew not ; and, when various views had sprung up in my mind and been dismissed, I came lo the resolution of applying to the inmates of the house attached to the lime kiln. In this step I judged man in his natural state, void of all the tricks, termed by the world policy. I was hungry — I meant to tell them so. I was tired — that also should be told. Indeed, I determined to tell every thing, except what might militate against myself. I followed the course of the world in this respect, not inclining to endanger either myself or the people belonging to the hut ; as, if they knew I was a runaway, they would have been punished for affording me sheUer. Under all these circum- stances, therefore, I thought it best to make for the house, and give myself out for a hunter, who had been benighted on the mountains, and claim their hospitahty under this pretext. ; < Having fok'ined this resolution, I thought the sooner I applied for admittance the better. I consequently proceeded to the door and knocked. ;•;■!:. " Who is there ?" asked a voice from within. , ,:, A friend," I answered. Where do you come from ? and what do you want at this time of the morning?" " I have been out hunting, and, losing my way, I got benighted. I wandered about for a long time, till the light from the lime kiln directed me here. Being hungry and wearied, 1 wish some food and shelter." (( (( H ^v ^11 m i!t 70 RECOLLECTIONS OF " Come in," said the same man, who, I aftervvardi learned, was a constable. I immediately applied my hand to the latch, and, opening the door, entered. The wood fire was still blazing, and, on casting my eyes about, I found that the exterior of the building did not belie the interior. It consisted of only one apart- ment, with two sleeping berths, a rough table, and two forms. The constable eyed me rather keenly ; and, after satisfying himself with scrutinising my outward appearance, broke silence as follows : — " I think you said you had been hunting 1" "Yes." " And lost your way 1" " I have." " It is seldom people go a-hunting without dogs ; pray, where are yours 1" " They are outside." " You may bring them in." I did so ; and, as soon as he saw them, he remarked, " Now, I believe your story : had you been without dogs, I would have considered it my duty to have de- tained you, until you could have procured better proof than your own statement, unsupported by any other evidence." He then, without further ceremony, began to place upon the table some bread and cold meat, telling me to help myself; nor did he forget the dogs, who shared equally well with their unfortunate master. When I had satisfied my craving appetite, he went to his companion, and told him it was time to be up to look other me I and re| ehortb by the| On emptyl ^v A CONVICT. 71 look after the kiln. On receiving this summons, the other man arose and left the place. My host then told me I might throw myself down on the now empty bed and rest, a proposition which I willingly embraced, and shortly after my mind was relieved from its heavy load by the influence of a refreshing sleep. On getting up in the morning, I found the place empty, and, on going to the door to look about, I was horrified to see a party of soldiers approaching the house. I soon learned that they were in search of me. I quickly returned to the house, in a state of mind not easily described, and had scarce taken a seat when two of the soldiers entered. One of them came close to me, and touching me on the shoulder, exclaimed, " You are my prisoner," and immediately proceeded to place the detested manacles upon my hands. Careless of consequences, I could not allow the soldier to do this without a struggle, the state of my mind rendering me almost desperate. Starting suddenly from the seat, I seized him rudely by the neck, and hurled him violently against the wall. " Come, come," said his companion, " we will have none of this work, you must either yield quietly, or," touching his musket, " there is in this will soon make you." This remark, instead of working the effect upon me contemplated, only tended to add fuel to the fire already burning within my breast. " Yield quietly !" I exc' aimed, half choked with rage, " never : I am innocent c f the crime for which I have been con- demned to suffer ; I am therefore determined to hold out to the last j and I feel that the threat you ha ^ just uttered, instead of producing fear, only makes e the I ul ;i ,f.^t I: 72 KECOLLECTIONS OF more eager to dare you lo the worst, confident that, after a few short and hurried breathings, I would be ushered from a world in which enjoyment, pleasure and hope are denied to me." During the delivery of the foregoing, spoken in a voice loud and angry, the faithful dogs seemed to understand the circumstances in which I was placed, for the whole four commenced to bark violently at the soldiers ; and, on the soldier presenting his gun, either to frighten me into a compliance with his wishes, or to make his threat good, two of the faithful animals sprung upon him, and brought him to the floor ; the other two, as if eager to assist me, attacked the oiher, compelling him to kiss the dust beside his com- panion. My fallen foes were now in my power, and loudly they called for my interference ; the dogs had bitten them severely ; and, I do not doubt, had I not called them off, they would have killed the soldiers outright. At'raid, however, lest others of the party might enter, I seized both the muskets, and, calling the dogs, fled towards the same river I had thought too broad to cross the evening previous, determined to plunge into it, and leave the rest to God. On my leaving the hut, the alarm was instantly raised, and, before I reached the river, the whole of the party were in close pursuit after me ; the noble animals keeping up an incessant barking, as if to frighten my pursuers from following us. I kept hurrying onwards till the words " Fire on him" reached my ears. These words acted on my feelings like an electric touch. Turning round, I threw down one of the guns, and presenting the oth(:V, I fired 5 throwing ;;» isjBsm i 81i « Mll ! W •P«"ii|i "^. A CONVICT. 73 the newly discharged gun from me, I seized the other, discharging it also, and wheeling quickly round imme- diately after, I rushed into the stream, amidst an irregular fire from my baulked enemies. The event which had caused my regret on the night before, was now a matter for rejoicing, if I could be said to rejoice in the unfortunate position I was placed in, jhat was the absence of the boat. The dogs having taken the water after me, prevented the soldiers, however fond they were to secure me, from following ; they conse- quently contented themselves with firing upon us till we were out of their reach. The creek, at the part I entered, was considered to be about one mile broad : it may, therefore, be easily judged, that the task I had undertaken was one of no ordinary nature. Excitement for some time served to support me, but this feeling becoming less as my danger from the soldiers decreased, I was oftener than once on the point of giving up all hope of ever being able to reach the opposite shore. The humblest of us at times may be able to look death in the face with considerable calmness, while at other times we are compelled to shrink under the slightest glance of the grim tyrant. Often, as our troubles darken around us, we may ex- press a wish to be freed from our troubles by the hand of death, but as the clouds and storms of adversity burst with redoubled fury on our heads, frequently will the world and its allurements draw us into a mood of wishing to live a little longer ; and were the bane and antidote before us, we would ding to the latter, while we set the former aside. Still entertaining hopes of E i^ ■r(B '• 74 RECOLLECTIONS OF II III I'l li m .V lil s5 ilP l: , ■1 liberty, I struggled on, and at length reached the oppo- site shore in a state of great exhaustion. Here I was obliged to rest, as my hmbs were completely benumbed, rendering me incapable of moving a single step. I rested myself for about an hour, when I got up, but was only at first able to proceed slowly, from the cold- ness of my limbs. As I proceeded, however, I became warmer, and in the expectation of reaching Bull Bay, where the whalers at times call for the purpose of cut- ting up their blubber ; and, trusting that I might get on board one of them, and so escape, I hastened on with a lighter heart than I had experienced since the com- mencement of my journey. It was now about mid-day, and the sun shone out in its richest effulgence. On one side I had the music of the surge, as it beat against a gloomy and broken shore. The sea fowl, at times, came whirling in playful gyra- tions overhead ; then again they would sweep off, and become altogether lost in the distance. On the left, the mountains rose one over the other, like the beautiful hills of my native land ; but, being covered in many places with large trees and thick impenetrable brush- wood, I could not forget that they were not the woods and hills of my father-land. The dogs went gamboling before me ; and, but for the nature of my journey, and the dangers that still surrounded me, there is no position m which I have ever been placed, where a greater degree of enjoyment seemed opened before me: nature in all its varied forn" vrs around me ; and, pressed ilovvn as I was witii distress, my mind involuntarily rose from the contemplation of " nature, up to nature's God;" 1 that my His will, In thi onwaifl case of where i started c nDt at tl: leaving seated waited 1 for very me, sho accomp and foil short ti other i\ roo ; th me to fallen time in t.lirovvii favvnec them t Res much there v/liich \\\o \n might A i;oNVU;T. 75 God ;" to Him I breathed a fervent but short prayer, that my steps might be directed aright, and, if it were His will, to bring me soon to a haven of rest. In this mode, and thus reflecting, I ^A^lked quickly onwaifl for a few hours, keeping a good look out n case of danger. At last I arrived at Bligh's Point, where my dogs, having got the scent of a kangaroo started off in the direction of the mountains. I could not at the moment account for their thus so suddenly leaving me ; but, determined to know the cause, I seated myself on the edge of a rock, and patiently vt'aited their return. I did not require to wait long, for very soon after two of them came running towards rae, showing, by various signs, that they wished me to accompany them. I accordingly rose from my seat, and followed my dumb but faithful companions. In a short time, with the aid of my guides, I came upon the other two. I found they had mastered a lai^e kanga- roo ; the two had returned for the purpose of bringing me to the spot, while the other two remained by their fallen victim, to watch it till I approached. I lost no time in cutting the kangaroo open. I then skinned it, throwing the flesh to the dogs, when they jumped and fawned upon n»e, as if returning thanks for tluis helping them to so dainty a bit. Resting for a short time, I again set out, keeping as much as possible amongst the mountains. I was aware there was a farm not far distant, none of the inmates of which I wished to see till after dark. At length I had iho happiness of seeing the farm, but, fearing my dogs might betray me, I determined to keep aloof from the IT '' m 11 r.\ 76 BECOLLECTIorfS OJ «" M< 4 i:*^ i :i i; -1' !'•* «K ^ >^\ dwelling till nightfall. About an hour before the sun went down, the wind began to blow from the S. W., which soon rose to a gale, the rain at the same time falling in torrents. This was no source of uneasiness to me, as I was scarcely dry from the eflect ''f my morning's bathe. Taking advantage of the storm, I went forward to the house, in order to ask for assistance from the first who made their appearance. At the end of the farm stood a large tree, under the shade of which I took my stand. There I could see every party who arrived or left the house. While there, my dogs had well nigh brought vae into trouble. The house was situated but a small d-stance from a creek. In the direction of this creek, I thought 1 could overhear, above the raging of the storm, voices speaking in a loud tone. The dogs began to growl, but, as the voices approached nearer, they proceeded from a growl to a bark. I could easily discover that the voices came ^! ii. two men, who seemed eager to reach the house. ] exerted my utmost to keep the dogs silent, but this could not altogether be accom- plished. The men did not belong to the farm, and, luckily for me, imagined the dogs were the property of the farmer. I could also perceive that the strangers were armed. What can they be seeking? was a ques- tion I put to myself, but it was one I could not solve in a satisfactory manner. While thus ruminating, a farm servant made his appearance, apparently making fop the barn. The strangers by this time having entered the house, T immediately made towards this person, but what was my astonishment when I found in the servant Ik! ri'' ^sLii. •>-': A CONVICT*. Ti |sun liae ess one of the parties who had been brought out in the same ship with myself. His astonishment was equal to mine. " What, James !" said my friend, " what are you seeking here? but I do not require to ask that question. I know what you want, and, James, I know who wants you. But hush," and he pointed towards the barn. " In, man, in, and do not speak." I followed his advice. He secured the door after we were inside. " James," said he, in a very earnest manner, " there are two fellows who have just arrived in search of you; they are convicts as well as we are, but are acting as bush constables. You know what you have to expect from them if they come across you." " I know," I answered, " if they get their hands upf^n me, dead or alive, they will secure me, if it were only for the indulgence they will receive in return f^ cap- turing me ; but I am hungry; ( cannot move t.i her to-night unless I am refreshed some way other. Oh, me ! it is a sad thing to be hunted like a wUd besist. 1 am innocent of what they condomned me to the chm\\ gang for, and it is this knowledge that makes ...e se^^sk my escape from the torments to be endured in suca a situation." " James, I believe you. I will do what I can to assist you," answered my friend. " Meantime, remain here while I get something for you to eat, and also a little to take with you ;" and so saying, he unfastened the door and went out, leaving me in a very sad state of mind. £ 3 ,r i i ■K ;■ ?i;.. ' !!' '. f 78 KECOLLECTIONS OF My friend soon returned. He had provided a bag for me, in which he had placed a quantity of victuals. He also made me eat as much as I could at the time. He hkewise gave me a flint and steel, and a tinder box, so that I might be enabled to make a fire when and how I liked, as opportunity might occur. He also presented me with a horse pistol and ammunition ; ending his presents with a large sealing knife. How could I repay so much kindness 1 Alas I thanks were all I had to give, but never were thanks bestowed with so much sincerity, than were mine at this moment. " Now, James, since you are so far provided, 1 will conduct you to a hut, where you can remain for the night. It is but a slight covering, but it has served to shelter me from many a storm, and 1 trust you will find security there. You must not, however, light a fire to-night ; it would probably lead you into danger. In the morning, you can lake a small tract through the wood, which you will discover near the hut. The track w'U lead you to the south end of the island. Remain there for a day or two, and I will find means to see you again, and put you on some plan to get clear off." With tears, I promised to abide by his instructions. I had seen him looking very much at the dogs ; I there- fore asked him if he would like one. He replied in the afPriK-ttive ; and, loath as I was to part with them, I ireely made him a present of a couple, as I thought that two would be suflicient for me. We then left the b.>rn, the dogs being allowed to accompany us, in case, during hia absence they might betray themselves, which woultl, as a consequence, betray me too. )r e f A CONVICT. 79 The storm still raged, but in place of being a cause of regret it was one of gratulation, as it kept those I was so much afraid of, close to the house. The hut was situated in the centre of the forest, about two miles from the farm. It had been built by the aborigines, and was composed of bark. The proprietor of the farm had allowed it to remain unmolested, as it stood in a convenient place for affording shelter to any of his people who might be in that direction when the wea- ther was unsettled. At last we reached the spot. I took a handkerchief and fixed it round the necks of two of the dogs. The animals looked up in my face, and showed every demonstration of dislike to leave me. Neither of us thought on the consequences that might follow, or I am certain had my friend thought it would bring me into peril he would never have taken them. Be this as it may, we parted in tears, he taking the road home, and I remaining in the hut. Short time had elapsed ere 1 heard the dogs which my friend had taken howling and barking. Those I had kept imme- diately followed the example, and, springing from the hut, disappeared in the direction of the farm. I stood for a few moments, undecided how to proceed. While in tliis dilemma, I thought I heard some one approach- ing 5 -I flew to my bag, threw h upon my shoulder, placed the pistol, now loaded, in my bosom, to protect it from the wet, determined to use it in self-defence, if circumstances transpired to call such a resolution into action, nnd Inirried from the hut. I took, as near as I could ascertain, the track pointed our by my friend, hut it was no easy matter to judge ^^^ ^ i.l 3 il !■ m m 80 RECOLLECTIONS OF whether I was right or wrong. The wind was blowing a hurricane, and the rain still fell heavily ; indeed, it appeared to me as if earth and air had entered into compact against me. Still I trudged along, liberty being my guiding star, surrounded as it was with satellites of a less cheering description. My dogs, too, my faithful companions, had they deserted me for ever ! It was a bitter thought, and one that gnawed sorely at my heart. In this state of mind I travelled during the whole night and the greater portion of the next day, when I came to a running stream, at the bottom of a high hill, where I rested. I placed my bag, and other articles which I carried, on the green sward, and per- ceiving a dead tree at a little distance, I stripped the bark from it, and commenced banking myself round with the aid of some bushes. I then sat down, taking some provisions from the bag, and endeavoured to eat a small portion, but I could not swallow a mouthful, I was so much fatigued. In a little time the sun began to peep forth from between the clouds, rendering the scene more cheering. I tried to sleep, but, wearied aa I was, my eyes were no sooner closed, than some fearful dream disturbed my repose, and 1 awoke in a fright. In one of these fitful starts, I thought I heard a low angry growl from a bush close to where I had taken up my quarters: but judge of my horror when, on looking up, the eyes of one of those ** devils" met my gaze, as it stood watching an opportunity to spring upon me. I quickly seized my pistol, and fired, lodging the contents in the left shoulder of the enraged animal. [ started to my feet, and just as the " devil" was about e f^^Jt^f-.^-Jt^. *,s,»-'."(«* ' "mmm A CONVICT. 81 to fix his teeth and claws in my limbs, I was agreeably astonished to hear the barking of my dogs. In the next moment they were with me, and, getting Uieir eyes upon my enemy, they set upon him with so much fury and boldness, that it was soon stretched at my feet lifeless. I could not, however, but feel alarmed ; some one of my enemies might have followed in their track, and thus come upon me unawares. While thus reflecting I observed the dogs prick up their ears, as they generally did when listening ; this confirmed me in my suspicion that they had been followed. I looked eagerly around, when, to my satisfaction, I saw my friend approaching. f ran to meet him, but he beckoned me to keep the bush, which I did till once he came up. On his ap- proach, I could see that his looks betokened alarm. As soon as he came near me, he exclaimed, with much agitation in his voice and manner, " Fly, James, fly as quick as you can. It was unfor- tunate that I took the dogs ; they have been the inno- cent cause of betraying you. They would not be quiet at home, and the bush constables knowing that you had dogs with you, affirmed that you had been in the neigh- bourhood, and that, to assist you to escape, you had given me the dogs. I did not know what answer to give them, but waited for an opportunity, when I started oft' with the dogs to give you warning. I am glad 1 have met you, but there is not a moment to lose." I could only again thank my wa'm-hearted friend, and, bidding him farewell, I set off' in another direction. On looking behind, I observed my friend doing the E 5 La.^|||^-| ':m i'li'li! |i i ^1 * li'li. .j ji!i + i : J ' '4 'r. 1 , . ' '■' 1 ii;^; ':!,j I ' i If ' ':(,■ l.i III m I 82 RECOLLECTIONS OF same, and the last words I heard him utter were, " fear not, James, I will save you if it is in my power." I waved my hand as a token of belief, and hurried on. A CONVICT. 83 lar I CHAPTER VIII. FLIGHT CONTINUED. A SURPRISE. COMPANIONS IN MI&ERY. A DEATH AND BURIAL. THE ATTACK AND STRUGGLE. CAPTURE AND REMOVAL FROM THE ISLAND. Can it be doubted that .ny gratitude to one who had rendered me so much service was unbounded ? Those who have tasted of adversity, and know the value of even a kind look vor word while their hearts are crushed with deep suflfering, will best understand what my feel- ings were towards the man w4io had exposed himself to suspicion, and perhaps punishment, in order, if pos- sible, to effect my escape. What his after fate was, I never learned, but the kindness 1 received from him at that period remains fresh in my memory, and fond wishes for his welfare will only have an end with life. Oh, that the world knew how much pain might be alleviated by one single act of kindness shown to a miserable fellow-mortal. Many a harsh unfeeling joke would remain unsaid j many a haughty sneer and proud cast of the head would be unwitnessed. It is in bitter taunts and unchristian actions the foundation of many a desperate crime is laid. Let a man totter on the verge of ruin, it is the world's way to look on uncon- cerned, and not a few even endeavour to knock the last remaining prop from under him, and he is left to ■W n. .. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Va 1.0 I |25 1^ 12.2 1.1 l-^l^ 1.8 1.25 ||U 16 ^ 6" ► % y^ /. > '^ > '^ 7 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STREiT WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) B7a-4S03 '^V^ '^ o C/j h ^ \ 84 RECOLLECTIONS OF s- 1 i- . jfif B ill i!! go down to perdition without a hand being stretched out to save him from his fate. I know there are excep- tions to every rule, and exceptions to this one I experienced largely ; but such I know to be the go- verning principle of man generally. Yes, in my experience I have found those who would smile you into security, and yet laugh loudest when your calamity came. I trust this short digression will be excused, and now to ray narrative, I travelled towards the mountain, after the departure of my friend, till the shadows of evening began to darken around me. My clothes were wet, and a chill began to creep over my whole body. Seeing I could not proceed much farther, I began to look about for a place of shelter, which I at last found. Resting for a little, I commenced to muse over my past sorrows, but was unable to gain a glimpse of happier prospects. The chillness increasing, I at last determined to light a fire. This was a matter, however, not so easily accom- plished, for the rain had so damped every thing around, that I had great difficulty in find.ng a sufficiency of broken wood and leaves dry enough to effect my pur- pose. At last 1 succeeded. I then began to collect a quantity of moss for a bed. When this was ended, I sat down to dry my clothes at the fire. The heat relieved me, and, in about an hour, I fell into a sound sleep, nor did I awake till day light the following morning. The sun, which " slumbers not nor sleeps," now shone forth in all the beauty attendant on a lovely morning ; no clouds to interrupt the bright rays which descended to thi grs ca a \m III J py ^^MW I li^Wpl A CONVICT. 85 to the earth, as if they wished to quench a feeling of thirat with the dew drops scattered around on leaf and grass. It was indeed a delightful mornings and well calculated to rouse my drooping spirits ; but there was a weight at my heart which defied all my endeavours to become cheerful. For this depression 1 could not ac- count ; it seemed as if a foreboding of evil hung upon me, my utmost exertions being unable to dispel it. I managed, however, to partake of a slight repast from my slender store, and collecting together the few articles I possessed, I proceeded in the direction of the south end of the island. As 1 hastened onwards, not knowing how soon 1 might fall into the hands of the constables, 1 occupied myself with watching -wery object to prevent being surprised. At length I thought I distinguished voices as if engaged in a sort of whispering conversa- tion. I suddenly stopped, listening eagerly to acquaint myself whether I had not been deceived, or, if possible, to discover from what quarter the sounds proceeded — but all was still. Afraid that it might be my pursuers, and having every reason to fear being surprised by them, I moved quietly to a tree whose branches hung drooping down close to the grass, with the intention of concealing myself there ; but judge of my surprise, when, on moving a branch cautiously aside to allow of entering, I beheld a young man in the act of supporting the head of a middle-aged female. Seeing they were discovered, the young man cast a terrified and imploring look at nae, and exclaimed, " Oh, sir, for the love of God do not betray us :'' he then became so agitated that the head of the female dropped from his arm, and he threw; RECOLLECTIONS OF himself across the seemingly insensible form of his com- panion, giving vent to his grief in deep drawn sobs and words expressive of his agony, exclaiming at times, " Mother, dear, dear mother, we are lost, we are lost." These and other broken sentiments uttered by her son, at length brought the helpless and unfortunate parent to a sense of her ccnditun. The lustre had left her eye, but there was language ol deep sorrow and suffering in the look she gave me, that pierced me to the heart — a language which; really, can only be understood by those who have suft'ered. That glance rivetted me to the place ; I could not move ; I remained as fixed as if I had been chained to the spot. She attempted to speak,' but the tongue refused to perform its office. What her feelings were I could guess from the mental torture exhibited in the writhings of her thin and miserably clothed form. The spell under which she seemed at length gave way, and the melancholy tones of her voice reached my ears, while she supplicated me to spare her boy, whom she said she had ruined, expressing "her willingness to ^suffer any punishment were he to pass unscathed ; then, turning towards her son, she raised her feeble arm, and placing it -round his neck, made a violent enbrt to imprint a kiss on his lips. The effort seemed too much, for her head fell back, and she again relapsed into her former state. Could I dream, or was the spectacle before me real ? It was some moments after she ceased to speak ere I could assure myself of the truth of what I saw and heard j and I was no sooner aware of this, than I en- deavoured to soothe their fears by stating to the son M&: III. >^ . .i«.>.. A CONVICT. 87 my own position. Having done so he became less agitated, and confessed to me in turn that t^ ' were themselves runaways, which, from what I hau aeard, I suspected previous to his confession. A friendship thup suddenly sprung up between us. His mother by degrees recovered sufficiently to mix in cur conversa- tion. From what they stated, they had fared much worse, from the time of their escape till I found them, than I had done. On one occasion they had been be- trayed by a man who professed the deepest sorrow for their condition, and who, to keep up the appearance of that profession, invited them to his house. Happily, they were informed of this person's treachery by one of his daughters, and had barely time to effect their escape from his kind intentions. Surrounded by dan- gers, and suffering the greatest privation, they had passed nearly a fortnight. The exposure to the cold, want of foo. , inxiety of mind, and great bodily fatigue, hid wrought so much on the health of the poor woman, that she was unable to proceed farther. They had, therr^fire, sought their present retreat, where, for two days, she had been tended by her son, who believed she could not recover, and that he would be compelled to leave hei body to be devoured by the animals which infested the woods. I placed my slender stock of pro- visions before them, and, with the aid of a little water the young man had provided for bathing his mother's burning head, we all partook eagerly, although unable to eat much. I learned from them a short history of their sad life. They were natives of Wales, and had at one time been n \ I 88 RECOLLECTIONS OF "ill 1 • i. i ::.i ■ ,T 5 V in respectable circumstances. The woman's first hus- band died when her son was four years old, leaving some property. A villain, under the mask of love, insinuated himself into her favour, whom she married. From that moment all her happiness fled. He squan- dered away her property, beat her and the boy, and at last left them in a state of utter destitution. Thus left, her life became one of sin, by which her son was contaminated. Ultimately he committed a robbery, and the degraded mother acted as a receiver of the stolen property, for which crime they were buiiished. For a considerable period after their arrival in the colony, they never saw one another. At length chance brought them in contact, when the plan of attempting their escape was entered upon. The rest is known to the reader. • ^ r, ^ -.,^,, j,,,^ The woman sincerely repented her misconduct. She seemed to reflect seriously on the ruin of her poor son, reproaching herself as being the cause ; and bitter was the i^nc^} she had paid for turning from the paths of virtue and rectitude. The stamp of death was on her brov/, but all her thoughts were centred in the wish, that her son might be enabled to return to society, and by an exemplary life atone for the failings of himselt and his parent. The strength urged forth to support her giving these details, gradually disappeared, and again she became the same inanimate being as I first saw her. However much the son would have suffered to revive the helpless form before him, or wish her days to be lengthened, yet he could not hide the stern fact, that her journey was near its end. An earthly judge .. i t hus- eaving love, arried. iquan- ind at IS left, was bbery, [)f the lished. " n the 'hance npting wn to A, She' ►r son,* r was t ths of I >n her ^ wish, ', and imselt ipport > and [ first ffered rdays fact, judge A CONVICT. 89 might have pronounced him hardened in iniquity, but what man could look on the picture of filial and tender affection, evinced at this moment by that unhappy youth, and deny that he possessed the holiest and most sacred feelings belonging to humanity 1 Properly trained and educated, he would have been an ornament to his domestic world. I need not dwell longer on this subject ; suffice it to say, that, after a burst of the most endearing affection, the poor woman breathed her last in the arms of her beloved son, the sky for her covering, the trees for her curtains, the leaves for her bed, and oh, I am «fraid, no certain hope for her futurity. I will pass over the scene which followed. I have stated before the horror the young man had of leaving the remains of her he loved so well to become the prey of beasts. Silently we stole forth in search of some spot of earth which might be made to receive the body, and where it might lie in security. In a spot where a tree had fallen and torn a portion of the earth up with its roots, we cut out with our knives the resting place of her who had known prosperity, but had breathed her last amongst the wood-covered mountains of a penal settlement, as a runaway convict. No deep-toned bell told of her departure ; no priest delivered an oration over her remains, ere they were for ever consigned to their lonely habitation : — No : but the evening breeze, with its melanchoy whisperings through the branches, and the last notes of a solitary bird far off in the wood, lent a more solemn influence than all the gaudy page- antry attendant on the funerals of high-born mortals. At the bottom of the grave we placed a layer of dried ^.; ■w4 i I :t i , I ! r- i' ^ I '0 l\ 90 RECOLLECTIONS OF leaves, and, when the body was laid down, the fsame substance covered u. We then drove strong pieces of branches into the ground on each side, and throwing broken shrubbery and brushwood over the body, we at last covered it with the loose earth, pressing it firmly down, then placing some heavy roots over all, it was left to repose till that great day when the God of all will call on earth and sea to give up their dead. The funeral procession was small, but our feelings were keen, and the grief expressed sincere. We re- turned silently to our resting place under the tree ; few words were spoken, and in the end I sunk into a plea- sant slumber. When i awoke I found my companion sitting in the attitude of deep thought, his head resting on his hard. I spoke, and he looked up. I then told him of the constables being in search of me, and proposed that we should part, as the safest mode for both. After dividing with him what remained of my victuals, we shook hands, and I bade him farewell. .. r» 4 About the middle of the afternoon the dogs, which still continued to follow me, got into the track of a kan- garoo, and went off in pursuit of the animal. Fatigued with incessant walking, I sat down to await their return. In this position it was not alLwed me to remain long, for a few minutes had only elapsed, when I was asto- nisheu at the report of a musket fired very near the spot where 1 was seated ^ but my astonishment increased to something like ten/or when 1 observed that I had been the object aimed at by the cowardly villain who had discharged the gun. I was made aware of this fact from the circumstance of the ball falling w ithin a few iihl' \f i is u A COXVICT. 91 we feet of me. I sprung up in an ^netant, when I perceived a man in the act of re-loading a gun. There could be no doubt as to who he wbm, and what was his aim. The thought of my pursuers being so close upon me, the absence of my dogs, and not knowing where to go, rendered me almost incapable of moving. Flight seemed my only resource ; I therefore stiir^ftd off in the direction opposite to where the person stood. In my haste I had taken my pi&tol, but my ammunition and other things I had, were leil on the ground. Heedless of every thing save e^icape, I continued to run. In time I bc^/ame exhausted,* and at last fell to the ground unable to proceed a step farther, giving myself up for lost, and my mind over to despair. In this position I became so much excited, that in a few moments I was altogether insensible, nor did I awake to consciousness till aroused by a fierce grip from the fellow who had fired i!;>on me. Being thus recalled to a sense of dan- ger, the gloomy and sullen looks of the person who now stoc.-^ over me, grinning as he was with malicious satis- faction, made me exert what strength I had led in order to escape. I got upon my feet, and a violent struggle ensued between us. I succeeded in wresting his gun from him. He then flew towards me, throwing his arms around my body. I at last got my right arm lose. I drew my pistol from my bosom, but, while endeavour- ing to discharge it, I was stunned by a blow from behind with the butt end of his companion's gun. I staggered backwards ; the blood began to flow irom my head ; but retaining some little recollection of what I had been ■>\-i^ I: f"»f3.' 92 RECOLLECTIONS OF il< i!r ,1 1. about to do, I fired the pistol at random, and again fell to the earth in a state of insensibility. When consciousness again returned , I found that my hands had been firmly secured. My head was severely cut by the blow, and pained me exceedingly. The pain of the wound, however, was nothing to the anguish that burned within me. All hope of freedom was now gone. If not guilty at first, I had rendered myself amenable to the laws of the colony for having attempted my escape. I felt confident that if my life was spared for this, yet for having fired the guns at the soldiers who pursued me, I could expect nothing short of the sen- tence of death being passed upon me, and it required a stronger and higher influence than many convicts possessed to keep the law from taking its full course, or moving the governor to commute the sentence to banishment for life to the worst settlement under his jurisdiction. These thoughts, it may naturally be sup- posed, affected me, and rendered me altogether careless of my future fate. The first signs I exhibited of recovery were taken advantage of by the bush constables to urge me to try and walk, assuring me that there was a house at a short distance, where I would be allowed to rest and have my wound dressed. To this I made no reply farther than looking them in the face. Knowing that if 1 did not endeavour to try my strength, ulterior measures would be used to force me, 1 got up, with their assistance, and made the best of my way with >lhem to the house spoken of. When we reached the house, it was drek, I was n iik I I A CONVICT. 93 igain fell that my severely The anguish as now nayself tempted 8 spared iers who the sen- required convicts )urse, or ence to nder his ' be sup- careless bited of )nstables ere was allowed I made Cnowing ulterior ip, with ly with I was immediately ushered into the presence ^' For three days- ray wound would not permit of my being removed. I did not regret this, as I was shown every attention by the kind hearted farmer. Knowing, too, that as soon as I reached Hobart Town, the walls of a prison, and the harsh discipline exercised within their precincts, would be a sad contrast to the com- fortable house and warm bed I now occupied, I wished to remain as long as circumstances would permit. It was impossible, however, to allow me to abide jonger at the farm house than secured me^from the danger of being attacked by fever, with which, for the first two . days, I was threatened. As soon as the constables be- came aware that all fear on this head had disappeared, TP V A CONVICT., i3„ II tliey announced their intention of removing me on the fourth morning. This communication , although I had been expecting it earlier, came like a shock upon me. Surrounded as I had been with danger while ranging the mountains, still I was at liberty, and although I had, since my capture, been under their guardianship, yet I had been treated with every kindness. All this was now to come to an end, and the clear sky and the forest were now to be abandoned for the felon's cell. It is not natural for man to contemplate such a change unmoved and unaflected, nor had the Great Creator made me an exception in this particular. My first burst of grief over, I became somewhat reconciled, and saw their preparations to depart going on, with a sort of stoical indifference. On the evening before my departure to town, I was informed that four dogs had arrived at the house, nor could they be prevailed upon to depart, although every effort had been made to drive them away. The farmer hearing of the circumstance, came to me and inquired if I had not been followed by dogs. I then related to him the whole story of how I fell in with them, and also the services they had rendered me. He seemed much affected at the recital, and instantly ordered a servant to allow them to come in. As soon as they were admitted, the whole four came running towards me, jumping upon me, and showing every token of satisfaction, nor could they be prevailed upon to sleep elsev/here than in my bed room. As I was to depart on the following morning, I went early to bed, where, after tossing to and fro for some time, I at length sunk •; f3 . vm^ 96 RECOLLECTIONS OF \i m I into a deep deep, from which I awoke in the morning veiy much refreshed. The conetables having got the boat in trim, came to inform me that I must now make ready for the journey. Yes, I thought, I must take mytrilal before an earthly judge, because I willed to be iVee from a punishment put upon me for a crime of which I was innocent. As I could not take the dog9 with me, I gave ihem over to the care of the farmer, with instructions that, if he could find their owner, to return them to him, and, if he could not, to keep them in his possession for his own use or amusement. 1 was ^fiien escorted to the boat, followed by the farmer and Ihe dogs. Before we pushed off from the island, the farmer shook mf kindly by the hand, repeating hi» promise to aid me as far as he could, and expressed a hope that I would not allow my spirits to sink, and encouraged me to hope for the best. The boat was ihen put in motion, on seeing which, and that they were not allowed to accompany me, the dogs sent forth sucb a piteous yelling, that the noise resounded far and wide, and so much was I affected by this last trait of their attachment, that I threw myself into the bottom of the frail vessel, and endeavoured to deaden their cries by stopping my ears with ft»y fingers, in which position I remained till Brunie Island was left far behind. ->4 y\ j'VM.-i^M ""^littj 4. A CONVICT. ;. ,:ii ^ ■«»' **' -T ^ ii\. ■■..... \^.: f'" ■»fti-"'f>? !iSJ'5*»)t;- ''sv-^S-. 5v • .TiiiM , ycfi^ '■u. >»»*>•■» n'< ••■ » .^'■i'- t. 1|.W/* t^" OHAtTER IX. ,,^ .^^^^ RETURN TO HOBART TOWN. — -THE TRIAL. ^AN UNEX- W PECTED FRIEND.— -SENTENCE OP DEATH AND ITS COMMUTATION. ^- FELLOW - UNFORTUNATES. — • THE DEATH AT 8EA.—A CONVIC^t's FUNERAL. Ali^IVAL f AT MACdUARtE HARBOUR.— ^ANOtH^R APPOIN'^r^AENT 'Vi'- AS COXSWAIN. hi> r---^ .u viai^i^t- Being at length beyond the sound of the howling of" the dogs, I again took my seat at the stern of the boat, the constables having placed me in that position in order that they might have an opportunity of watching my movements. By firing upon one of the soldiers and also wounding one of themselves when they captured me, I was looked upon as a determined and dangeroup character. They had promised the farmer not to us^ me harshly, but they took the precaution to have their guns laying, alongside of them, after having loaded them with ball in my presence. Neither of them spoke a word, and my mind was busy enough in revolving fears for the future, to keep me in meditation, and thus the thought of again attempting escape had no place in my ruminations. The day was beautiful and calm, the little air that passed along the surface of the sea being just sufficient to catch the curling waves at the top, throwing them into beautiful and variegated particles as the rays of the sun descended upon them. Afar on the F 4f % •wir— 98 ttltCOLLECTIONS OF h 1'... f t. I! I bosom of the ocean, the eye migiit distinguish a lone and solitary sea bird, buoyandy breastinp; wave after wave, and, like some aerial spirit after its mission to earth had been completed, it again soared aloft in its flight of sweet and blessed freedom. My mind was full of gloomy fears, and 1 continued to muse until aroused by the loud voice of some one hailing the constables. On looking up, I saw another boat rowed by two men, who were proceeding in ano- ther direction. The strangers seemed to be aware of the errand on which my captors had gone, for no sooner had they come within a short distance of our boat, than one of them exclaimed, ^ *''»^ Y^' ^^smi i^ tj«j.«i ' " Halloo, Jack, you have nailed him at last." v*ii«*i ' " Ay, ay," returned the party who had been ad- dressed. Tjjitti'^'f vfi" -. jic ■'i.'^^d id'iUn vv»i«iM*< " It would just have been as well for /«77i," rejoined the other, casting a glance at me, ** if he had gone back with the soldiers. I am afraid his neck will feel queer soon. Firing upon soldiers is generally paid with a dance to the tune of a muffled drum." - At this remark I inwardly shuddered, but hemg anx-^ ious to ascertain who the speaker was, I raised my eyes a second time for that purpose, when I discovered him to be the constable in whose hut I had passed the night' previous to my encounter with the soldiers. ♦'^ ^^I'^^m^U' ' " He's a daring devil," muttered my tormentor, as he was about to proceed down the river, " so you had bet-^ ter keep an eye after him." ^'^ '^»' ^ '-^ t^t^bifti h «i^ * " Leave Gallows alone for that," returned my cap-' lor, meaning his other companion, the term implying A CONVICT. H 99 ad- that he had at one tifhe escaped death by the hands of the public executioner. .;, . Gallows, who did not seem to relish the title, replied, with more feeling and warmth than I thought he pos- i^ssed, " Why, Jack, you might have spared your breath there. It is not because you did not deserve it that you escaped a leap. Besides, you ought to have remembered the promise you made the farmer, not to hurt the prisoner's feelings with jokes of that nature. I have my suspicions, besides, that you could throw some light on the very robbery that this poor fellow was condemned to the chain gang for." ^ , ^ ^, 1 eagerly waited the reply to this remark, as I ima- gined life or death rested on the discovery of the really guilty party. I was disappointed, however, as the other merely remarked, in a sort of half offended tone, ti Why, what are your suspicions worth ? I told you before that I knew nothing about it, and I tell you so again. You had better, therefore, mind number one, and not keep poking your fingers into other people^s pies, when you know you are not thanked for it. As for hurting that poor fellow's feelings, I did no such thing. It was old Growler, and I am not going to stand out as his bully. Say what you like of him, but don't blame me," , , ,i The conversation here closed, and I again relapsed ' into a moody state, and only became aroused when the boat was within a few yards of our landing place. It . was about four o'clock in the afternoon when we landed, • and my wound being still of a frightful nature, I was placed under a guard, and conducted to the hospital^ F 5 ■ .'^ . •"rT* ( 100 RECOLLECTIONS OF S^^-^i i'i and put under the care of the surgeon. The hospital heing strictly guarded, there was no hope of a second escape ; and even if I had seen an opportunity of doing so, with no prospect of "reaching some place where I would have been free froih pursuit, I do liot think I would have attempted it, aware, as I now was, of the dangers by which a runaway is surrounded. I had been in hospital for ^bout a "week, my wound rapidfy healing, when the keeper entered the room I was con- fined in, accompanied by my kind hearted friend, the farmer. After being ^'ti^fied that I was recovering, *he told me he had come to town in order, if possible, to serve me. He had seeh ^Captain W.'s daughter, who evinced much sorrow a*l 'my unhappy condition ; and to show that her feelings We^e sincere, she had kcconripanied the farmer to the ho^iise of one of the gen- tlemen Who belonged to the party engaged with the natives. The farmer received their assurances that whatever could be done to assist me, would be done. As soon, therefore, '^s fie jiftrte'd with them, he had ob- tained permission to visit me in the hospital. Before he left, he expressed his hope that I would, at all events. escape an ignofftinious death. • «*' •'^ ^wrv *,i- "S^^j* * After the farmer tdok his departure, I was thrown into a new train of ideas. What even if my life were spared? My ultimate destination, from all the accounts 1 had heard of it, was such a horrid place that I could almost have wished rather to die at once, than eke out a miserable existence, half fed and almost naked, at Macfpiarie Harbour, subject to the most fierce cruelty 'that poss^ibly could be exercised to a fellow beii> &• H A CONVICT. 101 '»■■■. Where, but in the grave, were my sufferinfg" to 6ntl ! Happy had it been for me, I thought, if my narrow bed had been made in th&t lonely spot wher6, with the son, i had laid the he^rr^bfOken Another. And yet how strange the feeling which impei'ceptibly creeps over us %t times. " While there is life, there is hope," and 'dark and cldtidy'^s my position seemed, these words 'occurred to me. They opened up a new source of ^flection. At last I concluded that some chance might .k)ccur to carry me from the colony altogether, and ena- ble me at last to end my days, my body being as free %s my mind. With these consolations, I anxiously Vaited'lhe day of trial, which was now Ikt^t approach^ At length the eventful day dawned Which was to seal! *tny fate. Various conjectures arose in my mind as (6 \he prob&ble result, but nothing certain could I lay hold of. The hour came, and I was summoned to the .-bar. I left the hospital, where 1 had remained since my arrival with the constables. Strongly guarded, t was taken into court. I looked timidly around to seek for encouragement from some known face, but no one appeared to my wandering gaze. Befor > me sat the dreaded judge, and, at a table before him, sat the "counsel. Alas ! counsel I had none. At last my charge was read, and the voice of the judge dunk deep into my heart as he feisked whether I was guilty or not guilty. I was Changed with having escaped from my guards, and with firing two guns at his majesty's ser- vants while in pursuit of me. I knew I was guilty, and what could I day ? With my head dropping on mijr •F 6 I \ 1 ■■ -». 102 RECOLLECTIONS OF i t*^ i- breast, I replied that I was guilty. The judge, imme- diately after, passed upon me the sentence of death. Before I was removed, however, he asked if there was any one I knew who could speak of my previous beha- viour. I answered, that the only iriend I had was now dead ; but, ere the words were finished, a stir was made near the door, and I heard some one call out, *^ Make way there, quick ! " I turned my head towards the spot where the people were pressing back, and the first one whom I saw tvas the honest farmer, forcing a pas- sage for Miss W., the feaptaih's daughter, and her cou- sin, one of the young ladies who had accompanied he^ on the voyage. She was also viccompanied by onc; of the gentlemen. As soon as ordor had been reitoifed, the farmer advanced and asked permission to speak in my behalf. Leave being granted, he stated, that while I hlad been in charge of Captain W.'s gig, he had various opportunities of conversing with my ni aster > and that I had given the captain so much satisfaction, that he expressed himself willing to leave me in charge of all that was dear to him on earth, with the certainty of his orders being sacredly attended to. He said that I had also rendered some very important services both to Captain W. and some of his friends ; but, as there . v&'ere other parties in court who had been eye-witnesses of the scene, he would leave them to state the facts to the court. • . ' - r. ^ The farmer the:: withdrew, and immediately after- . wards advanced with Miss W. The young lady was , very much agitated by the novel position she was pla- ted in, and it was some minutes before her presence of la I 'i hfj^'' A C0NV1»T. 103 mind returned so as to enable her to proceed. En- couraged, liowever, by the judge, who had been inti- mate wit^ her father, and had often met her in hid company, she at last succeeded in giving some account of how I had conducted myself under her father. When she came to speak of the voyage, and the perilous situ- ation in which all were placed, these statements calling up tender recollections of her dear father, she suddenly stopped and gave vent to a flood of tears. The judge ordered her a seat, when, in a short time, she again became collected. She detailed the whole of our pro- ceedings during that trying conflict, and ended with a panegyric in my favour that would have done honour to a nobler man than I was. Miss W. said, there were other two parties in court who were attending, as she herself was, to show their gratitude for my behaviour at the period referred to, by testifying of the good opinion I had gained from every one who kn "^t:^^' ^ t?t* At length the prison doors were opened, hut not to freedom. The guards entered, but not to protect me from molestation. They were opened in order to bind the fetters with which I was secured, to a host of other sufferers, whom I was to accompany to Macquarie Harbour. What a spectacle presented itself to my view ! A number of human beings, the most miserable looking imaginable, wedged together as firmly as iron could make them, their countenances dark and fore- boding as the dreariest winter sky ; thv' ' < ** What think you? — toss it overboard, to be sure." " Won't you read prayers'?" asked the seaman. " Who would ever think of reading prayers over the body of such a rascal ? Were any of our own people to drop off, it would then be a different matter, but it is of no use troubling ourselves with such a customer as this." ^ r . The seaman, thus baffled in his endeavcar to get the body respectably buried, as he thought, was then or- dered to call another man to assist him in tumbling the - ' V . ■ F 9 ■' . i '%mt' ■-i» . w I !■ f|.,l mm 108 KECOLLEgTIO>'S OF unfortunate convict overboard ; which being done, every- thing resumed its wonted appearance, as if the body thrown into the sea, had never encased no; possessed such a treasure as an immortal soul. Our lot was not of the most comfortable description, and the circumstance just narrated did not help to make us more easy. Although we knew pretty ivell the na- ture of the hardships to be undergone when wt^ reached Macquarie Harbour, yet all wished the voyage ccsripleted. At length the port was made, and we were sent ashore ; but all my ideas of thfi place fell greatly short of tlie actual state I found the unhappy beings there in. Parties of them were in a state of nudity, while others were barely co ared with rags. They seemed to be creatures who would scruple at no act, however outrageous. More than one, whose feelings of respect for themselves were not lost, loathed their position so much, that, to bring their sufierings to an end, actually committed murder. In such a place, and with such companions, will my readers wonder, when I tell them, that I was taken suddenly ill, and had to be carried insensible to a hut. It was two or thr«e days before I recovered ; *and when I got better, the pilot of the place, hearing that I understood a seaman's duty, ordered me on board his /essel, where I was installed a second time, into the /situation of coxswain. t -» ^.-H^.f lix^.:* ' ■ 1 y i b % i» ¥ i A CONVICT. 109 '.^,''^':' nit 7 ?«:, ' ■m^TP^ i^^^ -ry..: CHAPTER X. ' ' ' •' MACQVARlfi HARBOUR AND ITS INHABITANTS. THB PILOT. A MURDER, AND SUMMARY PUNISHMENT OF THE GUILTY PARTY. EVACUATION OF THE HARBOUR. SIGNS OF INSUBORDINATION. — A CONSPIRACY AND IfLAN OF ESCAPE. ' Although installed as coxswain of the pilot boat, it must be borne in mind that, in whatever situation a con- vict may be placed at Macquarie Harbour, the stern eye of a task-master is ever over him. There is no rest nor relaxation during the hours allotted to work. No com- muning with their fellow-sufferers. The day's task ac- complished, they are driven like so many animals to their sleeping places. In fact, all interest in the sur- rounding world becomes deadened, and at last com- pletely dies away. It will not, therefore, be imagined that my position, although called upon to perform the duties of a seaman, was one of an easy nature. The pilot was very much addicted to intemperance, and of- ten, while under the influence of intoxication, he made ^me suffer some punishment I did not deserve. When I looked around me, however, I found I was much better situated than many who were probably as good as myself, but whose treatment was far different to that which I experienced. The lash was continually over them ; whereas, unless when the pilot had been drinking, I was comparatively easily dealt with. This |)-3| I t'l .i ■« no ■■'t,: RECOLLECTIONS OF treatment, as I have before stated, drove some of them lo be guilty of offences of an aggravated nature, in order to get rid of life. An instance of this occurred a short time after I arrived. The poor fellow implicated, as I afterwards understood, belonged to a very good family in England, but had paid too much attention to the de- ceits and frauds carried on at the great races and gam- bling tables in England. At last he connected himself with a company of notorious characters, and his interest became so much mixed up with their proceedings, that, when two of the company were arrested for a robbery, it came out that he had been one of the perpetrators. For a long time he eluded the vigilance of the officers of the law, but at last he was secured, and ultimately banished to Botany Bay. After his arrival there he met with some of his old associates in crime, who, even in banishment, carried on their vicious practices, and he became mixed up with their depravities a second time. At this point he changed his master, and was hired as a servant to a gentleman in the country. Here he was guilty of appropriating some articles lo his own use be- longing to his master, for which crime he was sent to Macquarie Harbour. The usage he experienced, con- trasted to his mode of life and the luxuries he enjoyed while at home, wrought so much upon his mind, that one day, while he and another convict were engaged at some laborious vv^ork, he look advantage of the momen- tary absence of the guard, to make an attack upon his neighbour, whom he knocked to the earth with a billet of wood, and then seizing a rough-edged stone, com- pleted his work of murder. So well and fatally had he ! .ji.r J' ' ' 6 »r 4 ^ A CONTICT. Ill 6 completed his dreadful scheme, that, on the return of the guard, the person who had been attacked was found to be dead. In answer to the guard's interrogatories, all the satisfaction received from the guilty perpetrator was a loud string of execrations ; then suddenly recol- lecting himself, he resumed a calmness in his manner, in the meantime advancing forward to the soldier. His motions, however, were watched, and just as he was about to spring upon the guard, that party levelled his piece and shot him dead on the spot. Nor was this a solitary instance of poor wretches en- deavouring to shake off the tyranny by which they were oppressed, either by self-destruction or a breach of rules, which they well knew would end in their sufferings being terminated by an unnatural death. • In the situation of coxswain I continued till the eva- cuation of the settlement, experiencing troubles and trials of the most afHicting nature. No night passed over without the pilot being drunk. In this state he would often come to where the men were lying, and the first one he came across he generally struck, or if he had nothing in his hand, the unforlunate object received the full weight of the pilot's body, by being jumped upon or kicked. If the poor fellow groaned under the pain of such treatment, he was forced, in order to escape a re- petition, to obey some useless command given by the brutal wretch. Nor dared a single person to show sympathy for the wronged man, for fear of being tied up and lashed. This punishment I suffered twice in my attempts to expostulate with the low, brutal, petty ty- rant, on account of his cruelty. For our own sakes, i Pi 4, I TT ^m^ t I if < II H I' I r lil 'l! .1 112 RECOLLECTIONS OP therefore, we were obliged to stifle our wrath, which, but for the soldiers on board, would have risen to a pitch beyond his power to allay, and must have ended in his destruction. If ever there was a time when I would have run the risk of escaping, even to undergo all and more than I had previously done, it was during my sorrowful so- journ in this dreadful spot. We had no. opportunity of conversing together, but there was a language in the eye that told each other's self-comraunings — a language not to be misunderstood by those who bear an accumu- lated weight of sorrow and trouble: it, too, was the language of truth, for it came glancing forth pure from the heart, and as we meet each other's gaze, the sen- timent expressed by all was, " I wish for liberty." At length the day opened upon us which laid the foundation of this wish being granted. Orders had ar- rived that the prisoners were all to be removed, and Macquarie Harbour evacuated. On the 12th January 1S34«, we received orders to prepare for leaving — nine years, within two months, of what I may call my cap- tivity, for captive I had been latterly. What were the feelings of myself and miserable companions, at this unexpected intelligence, can scarcely be described ; but this much I may state, we cared not whither we were taken, as we knew our condition could not be altered for the worse. Still there was a feeling within of brighter days — "*. hope that we might escape. This hope became so strong, that those whose hearts had for long been strangers to every thing else but sorrow, now possessed a spark of pleasure. Countenances long A CONVICT. 113 formed to speak despair, were now lighted up with a glimpse of animation and Hveliness. To a universal feeling of this kind which seemed to enter and pervade all the prisoners, am I indebted for the liberty I now enjoy. But I must return to the manner in which we effected our perilous escape. The day previous to our embarkation was employed in collecting together all the government stores, carrying them on board a small brig intended to convey us we knew not where. In the discharge of this duty, we had no guard placed directly over us, the soldiers being sta- tioned at convenient distances between the shore and the works to see that every thing was done in order. At first we only glanced at one another, as opportunity offered, then we whispered, and at last a leading spirit or two might be seen, screened by some intervening object, engaged in close conversation. — The nature of these conversations was only known at the time to the parties themselves, but the rest saw sufficient to con- vince them there was something of importance going forward, and that the subject of their whisperings was likely to become an affair that all would be necessarily engaged in. {. < -„ «> • . ,» . •■ - . -iu- /*•! In this state matters continued till the darkness and the voices of our guards called us from labour, to e' ;)e- rience a night of extreme suspense — at least if I may be allowed to judge of the feelings of those who were my companions from the state of my own mind. Dark and gloomy as the scene around had been, there was a gleam of sunshine, as it were, before me afar off. I hoped the master spirits of the convict colony might be ■>.] ■ |<» H I» !l Stil- us RECOLLECTIONS OF able, if assisted by the others, and opportunity offering, to work out our release, and that soon I would be able to place my foot on some other shore in liberty, without the fear ot being hunted down, and that by honest en- deavours I might yet live to enjoy a freedom long un- known to me, in being allowed to follow the dictates of my own conscience in earning a subsistence by what- ever means was in my power. Such thoughts as thene were busy with my brain during the whole of that night, and although narrowly watched and strongly guarded, I yet hoped that some fortunate circumstance would occur to bring our tyrannical rulers to a sense of the cruelty we had experienced, and also enable us to bid them farewell. On the following morning we were aroused to a re- newal of our labours, and by mid-day all was ready for our going on board. Previous to this order, we were all marshalled in the same style as we had been the morning I left Hobart Town. Every one being found at his post, we proceeded on board the vessel with our hard task-master, the pilot, as captain. Towards night we made the Heads at the entrance lo the harbour, but the surf was so heavy, beating violently over the bar, that he did not venture to cross It. Orders v ere con- sequently given for making all snug for the night. In order to accomplish this, the prisoners were lefl pretty much at liberty, as they had to assist in working the vessel. To secure her from being driven from her anchor, the brig had to be moored head and stern on, as the current was at the time running at the rate of seven knots an hour. When th\u was accomplished, all '^' A CONVICT. 115 hands, with the exception of a guard and the anchor watch, retired to rest, in order either to dream of pre- sent misery or coming freedom. * ' On the following morning, at five o'clock, all hands were called up. The surf still continued heating over the bar as violently as ever. There was therefore little hope of our proceeding immediately to sea. From the hurried manner we had been ordered from the colony, our small portion of clothes, or rather rags, which only half covered us, were in a very filthy state. The cap- tain thought the time the vessel lay at anchor could no" be better employed than in sending us ashore to wash them. A boat was therefore ordered off with a party of prisoners to perform this necessary piece of work. Fortunately, I was of the number, and no sooner were we landed and left to ourselves, than the means of our escape became the subject of conversation. One of the leaders in the conversLtion of the previous day opened the subject by observing, that it was shameful for so many men to suffer, as we had been compelled to do, by the orders of one man. " You mean that monster, the pilot, I suppose," said another. " It is not only shameful, but degrading even to us ; and I, for one, say, if there is any way to get rid of him and the red coats, why, let me understand it, and my hand will not be backward in doing its share of the work." . ;.,. " Here's another," eagerly cried the whole of the party at once. • ^« Easy, brothers," said I. " There is no one present would be more willing to join in such a scheme, were it mmtmmm -I' ^ ii^-^W mrnm* ft i! t' .:>; ! f^i; I in « 116 RECOLLECTIONS OF practicable, than myself ; but there is one condition I wish to make, before prdceeding farther." " Name it," said the leadei', With a look of suspicion. " There shall be no blood shed," i replied. " J^y hanUs have never yet taken the life of la feHow-being ) and, horrid as our condition has been, I, for on&, wift not consent to the taking away of life. Upon iMh condition alone will I join you in wresting our libertiei^ •firom the hands of a tyrant." ' -- ^ ''' ' ** ^^' • "'v ' '^« 1 am of the same opinion," said another, " only Vith this difference, that shbtild we be compelled td ftght in self-defeii66, wliy, rather than be again ifiken, -t am willinjg to do my best, even at the expense of blood- shed, but let there be no calculated murder." The recollection of my having fired the pistol at th6 constable came with force to my mind, lind unwilling as I was to risk the chance of periling any man's Iife> 1 saw that our esciape could scarcely be accdm])lished without a possibility of beirigplstced in a position where, in self-defence, a blow might be str'uck. To the abov6 proposition I therefore Agreed. This being the seeming Svish of all my companions, the next step discussed was our mode of procedure. There w^re twelve men on board the brig, well armed, while our number was no more, having neither arms nor amunition nor any other tveapon in our power. The person who had first spoken said he had, with another prisoner then on board, weighed all the chances of an attempt to take the brig ; he therefore proposed to guide us in the mat- ter. Each was anxious to hear what plan he would adopt, as they could not sec how it was at all possi- ■ A CONVICT. ■ ' 117 ble. He then laid down the following as his plan of operation : — " As soon as we have got through with our present work," said he, " we will then go on board, each man conducting himself as if nothing was inWnded. If thete be any soldiers on deck, we will invite them unde?r hatches to hear a soiig. Let us succeed in this point, and the rest can easily be managed. As for the cap- tain, he will have dipped too deep into the bottle to be very particular as to how we are conducting ourselves, and by the time he is ready to come on deck, I hope things will be in such a state as to make his conquest kn easy matter. If we succeed in getting the soldiers below, why then your tender conscien es may rest at ease, as theire will be no necessity for hurting a hair of any man's head." This scheme, so simple and yet so hopeful, met with entire approbation. We theirefore applied ourselves with vigour to our task, with happy thoughts of accom- plishing our freedom. No sooner was the work ended, than with light hearts and buoyant steps we proceeded to the boat, which had been made secure on shore a littl.^ distance from the brig. The oars fell slowly into the river; as, had we showed too much eagerness or liaste, suspicion m'ght have been raised, and our fond hopes blighted. Slowly the boat was impelled nearer the vessel, every stroke of the oars bringing us either into deeper misery or the rich reward of liberty. Every heart beat with emotion, and had we been well armed and had a fair enemy, the distant shore would have re- echoed to the cry for liberty. Far otherwise was our ^ ii8 RECOLLECTIOIVS OF V i{;| V-' position ; determined, if possible, to throw off the cruel bondage by which we had been so long oppressed, not speaking above our breath, the very wishes of our hearts became so powerful as to make us feel as if they would burst. But soon we were alongside the brig J four soldiers leaned over the bulwarks, while the master-carpenter walked the quarter-deck. At length we got on board, after which the carpenter went below to the cabin. One of the soldiers stood to joke with me. I thought I would have fallen. Recovering my- self, however, I returned his remark, (he was a country- man of my own.) At last I mustered courage to invite him below. I said there were a few good singers amongst us, and we had proposed to .pass an hour or two in singing. He hesitated at first, as he expected the captain on deck, but promised, if he saw an oppor- tunity, to make one of our party. I ihen gave him to understand that if his companions could dp the same we would be glad of their presence hinting that should anything like quarrelling arise amongst the prisoners, his presence would tend to check it. We then parted, and I hurried below, to report the success I had experienced, whither the convicts had immediately gone on seeing me encounter the soldier. They were in ecstacies at the near prospect, as they thought, of our enterprise being successful. It was then arranged that the soldiers should be allowed to sit next each other, in order to allay all fear for their safety, and that at a certain signal agreed upon, a rush by the whole of our number should be made upon them, and thus, by Jan overwhelming force, we might at once disarm and A CONVICT. 119 secure them. These preliminaries, interesting to us at the time, being settled, we took our seats and patiently- awaited the coming of the soldiers. . . M, Half an hour elapsed before any sign of their approach was heard, when, about the expiry of that period, we had the extreme pleasure of seeing the soldiers descend the ladder, and enter the forecastle. Heartily welcome they were, and each one was more eager than another to shew attention to them. At last everything was adjusted, and one of our party, an Englishman, was invited to sing. His voice was sweet, and as he re- peated the first verse, a thrill of pleasure and delight ran through every vein of my frame. There seemed to be a sympathy in my inmost soul with the words of the poet. I had never heard them before, and yet the lines of the first verse are as fresh in my mind at the present moment, as if 1 had laboured to commit them to memory. I cannot help quoting them here, in order that my readers may judge whether, if their lot had been cast as mine was, they could have resisted the influence of the associations it was capable of calling into active exercise, when the mind, in such circum- stances, is so prone to contrast the happy scenes and companions of youth, with what may be our present situation. The lines, which still ring in my ears, are the following: — ; / /£^ ^ _ " There is an isle — a bonny isle, — , '^''f\ »' Starts proudly from the sea; /^^" *}< ik -And dearer far than all the world ; _. Is that sweet isle to me. It is not that its meads are green ; ' '• It is not that its hills are fair ; But because it is my native Land, And my home, my homey is there,** 'm;m5' ■i tv..>f ^0 11 120 RECOLLECTIONS OF \h. I ' A. ■..'■ Yes, thought I, my home is there ; all that I ever loved on earth is there ; but do not exist — cannot now exist, for me. I hid my emotion from the others awhile, but at last was forced to cover my face with my hands, and weep in silence, during the singing of the last verse. The feelings of the soldiers were also raised, and, when the last note died away, they could not contain their expressions of approbation. » . t, ^. The person who had been appointed to give the sig- nal, had not, as yet, seen a proper opportunity; and another of ouv party, a Scotchman, entertained us with another song, the air of which, if I am rightly informed, did more harm to some of the Scotch regiments on the continent, than the bullets of their enemies. It was "Lochaber no more." His voice wanted the rich sweetness of the first singer, but he evinced a better and richer conception of the meaning and sentiments contained in the song ; the consequence was, that when he finished, each of the company wore a desponding aspect. Our signal-man — a man of strong nerve and mind — immediately burst forth with "Britons never shall be slaves." Being thus called to a sense of duty, — ^^the last word of this song being the signal for cap- turing the soldiers —we resumed our former mechanical attitude; and, so much were our minds bent upon the subject we had in view, that every line repeated ren- dered us more on the alert. Each heart, judging by my own, beat high with fond expectation ; and when the last line was beg\in, each eye was bent on the singer. At last we were in an attitude to spring upon A CONVICT. 121 our guards, the signal was given, and, in a body, we rushed upon them before they were aware of our in- tention. Few moments sufficed to take their fire-arms from them, and secure them firmly with ropes, * . «SrtA ,i «-^ ' ':. ; ■''' Is yyt' x^{ ■ I ♦ -. -. . :^ , . . f •.: i» , ,*a..'' r ;j. '...i: ; ■(.: .;),.: ■f^.\ CHAPTER XI. ■'}<•■ ^'if '£..• •THE PILOT SECURED. CAPTURE OF THE VESSEL. DISPOSAL OF THE CREW AND SOLDIERS. CROSSING THE BAR. OUR DEPARTURE. A DANGEROUS VOY- AGE. SHIPWRECK. PERILOUS POSITION. AN OPEN BOAT AT SEA. ARRIVAL IN SOUTH AMERICA. FROM WHENCE I SHIP AS A SEAMAN TO THE UNITED STATES. CONCLUDING REMARKS. vr:.!'.,, nl srtvf. ' The work of deliverance had now commenced; our hearts were elated at so easily overcoming the first barrier ; no time, therefore, was lost in following up this advantage. We therefore soon appeared on deck, where we silently and unsuspectingly made prisoners of the carpenter, mate, and the others. What we had most to fear was the resistance of the brutal pilot. He was below in the cabin, but, happily for us, the Serjeant in command of the soldiers, along with a corporal and private, were in a boat at some distance from the brig, engaged in fishing. They had taken two of the con- victs with them to manage the boat and bait their hooks. The pilot, Serjeant, and corporal, along with the mate, generally had possession of the cabin. — The mate was secured, the serjeant and corporal, as I have stated, were not on board, and the pilot occupied the cabin alone. He always went well armed, and there was some risk of blood being shed before we mastered him, yet there was no time for delay. It was at last determined I 124 BECOLLECTXONS OP 1 to proceed to the cabin in a body j if he resisted, one of us might fall, but there was a chance of succeeding without this result. We accordingly proceeded to the t;abi=n ; so noiselessly had our object so far been attained that, when we entered, the pilot had no suspicion of our design. In his usual unfeeling manner he therefore ordered U6 on deck, but we did not give him time to repeat his orders. We instantly rushed upon him, and he was made a prisoner without the slightest hurt to any one. ' ^.. - His guilty conscience made him believe thaV^his life was in danger. We told him we had taken the vessel, and were determined to escape with it to some other country. Fervently he begged for life, and prayed that we would not harm him. To his earnest entreaties we answered, that no harm was intended to any one on board ; our object was to free ourselves from the tyranny of himself, and the disgrace of being convicts. That he deserved to suffer punishment for his cruelty to us, we told him, but it was not our intention to return evil for evil. Hard as his heart was, when he under. €tood that we did not mean to harm him, he cried like a child, and confessed that he did not expect so much mercy existing in the bosoms of convicts who had been sent to Maequarie Harbour, as being incorrigible and lost to all sense of shame. ,, ... Being now in possession of the brig, our attention was next turned to the serjeant and corporal. It was arranged to get them on board, and secure them as we had done the others. Accordingly we fired a mus- ket as a signal, for the purpose of bringing them on A CONVICT. 125 board, which succeeded. As soon as they came out of the boat, we made prisoners of them, and explained our reasons for so doing. We then told the pilot that he was at liberty to take from his chest whatever articles he considered necessary. He was therefore unloosed, two of our party being placed over him with loaded muskets. After he had satisfied himself with what he wanted, a boat was brought alongside, and we ordered him to take his seat in it, and await our further com- mands. The mate was used in a similar manner, and took his seat alongside the pilot. The rest of our pri- soners were brought up one by one, and all ordered into the boat. Oars were then handed to theiP) while some of us, well armed, manned another boat, and everything being ready, the pilot and his companions were ordered to shove off, our own boat keeping a little in the wake, in order to guard against any attempt being made to recapture the vessel. In this way they reached the shore, where we told them they must remain for some time, and that our future orders respecting them would be given with the least possible delay. ' " ' ' "^' As soon as the other boat returned to the brig, a council was called as to our future proceedings. The day being pretty far advanced, it was thought prudent to lay-to all night, more especially as the breakers over the bar still seemed as fierce as ever, and that, when morning came, if the violence of the sea had not sub- sided, we should venture across at all hazards. We also came to the conclusion of dividing fairly the stock of provisions in the brig with the pilot and those who were wkh him, and also of allowing him whaiever 1 i I ''■'.'.'. -'^•r----' sz 1- .•r^w-' 126 RECOLLECTIONS OF ■;- ** ! '■ f Hi m U spirits were on board. This last arrangement met with some opposition, but our signal-man and myself saw the necessity of keeping nothing on board that might either tend to create wickedness, or probably lead to our cap- ture, or the total loss of the vessel and all on board. These results we pressed strongly on the minds of those opposed to it, when they ultimately yielded to our view of the case. These matters being accomplished, we made preparations for passing the night where we were, setting a strong and active watch on deck to prevent any possibility of surprise. , ; On the following morning another council was held. The passage over the bar was still as formidable as ever, yet, according to our previous resolution, we de- termined to brave all dangers. A boat was then put in order, into which the other party's share of the pro- visions were placed, along with the whole of the rum on board, which was taken ashore. We would not allow any of their number to come within a certain distance of us, but called the carpenter, and handed their portion to him. He expressed a heartfelt thank- fulness for this mark of our consideration and kindness, saying, it was more than any of his party had expected, considering the small quantity on board, and the nature and danger of our voyage in a leaky vessel. Our answer was, that we wished for nothing but our liberty, and if it so turned out that God had ordained us to perish, we were willing to submit to the decree, but we were determined to run the risk rather than be oppres- sed and treated as we had been. The step we had taken had not been hastily entered upon j we knew the W M i K T ■■1 JM* W— ^»-. A CONVICT. 127 eonseqaences of failing in our attempt, but we had used Ae ' annecessaty violence in carrying our object into execution. No 'blood had been sked^ nor did we con- sider tkat in making our escape aiN leaving them, as we were about to do, that we were guilty of any great crime, )fts it was likdy n vessel would soon call, by whick tkey could get a passage. He replied to these remarks, that we kad done injury to no one ; then with the tears ranmng down his cheeks, he prayed that God might protect «s on our perilous voyage. We thanked Slim lor Vis kind wishes, and then returned to the brig. When we got on board, immediate preparations were made for getting under weigh. After a great deal of labour tkis was accomplished. We could see from the deck that every motion we made was noticed with intense anxiety by those we had left on shore. They seemed to wonder if we really intended to cross the bar in the state the sea was then in ; but our resolution was firm, and although the waves were breaking over the bulwarks, there was not one on board who seemed to quail at the sight. Trusting to Providence and a good cause, we hoped to be helped out of all dangers and difficulties. With a firm reliance on His power to save us, we ventured to face the foaming surf as it came roaring and rolling on in its swelling power. Every hand, every eye was on the alert ; there was not a single man but considered that upon his individual exertion depended, under God, the safety of our lives. At length we got upon tho bar, when one of^ those heavy surfs, common to such places, struck the vessel across the bows with such force as made her tremble G 128 RECOLLECTIONS OF '■ i« from stem to stern, and, for a moment or two, the deck was completely covered with a sheet of water. We knew not how the vessel would stand the shock, whe- ther she would kee^f afloat or strike the har in her heavy lurch, and be shivered to pieces. Happily for us, when we recovered our consternation we had reached the outer side of the bar. Those on shore had seen the dangerous position we were placed in, and as soon as they were aware of our safety, they gave vent to a simultaneous shout, which re-echoed in our ears far above the loud dashing of the waves. We returned the cheer with hearty vigour, a knowledge of our safety lending strength and energy to our voices. ^ r^t ^ij, When struck by the surf, the vessel had received some little damage, but as it was on her standing out that our lives and liberties depended, every possible exertion was made to repair the injury. The breeze fortunately was in our favour, but there was not one on board who understood navigation. Although I had been principally engaged on board of vessels during my sojourn in Hobart Town, yet my voyages were along the coast, rendering such an acquisition unnecessary. We bad a person on board who, in his youth, had studied this branch of knowledge. To him, therefore, was the task given of steering the vessel, and in a short time we were wearing out of sight of that detested and accursed place where each and all of us had sulTered so much. Gallantly we went along for two days, when the weather began to thicken and lour. At the end of the second day the wind freshened up, and towards midnight had increased to a gale from the S. W. by S. ^^m A CONVICT. 129 The gale continued next day without any sign of abat^ ing. Four of our hands became sea-sick ; our vessel also increased her leak, and there were few on board who could steer. This rendered our situation one of the most fearful which can be imagined. The pumps had to be worked night and day, as we were afraid of the water getting the upper hand of us. The work was so divided ttiat those who could not assist at the heim were obliged to manage the pump, while the few who could steer had to take their turn at the helm. Each party had heavy tasks, but liberty was before us. My attendance at the helm became so bur- densome, that I began to suffer from inflammation in the side. Our stock of provisions, at first but slight, also began to show serious signs of decay. As far as we had gone, everything had been managed with the greatest care and economy, as we were perfectly aware that some weeks would elapse before we reached any port where we might venture to put in. The gale con- tinued for eight days and nights, the vessel became every day more unmanageable. Our spankeivboom was carried away, in consequence of one of the helmsmen's unskilfulness in allowing it to gibe. At length the gale began to abate, but its long continuance and severity had all but rendered the brig useless. We were determined, however, to keep by her as long as she would float, because the only other earthly thing we had to depend upon was a small five ton boat which we had brought along with us. In this fearful situation, five weeks passed without ever speaking or even seeing a single sail. Every day rendered our position worse. The ■ L» «!■ ;ii»^ 130 BRC0LLECTI0N8 Ot water was fast increasing in the hold, and all we had to sustain nature was a biscuit divided amongst three every morning. At this critical juncture, we were nearly despairing of ever reaching land, yet hope would come to our aid, whispering in soothing strains days of bright and glorious happiness. We hid experienced so many vicissitudes already, that the flattering thought of yet overcoming every obstacle, kept us in some de- gree of spirits. . " ' ' -" -f .«r-~ About the middle of the sixth week of our voyage, we were compelled to seek refuge in the boat, and leave the brig to the mercy of the ocean. Well for us was it that, we did so at the time, for, before we had got half a mile from her, dhe disappeared beneath the wide waters of the Pacific oceai - > ^ / . 'k1 i^-^-u ' Despair for a short time almost took possession of our whole crew. As long as the larger vessel stood out, our hopes were high ; now that she had sunk, and all dependence rested on a frail open boat, the cheering ray of coming liberty became suddenly overcast. Imagine for a moment the picture we presented. The compass was saved, and in front of the helmsman one of our party was placed with it between his knees, which ren- dered our course very uncertain. The others were seated as best they could, not a few nearly worn out by previous exertion, their heads drooping on their breasts, looking, as it were, upon vacancy; while those who were capable of assisting in managing che boat, per- formed their respective offices as if careless of their fate. At length, after being three days in this state, our downcast looks were changed to liveliness ; for our / - A CONVICT. 131 Qavigator, who alone seemed to be self-possessed, made us start with the joyful cry of "land a-head !" To paint the feelings which suddenly pervaded every being on board the boat, would be impossible: we were, in fact, raised from the darkness of death to the f^irring scenes of life. Every one seemed ready to do hii best — every hand appeared active ; and, after having been driven about for six weeks and three days, the happy cry of land made us use every endeavour to reach the shore. A heavier press of sail was put upon our tiny bark, in order to hasten its approach to " happy land." " Liberty's a glorious feast." What a reward for rU our toils. What visions of bliss tloated before our ima- ginations. We had endured much, but the feelings of that moment, although we had never reached the shore, repaid for every hardship we had endured. Neither did our ignorance of the coast we were now rapidly approaching, diminish the delight we experienced, r -^v ; You, reader, if ever you have strolled into the coun- tfy, by the bank of some rolling stream, may have witnessed the struggles of some unfortunate little ineie^t which has been forced by the strength of the wind upon the bosom of the river ; you have seen its attempts to extricate itself from its sad situation, till in imagination you have heard the helpless thing call for assistance. Your attention has been rivetted to th'e spot where the death struggle was going on ; and how your heart has become elated with joy when you saw it succeed in mounting a leaf which the force of the current threw in its way. How thankful-like the little object seemed as it striped the water ffom its tiny wings, and spread them o3 n ^ar*"-.^i ■^»i i — " /' ^;l^';. l^i ll! 132 RECOLLECTIONS OF out to bask and dry in the genial warmth of the sun, and when satisfied that its exhausted strength was recruited, you have seen it take its flight from the frail barge on which it stood, humming, as it passed over- head, a joyous song of thanksgiving for its happy deliverance ; you have continued your walk in a happier frame of mind, from the knowledge that even this small item of Grod's creation had escaped from death. The simile is simple, yet it truthfully describes our situation as our small vessel bounded towards the shore. ■''^■'r' ■ -rvf^i^ ■' ' '^'■'■r'r"rt'. ■i':-^ '^iifni^ th .h^a ' Our navigator being the only party who could guess at the country before us, we were not a little gratified when we learned that, in his opinion, we were on some part of the South American coast. This surmise turned out to be correct, for after sailing along shore till our patience was quite exhausted, we ran the boat aground near the town of Bajdivia, a seaport of Chili, to which place we proceeded, where we were treated with the utmost kindness, as shipwrecked seamen. At * this place I parted from my companions, as I was for- tunate in securing a berth in a vessel belonging to the United States, which country I have now adopted as A'- ■'■■^'. ■ j/i'Tf rt. ,-. my own. ' Thus ended a voyage attended with many dangers. Thus also ended my struggle for freedom. In every situation in which I was placed, the wish and determi- nation to act with humanity was ever predominant. If I felt a desire to escape from thraldom, the feeling was a natural one, and although, for my attempts to gain liberty, the laws of my country would have consigned A CONVICT. 133 me to an ignominious death, I feel assured that the reader who has followed me in my painful career, will not pass a severe judgment upon me, or conclude that I was guilty oi any act really deserving death. .;,;?{?-» it, i The crime for which I was banished from my father- land to sojourn amongst a race \9ho have ever been considered, as they often are, the dr^s of society, was not one (great though it may be considered by some), morally or religiously speaking, of a very deep dye. I had been corrupted, but in return I had corrupted no man's principles, neither had I attacked any man's life. At most it involved but a temporary and reparable in- jury, and had the criminal law been then what it is now, the probability is that a short confinement would have been the extent of my punishment j where, under the influence of reflection, and early religious impres- sions, my release would have been followed with sincere desires to atone for past folly. From the time I left my native country till I arrived in the United States, occasional glimpses of God's pre- serving care flitted across my mind, yet they were never nourished. Now, however, when all my sufferings seem past, there is scarcely a movement in my history in which 1 do not see clearly God's providence exem- plified, and whatever of life is still to run, it will be my endeavour to show that this truth is imprinted on my memory, so that at last I may die in the hope of a glo- rious immortality. My first transgression, I trust, is now forgotten. I have dearly paid the penalty of that act J at all events, if earthly judges do not hold me G 4? 134 SECOLLECTIONS OF A COKVICT. i> ^. ;? "5 !f< guiltless, I hope that He who rules and judges heaven and earth, will acquit me by his righteous judgment. -^*'^ * From mj short history the young may learn the fear- ful consequences of going astray from the paths of rec- titude, and should this sketch meet the eye of any one who may be hovering on the line which divides viitue from vice, oh ! pause ere yon advance another step—* think on the fearful end you are fast hastening to should you advance in your evil path — ^retrace your steps ere it be too late : you wiH every day after glory in the victory you have achieved. FareweUI * •^ h ^■z q'-ii^ii HO'J^n ' * ' I I -^imriinl vh,:i^:' ,^ v-i^;^ •;.:.• ... ••rv^^i n !<.. -.'■^;;[ T AVu" Oft] !!i..;i;r^< r.^ ...jj,:^ ,;:,.v^ -lo^H? ' ' ^m^JZ? '".jn-:.:-?-/ -:,' ■ .■ •• -;N;',-*-.> . -> ,^-,;--,:, ! ■^/•r!:7a^ ^i ,)-3U-!: I ,fior^-0':^Hif.'::i' ^n•. "^a •'('j:)':i"'iBf:'^i '■■tfoh 8 heaven nent. - . the f ear- 8 of rec- any one JS vhtue r step — should ps ere it ! vietory 'I r if- •#oI. f ,?■ < .-•^ < ^ iKf. ,1 ■V, '^ 1^ ?<-» MISCELLMEOTJS ''.-^S *r#-*, Wf' ■ ! « • ! I -"'.[ ' • .',' MY FIRST HAT. The following simple sketch appeared first in the Oreenock Advertiser ; it was subsequently inserted in the columns of a Montreal paper ; and ultimately appeared in a periodical pub- lished in Liverpool, accompaniea by the above wood-cut. Whenbveb I see a boy of five or six years old with a hat upon his head, it invariably brings to my remem- brance the unlucky fate of my first. There is something 80 happy in the young mind at being "just breeched," g6 . 138 MY FIRST HAT. !■-■* ■M S'l. that even maturer age does not altogether obliterate it. My grandfather, who, by-the-by, I had the misfortune to be caUed after, had been in the employment of a geatleman well known in Renfrewshire for about twenty years, and had occupied a small cottage, rent free, which, after his death, my grandmother was allowed to possess as long as she lived, all the rest of their family having 1* f> this world of wo^s, and being now, I hope, inhabitants of " a house not built with hands." I, of course, was a favourite with " granny," who took me under her charge, as she said " to keep up her speerits in her auld age." I remember the cottage and where situated, very well ; it had been, in my grandfather's time, a neai litlle place, but after his demise had fallen into de^ay * for instead of the level front, which once had been, there A^as, at the time I went to it, a pool of stagnant water, from which the passengers might be greeted- not, h^n'^ever, with the spicy gales of the eayt, but with a compound of " villainous smells" to which those which greeted Sir John Fal staff when tumbled into the buck-basket were as " airs from the sweet south" in comparison j while upon the green margin might be seen a dozen dirty-looking ducks, gobbling all that came before them, from the blind worm to a potato. With these things, however, we were satisfied, and no- body had anything to say against it. My grandmother was a regular bred Burgher, and likewise church-goer, and I, of course, accompanied her, with my corduuoya, a collar laid over my shoulders, a black ribbon tied round my neck, and bare footed — with her large Bible tied inside of a white shawl under my arm, and, to 1^ m MY FIRST HAT. 139 complete all, a leather cap with fur edgings, stuck upon my head. My head-piece, however, beginning to fail, «he purchased a hat for me, the cost of which, I believe, was two shillings and sixpence, and when it was brought home, I recollect with what pleasure I looked, and tried, and looked again, till I was unwillingly forced to bed. — Sleep I could not, for after tossing two or three hours till all was quiet within, 1 got up, lighted a candle, put my hat upon my head, and went out with the candle to look for day-light ! but all was dark and silent, nothing being visible but a sparkling star or two in the blue heaven above, and I 'eturned to bed again — from which I rose not, till the Sabbath sun (for it was Sunday) was far advanced on its daily course. Having at last got up, and the usual operations of washing and dressing being completed, we took the road for church. I kept majestically strutting at the side of ray grandmother, arrayed as before described, only, in place of my cap, I had now my rig-and-fur hat, which, had it been red instead of grey, could have been taken for nothing else than a flower-pot ; but such as it was, I would not have exchanged it for the best gilded-cocker that ever graced the head of an admiral. We had, being resident in the country, about three miles to travel, and many a time and oft had I complained of the in- roads the rough stones with which the road was laid made upon my bare soles, but this day my hat literally predominated, for not a murmur escaped me. Having proceeded about half way, I met with a few rebuffs from some of the " deevil's weans," as my grandmother termed them ; for on coming up with us, one of them G 7 140 MY FIRST HAT. £} eyed me for some time, but at last broke out by remark ing to some of the rest, that " he thocht I wad mak' a guid gen'ral, for I keepit my hat sittin' on ae lug; but jt was a pity to see me bare-footed." Then asking Pate " if he had a pair o' auld bachles i' the shop that he cou'd len' me to gang to the kirk wi' ;" adding, that " he was sure I was gaun there, and that it was the minister's Bible I was carryin' by the size o't ;" which remarks had the decided effect of flattening my spirits a little. - V However, we reached the church at last, and as 1 had observed the elder branches of the congregation placing their hats upon a window-sill — mine, I consi- dered, had as good a right to be there as any of them — - and there I laid it. But whether, during divine service, I had been noticed paying more attention to the window than the minister, and they thinking, perhaps, that it was stealing my mind from the blessed truths of the rev. preacher — in fact, that I was making unto myself a god — considered it to be their duty to rob me of my trea- sure, or from any other cause, is to me unknown ; but this T know, that my hat disappeared ; for after service was concluded, having to wait until my bundle was prepared for me, by the time I reached the window in search of my head-piece, there was only a few indi- viduals in the church altogether, and Macbeth himself could not have been more confounded on beholding the ghost of Banquo, than I was on discovering that " my good new hat" had made ita elopement, one being left in its place large enough to have covered my head and shoulders under the shade of its broad greasy brim, that ^^ III m>:- ml MY FIRST HAT. 141 remark mak' a ; but It ng Pate thai he ng, that tvas the which spirits a md as 1 regation I consi- them — . service, window that it the rev. If a god ly trea- n ; but service Ue was dow in ^ indi- himself ing the t "my ing left ad and n, that seemed to have been polished by twenty or thirty years' servitude. T stood mute for a few minutes, at length the tears began to dim my eyes ; and being no longer able to contain myself, such a yell burst from me, that made the whole building ring ; " And then, and there, was hurrying to and fro :" ■ ■->■, minister, elders, &c. &c., surrounded me before I knew where I was, and amongst the rest my grandmother, who, after looking at the large hat, which I uncon- sciously held in my hand, explained to them what she considered tp be the matter, nor was she far wrong in her conjectures. The reverend gentleman, after hearing my tale of woe, put a sixpence into my hand, bade me not cry, and said I would soon have another, which had a good effect: for even amidst the sobbings of my heart, and surrounded by the people, I could scheme what use the old hat would be to me, which I communicated to my grandmother, loud enough for them all to hear — " that the auld hat wad dae fine for haudin' the spar- rows that wur at hame ;" and between this consolation and the sixpence, i took the road, bare-headed, with granny's Bible under one arm, my large greasy hat under the other, my henrt lighter and calmer than could have been imagined, after such a storm. . •f , V G 8 I I \i ■t^..;_yt\; V m I i v.; :, \ 111 Hf'li i ?*-■■ Wl '' -J, ir THE BROKEN HEART. One day in ^e summer of 1834 T resolved on taking a stroll as far as the Cloch Light-house, a short distance below Greenock. It was a beautiful day ; the rays of the sun sparkled on every wave, as it rolled past, and reflected so strongly on the windows of the vir is on the opposite shore, as to give them the appearance of one broad sheet of fire. Gradually, however, a few black clouds gathered overhead, and this was shortly followed by a very heavy shower of ruin. I had then passed the Cloch Ferry-house, and I made all haste possible to reach the shelter of two large trees, whose broad, leafy branches hung nearly lialf way across the road, and there, underneath their rich foliage, I found temporary shelter from the rain. While I stood there, I could not help contemplating with admiration the surrounding scenery. Facing me, rose a high and rugged rock, upon whose summit the pretty, red heather-flower, wet with the falling rain, was profusely scattered, while round the steep sides of the rock, the black-berry bushes were entwined, as if they were clinging to it with a death grasp. To the right might be seen Toward Point, and the bleak but majestic hills of Cowal ; while upon thQ bosom of the Firth could be observed vessels, of various descriptions, driving the white foam before them, eager to reach their destined port. From the contemplation of these, however, 1 was suddenly aroused, by a young man accompanied by a female, both of whom seemed A'~^""\. THE BROKEIf HEART. 143 eager to reach the spot where I had sheltered myself. Upon their approach, I thought he had the appearance of a seaman, and on a closer inspection I found I was not mistaken, and that he was not unknown to me. After a few questions on either side, had been put and answered, and the rain shortly abating, we agreed to keep each other company home. We started for Greenock, and on the way home he acquainted me w^ith his intention of uniting his fortunes with those of the maiden that acompanied him. I had been intimate with William lonj^ before this time, else, perhaps, he would have kept his mind to himself on that important point. The young woman belonged to John- stone, and as he was about to sail, she had come down to Greenock to bid him farewell. She wa.5 a beautiful girl, and between them there existed that mutual love, which death alone could break. After we reached town, I invited them to my home, where they explained to me, more particularly, the iJourse which they intended to pursue. My friend had been promoted in his profes- sion, and he wished to make another voyage before espousing his intended bride ; but, alas ! how short- sighted is man ! — that voyage was never to be completed by him. He sailed the day following, and after his betrothed had taken a last mournful glance at the vessel which bore him away, she retraced her steps to her native place, with deep grief in her heart. Being naturally of a cheerful disposition, her counte- nance soon assumer? its wonted appearance, and when next I saw her, she was gay and light-hearted a.s ever. The day of the vessel's arrival at length drew near, but G 9 144 THE BROKEN HEARr. m\ ^m\ m she had only received one letter, which had' been written on his arrival out, and she became anxious and uneasy. She could not rest at home, '^and, even when she had come to Greenock, she was not satisfied. The vessel was at last reported to be in the channel, and hea/ily, indeed, did the hours pass urrtil she saw the goodly ship anchor before the quay. The sails were soon furled — the ship's boat lowered — and the seamen made for leaving the vessel, while unhappy Marion stood watching with intense anxiety their every move- ment. The boat at length reached the shore, but her William was not to be seen. One question put to the men, of " where was Ae," and one answer sealed her destiny. — " He was drowned two days before we left the country. He fell from the yard arm into the river, and was swept down by the current beyond the aid of man, and was never seen more." A shriek burst from poor Marion, and she was taken home insensible. Her friends tried every thing to festore her, but all in vain. The canker-worm had taken too deep root, and she too, was soon beyond the aid of man. One request was all she ever made, after being removed home, and that was, to see me once more. I complied with her wi^. -but ah ! what a change had been wrought upon her ! Her eye was dull and vacant ; her cheek, which once might have vied with the rose, was now white and death-like, and when she saw me, she asked but one simple ques- tion, "if I had received any additional intelligence?" I answered in the negative, and — she never spoke again. She (lied without a struggle — her heart was broken. j^^w-j^t;?;^ '■•■ r^ r been yits and 1 when The el, and aw the were seamen Marion move- )ut her t to the ed her we left e river, aid of st from . Her n vain. ;he too, was all at was, - -but Her I might th-like, J ques- 3?" I again, n. V rk'' WIGS, WHISKERS, AND OYSTERS. ' The author, on looking over some papers he had laid aside, found the following, reported by him, and has given it insertion here. SCENE IN THE LIVERPOOL POLICE COURT. The following curious case was heard before the pre- siding magistrate, which, although unfortunate in its results as far as the prisoner was concerned, created much mirth during the investigation. A comedian, rejoicing in the high sounding cognomen of William Samuel Fitzallan, and whose person was as eiftravagantly enveloped as the grave-digger in Hamlet, viz., in a body-coat, rough down-the-road, and an immensely capacious Macintosh, sufficiently large to contain a family, presented himself in the witness-box. His countenance strongly indicated a conscious superio- rity in the knowledge of men and manners, although occasionally characterised by a certain degree of simpli- city. He charged the prisoner, Thomas Leigh, with having stolen a travelling bag containing the whole ol his theatrical property, namely — three wigs, and sundry yairs of whiskers, mustachoes, imperials, &c. The evidence being of a dramatic character, we subjoin it. Magistrate — What is the nature of the complaint ? Fitzallan — (Drawing himself up, and endeavouring to assume a lofty and dignified air, being a feeble attempt to imitate Mr. Kean, as Othello before the senate) — Most noble sir ! by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnished tale unfold. On the evening of Ml .' ifiel 'iff ifm ..At. I'i! 146 WIGS, WniSKEllS, AND OYsTERS. Saturday, after the toils of day were o'er, I bent my care-worn body towards home. 'Twas midnight, • ''^ When half the world lay buried in deep sleep. Having been, from the force of circumstances, compelled, for a period short and brief, to act the part of a teeto- taller, no sooner were my chains knocked off, and released from this obstruction, than I experienced a burning thirst within. I paused and looked around, but all was darkness ; not one solitary light glimmered from any " public" in the vicinity. Presently I heard th(^ light tread of footsteps, and turning to ascertain from whence the sound proceeded, I espied yon false knave (pointing to the prisoner) in company with another. ■ » , Prisoner — False knave ! Come, I like that. Why, sir, the case is simply this. That fellow, sir Fitzallan (with emotion) — If thou shalt dare insinuate that : ■'■-■•''■ ■" •: .'r':-,,) . , •.' ..,,.,,..., _.^ ^^,;. ■ ■'■'' .... Aught ,; ,; •,. Unworthy may befall my honoured name, I give thee warning, that thy presence here Will not protect thy filthy carcass. — (Great laughter.) , ., Several officers — Silence ! ., Fitzallan — (With a tragic wave of the hand) — He- ralds ! spare your voices. — (Roars of laughter.) ^ Magistrate — Will you state, simply, what occurred 1 Fitzallan — Ay, that I will ; but ,, / i •r*' ■ Hear a little further, . ; , ^. , . j And then PP bring thee to the present business, Which now's upon us ; without the which • i: .. This story were most impertinent. — (Laughter.) I inquired of them if they could give me any information where I might get refreshed. They answered in the WIGS, WHISKERS, AND OYSTERS. 147 affirmative, and counselled me to follow, which I did. A little further on, we descried a dimly-burning light. I'hither we directed our steps, when soon We reached a place, which ever as we went * s Narrowed and deepened, and at last closed in. Like unto a cavern. ' Where nought was but oysters and a fair damsel. — (Laughter.) Prisoner — He took us to the place, I assure you, sir. Fitzallan — Bear witness, ye pale stars — 'tis false. But to proceed. They invited me to partake c some oysters ; and as T dearly love the natives, gladly did I seize their proffered kindness. Scarcely had we com- menced the repast, when, lo ! the prisoner demanded from me a shilling. To this I gave a flat refusal ; and betook me to another table, there to enjoy myself alone. Mine hostess was busily engaged in serving me, when That villain, whose face 1 do not love to look upon, rushed upon me, seized hold of my bag, containing my wigs, unmentionables, whiskers, &c., and darted from the place, like an arrow from a bow. Astonishment, for a moment, so overcame me, that I stirred not. Recovering myself, I gave pursuit J but. Being nimble of foot, he did outrun me. Having obtained the assistance of a guardian of the njght, ,^ The pursuit I led, Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe ; then led him off in triumph to a prison. — (Laughter.) The attorney for the prisoner — Now, do you mean to tell the court that you did not invite the prisoner to partake of a few oysters ? 14S WIGS, WHISKERS, AND OYSTERS. /: ■!* ";■,' ma I Fitzallan — By all my heart holds dear — by all my hopes of happiness hereafter, I do deny it. — (Laughter.) Attorney — (Contemptuously) — Pah, pah, nonsense. Come to the point. Fitzallan — From lother lip, or at another time, I had not brooked that haughty sneer. Nor would I now, but that I would not prosecute a baseless quarrel. ; Attorney — Had you not some conversation about having something to drink before you went to the cellar] Fitzallan — Already have I told thee that with such intent did 1 accost them. Attorney — Was it not because you refused to pay for the oysters that the prisoner took the bag, in order to force you to pay. Fitzallan^ — Perish the thought ! — My lord, you know me not. — Lend me your ears. ,,^^ Know that 1 have little wealth to lose ; ,. ^.. A man am I crossed with adversity. My riches are those poor habiliments — (Pointing to the bag) Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance of what I have. Attorney — (Impatiently) — Did any person ever hear such an ass ! Will you descend to common-place language ? Did you not refuse to pay ? Fitzallan — I conceive it better to let the hank unravel of itself, at your judicial winding. — (Laughter.) i^"> -• Attorney — Answer the question. Was it not be- cause you refused to pay for the oysters that the prisoner took the bag 1 Fitzallan — Fair sir, you wrong me. Little skilled am I in the art of dissembling ; therefore, say I, that such foul thought ne'er entered my poor brain. WIGS, WHISKERS, AND OYSTERS. 149 Attorney — You are a fool, sir ! (To the bench) — It is useless to ask this tellow any more questions. Fitzallan — (Warmly) — Ha ! what means this ? Wretch, hast thou ventured insult ? Hast thou dared (Uproarious laughter.) Attorney — I must give up the case. Fitzallan — Now, by a true man's soul, I leave thee not till thou hast heard me out (Laughter.) Attorney — Do you think the prisoner took your pro- perty with felonious intent 1 Fitzallan — Would that I could read the mind of man ; oh ! what happiness to know the thoughts of others ! But I will resume. That he hath ta'en away my pro- perties, is most true. As to his intent, I know not. Suffice it to say, he took that which was not his ; he deprived me of that which nought enriches him, but leaves me poor, indeed. Good sirs, the time for re- hearsal draws nigh ; so pr'ythee, let's be brief. — (Laughter.) — Mr. Fitzallan here made his exit from the witness-box. Two witnesses were then examined ; and after some remarks from the attorney as to the evidence of the hero of the sock and buskin, the case closed. The worthy magistrate ordered the prisoner to be committed for trial, and the prosecutor left the court, exclaiming — I have done the state some service. Si f "1 / v< tfn }'\ i f, ■ i m ■ Pr H li 'K-' ^'C' ? , '^Mfl ) -ii /'■V''»' i r * ».. *, a I '111 li:''H 'l^r- ^ ■\ 1 ; ■■ s ■ '■ M uc 1, '> I 4;; '^it?/ i-n/\ TO THE EDEN.-A FRAGMENT. V The Eden is a small stream which takes its rise in Fifeshire, and, aftev wending its way through Cupar, the county town, continues its course amidst many picturesque and Deautiful spots, till it falls into the sea, near the ancient city of St. Andrews. • . • ^i:.;. Are there no blest spots in the East,* ,? f^ Nought for an intellectual feast ? t?3,fW Can Blebo Crag or Dura Den f i l^n/'i Show no theme worthy of the pent > jj. *? Can Eden's banks no youth inspire, «i >,i V To tune the reed or touch the lyre ; i/, n'f And tell in strains of po'sy fair — .•■.;] v:iVli 'Tis Paradise if Eden's therel'- '^'-fAs , There's bank, and brae, and hill, and dell, Where high the poet's heart might swell ; To deck each spot, or field, or tree, With wreaths of laurell'd poesy ; Or sacred bowers, to true love known, By bending bush, or mossy stone, ,,,, ♦^.j.,,,) <, Where love for love, or heart for heart, :y^\ ^^^ Have balm'd the wound by cupid's dart j Where doating lovers downcast tell , The maids they love, they love, how well (...^^.|, • " East Neuk of Fife" is a proverbial term in Scotland, f Two romantic spots, where many of the Covenantori sought refuge during the j^ersecutiori. . -, I I' *■ ,'Wi'^IW ^1 • ii 154 THE PAUKIB LAIRD. fi\L •' |l;i : .^ jirt> And where, like echo to a name, The maid should aye repeat the same. This should be so when virtue sways "n .' . <:n . ,krif it t^v: ; All the swain*s actions — all he says; " 'f But where there's guile or fraud e'er seen. Shun it, how fair soe'er its mien. O let me ever wander near, . c ./ When wo or joy calls forth a tear ; ' And keep by Eden's streamlet gem, * ' From Cupar down to Dura Den : — Where still are seen the rugged caves To which our father^ fled, like slaves, i When tyranny, with iron rod, Sought to estrange them from their God. THE PAUKIE LAIRD. Do you see whare yon pi'oud stately ha' lifts its held An' the flower-speckled lawn yields a crop for the steed, « An' forest and mountain seem meeting in strife ? The laird was a wee ragged laddie in Fife. '" The laddie ran aft' frae his l^rose and his hame ; Bare were his wee feet, an' toom his wee wame j A frien'less wee wand'rer — his wants they were rife. The ragged wee laddie's that ran aft* frae Fife. The laddie was paukie, the laddie was sly j . .,,, „ , When questions were speer'd, the wee laddie look'd shy j 0" THE FAREWELL. 155 His wee tongue could fleech or could cut liko a knife. Could the ragged wee laddie's that ran afT lirae Fife. He gat him a ship, an' he hied ower the sea, . .rr Whare the water, an' win', an' the sky whiles agree — Gr can jar an' fa' oot, like the creatures o' life ; - ,. }_ At least thocht the wee ragged laddie frae Fife. ! a The laddie was eident, an' soon gat him on ; :, . An' often he thought on the moss and the stone, That rowin' gat nane : — so he settled him doun . , In a canny wee way, in a (^ueer foreig^n toun. In dealin', he hit on a sturdy wee plan, 'Twas keep what ye get, an' catch what ye oan : His climax was gained, for he gat a rich wife, Did the wee ragged laddie that ran aff frae Fife. ' Now see how he lolls in his sa'ft seated coach, Wi' his siller gilt cane and his gold mounted brooch Each youngster wha wishes to get on in life, Just think on the weo ragged laddie frae Fife. ■i i mH •. There was silence at parting, and wo in the heart, For feelings, warm feelings, o'erflowed : < As kindred and country receded from view. The last look was the keenest bestowed* T 1.^ ■->■' -3/1 fU Then blame not the tear, though it starts to the eye, *.' For the stream whence it issues is pure j ...r 1 i ^1 1 1 1 ■; ■: i9' 1 i A 156 WRITTEN AT BRA. It is shed in remsmbrance of dear fatherland, ■•i-, ;, I * That land of the mountain and moor. ; u/ ,.«/ The tight barque we blame not, as quickly she flies From the shores of our late happy home. And from frisndships begun in youth's happiest days ; Ah ! no ; 'tis our f^te ihat we roam. iflA7> I* Ji Ah ! Scotland, my country, wherever I be, ' • * My heart with fond wishes will bum: ' In weal or in wo, Scotland's welfare is mine, ' And m sigh for my early return. '"•'' ' ' ' Farewell, then, awhile, cease fond heart to beat : Thy dear image I'll often recall ; But this truth can never be absent from me, ' ' The last look was the keenest of all. • » ; ,. . I , ! '-"w ",'..■ < « '•/ . -i •'!■• ->|; '■■ /V ■■..■.. / : '■'.■• WRITTEN AT SEA, ON BOARD THE BARQUE ERROMANGA. Hail to thee, noble barque, hail, Erromanga. May spirits of air :vaft thee o'er the blue sea. As nobly thou bravest the storm and the tempest, And makes the white foam and the sparkling surge flee. JLike sea-bird thou seemest, with broad wings expanded, As canvas is loosened to catch the light breeze, Which bears thee, up-heaving, o'er swell and bright curl, To thy haven of rest, far fa/ o'er the seas, THE LAST LEAF ON THE TREE. 157 »nd, Vi.. ^i,.,!^ (A ■- ij she flies " >iest days j ■" '* J'» yl\ ■.v-i^ He, ' ' beat; ''II ■; . ; t_ J ■ ( : ■ 'r^ I L. St, irge flee, panded, ?ht curl, The porpus* thy subjects, and worthy thy empire. As swiil through the waters they bound by thy side, As if envious thy place on the breast of the ocean, Which heaves in proud triumph that thou art its bride. Long, long may the union in harmony bless thee. Thy bride be no shrew nor e'er make thy heart sore, When old age comes on thee (this one request grant me), Thy noble hi^" snugly laid up on the shore. ' THE LAST IMF ON THE TREE. ,j Deserted and withered, ; > |5 ,i: No dear one beside thee ; , J ^^ . Thou'rt ripe to be gather'd. Ah ! who then could chide thee, '!'U i Forsaken forever, ;r ; i \iu, n,,- , ; Thy mates return never. , The northern king round thee ' ,' His aeshes is twining ; And soon he'll surround thee With icicles shining. Though gem-like — thou'lt shiver- „ ,» ;. ; ,« Thy bloom returns never. E'en so with man is it ; Old age round him gathers j ^ ' ' '''^ He, silver-crowned, drops ' In the grave of his fadiers — The tomb is the token His sleep is unbroken. \ iy\>.) '%!S> .■-••> M inniV'i h I mr i\ ; Park future before him, MiP vu/ '^oq'' Man totters and stumbles ; ,uii i:? *> : u The proudest now going ■>.•.'. !< u.^i n,o ti i/. Beath conquers and humbles: ;f -nrlY^/ Then dearest ties sever, , 'For youth returns never. "^ .jic' '»i. 'V; ' tV>l?f WINTER. See where the proud St. Lawrence in \^i^ majesty has swept, . ' Where on his bosom silently the bark-built canoe crept, Where midst its deep commotion the rapid waters rolled, Unbound by man's invention yet, or by his arm controll'd. No ripple on its bosom now, no heaving billows roam, Fo^ northern spirits have come forth from out their fro- zen home, To show their power upon our shores, as they have done of old. With frozen locks and whitened robes, and fingers hard and cold. .! V On every lake and river^ and on every hill and plain- On tree and bush, on shrub and flower, are breathings of the train : Their influence is spread around, and felt by shivering forms, ^.,...u,:> .,:, , „^ .. ,. J. . * Who crouch beneath a scanty garb, and shrink from winter storms. i I-:.. A CURLiNO SOAG. i5d No flowers are in our gardefiB now— no rosy-buds peep forth, For summer swfeets ai^^ f)'ns*iil6rflr Kb the tyrant of the north ; They weep in sorrow for tHeir fate — their tears are not of mirth — ,• ,; 7.^^:. ?i/ : j .:( They fall in snowy flakes, and form a shroud for mother earth. . : .•;. m,s<' •.,' (• ■/'.■ ' " But look we to the river now, there's nothing there to tell That 'neath its icy covering is felt the ocean's swell ; Or that upon its bosom sat proud ships from fatherland, Think on it well : — ^for 'tis the work of an Almighty hand. The summer flowers are lovely — so autumn's golden grain, * And spring has bursting moments, yet each may harbour pain : Though white the locks of winter — with not a spot of green. Still winter is the time when most the power of God is seen. 1; •,"-»i ..'4 \ ■(\.^r . 1,. A CURLING SONG. , Our Northern King's gone forth. With his vassals in his train, ^ :' See where, with silver flowers, ' ' ' * He has strewed each hill and plain ; '^ Then call the curlers forth. T 4. ■.JSS^""^'' '? 'I . i» 1% ,:< « i 160 THE "SHOVfi." . Our liege lord, old John Frost, -..^^ ; t ^ v Kept his vigil while we slept, ,^^ ^ And over loch and stream His minions they have crept. Then call the curlers forth. On Tarvit's glassy pond, '^ ^ " -With its winter mantle white, ' * ^ - ^^-^ i A trusty band have met. With anxious hearts and light, A bonspiel to enjoy. Now clear the rink for pley, . .»! >(^ The keen, keen curlers cry, — i^^ = 1 %, The best shot now has gone. Good, within the ring she'll lie. The play has now begun. Guard there, now draw her off. Sweep her up, and ease her run : ..^ . Easy, easy — that's the tee ; • Hurrah, the game is won. Now for the beef and greens. THE "SHOVE.^^ From whence the mighty power ? — who wields the lever That forces onward to the boundless main The winter garments of our lakes and streams 1 See where yon giant heap endeavours vainly To strive 'gainst the unseen propelling power. While down its sides small glittering icebergs fall-^- ON A DYING BOT. 161 As if the ocean with large surfeiting ? '>^' ' -^ • ' h Disgorged the noillion treasures of her wombr •'■ Say, are the spirits of the red men's chiefe Gome from their happy hunting ground, their heav'iv. Striving with up-pent fury of long ages To drive the pale oppressors from their shores ; While from their bows the burning sunbijcms dart With whirlwind force upon the crested waters, Telling with might upon the frozen mass 1 See, see, in whitened pyramids \ 3\^eeps O'er rapids and quick streams, ^'s rc^'ring fierce It floats on to the bosom of the d^ep. There, drop by drop, slowly Xo x nder back To its wide mother sea, all ' ^ dear particles ^ Just as the dying Christian yields his soul In soft sweet breathings, to his Maker — God* A ,.,. ...,,. ., LINES.. :■■:■; ON SEEING A DYING BOY COMPARE TH£ PICTURE OF A SKELETON WITH HIS WASTED FRAME. The flaunting tulip and its hues of purple and of gold, That it when heaven's sun is high doth gaudily unfold ; Grown in the cultur'd garden, or at the mountain foot. Spring from disease engendered deep within the parent root. i . V ■ ■ ."^ .'v ' I ■■■ So like to thee, thou infant boy, tho' sickly pale thou art, A gem is in thy youthful frame, of man the better part ; Thy mind's fruit, too, is ripened by the trouble of thy ■ '-frame, ■ ' '• > ■ '■■■-^ ' ' • --• ■ -'» ' ' ■■■ "■ And with the aged and the young thy wisdom is the same. I*' ' ii £'i -'i ll I tea THE PAST HOPE. A word thou hasl for every one of comfort or advice, A very friend to virtue, but a greater foe to vice, Thou look'st hard at that picture of a skeleton to see > If in thy little fleshless limbs it aught resembles thee ! > Yes, infant boy, thy portrait's there, though mind and matter's gone, Thy frame fades fast, and ah ! too soon, thy mind will live alone : A father's love hangs o'er thee now, a mother's care is near. Yet all their prayers, and all their tears, were vain to keep thee here. ''}' How fondly do I turn to thee, in memory's sweetest page,' A very man in thought and word — in everything save age. • ■ ' ■'■'*•■.' ■ ' " i.-'-rrm ,. » Thy mind has fled — thy matter gone ; thy place is vacant now ; But still I pray, as oft I've done, for blessings on thy brow. ,' !■ ■ 1 *" ■ !< THE PAST.-HOPE. .•;'V Where now is forty-five ? Gone down the stream, Like all the hopes I strung in boyhood's dream. Oft in that sunny time I've laid me down. And saw, in fancy, guardian angels crown U- The lofty projects of my soaring mind, While all of evil was left far behind — Dream'd, that ere I'd reached to three times ten, I should be envied and admired of men ! '.l^lM^^^^i.VM Kl '' lllll : f . :u1 V.-.i '"WRITTEN AT SEA, ON THE SUBSIDING OF A STORM. . In the darkness of night ihe storm burst forth From its arctic caves in the icy north, And, heaving and tumbling, the rough waves rise, As if, in their pride, they'd touch the skies. „.,ias.. ,^^fl^^p*r^ fej: f: 164 WHITTEN AT fiZA. The dry wind whistled around the barque, i ;' For the demon of storm a noble mark ; ,,: And the boiling waves, with remorseless sweep, Bound forth in their power across the deep, : ,< iH As if they'd engulph the ship and her crew, And leave the sad tale to be told by few, ' ' The sea-gull, affrighted, ]?ies screaming ammd. And hearts grow faint at the plaintive sound. The mighty deep, seen in fury and foam. Made the heart-sick wand'rers sigh for home. See, see, a white-crested wave is on high ; The barque trembles fearfully ere it rolls by ; ♦; '^ It rises aloft in its giant strength, ♦ •* - • - ■ J As if it would scan the good ship's length, " ' Then hurls along in its fury and pride Till it meets the brave barque side by side ; Her frame, for a moment, shakes under the blow. The next rides triumphantly over her foe. Concentr'd the tempest appears to be, And wreaks all its wrath on that spot of sea, Where, with all sails furl'd, the ship lies to. To save both herself and living Crew. Now the mountains of waters, that threatened sore. Have left her as trim as she was before, And the gale has gone down, and sick hearts are well, And of dangers past now the emigrants tell, And the ship that was toss'd on a boiling sea Now rides in triumph — Hurrah! she is free. .:- ,1! I.'.tX.' THE AUTUMN WIND. 165 ^ VERSES WRITTEN ON SEEING A WILLOW NEAR THE ORAVE ','if i' OF A DEPARTED FRIEND. Yes ! weeping willow, hang thy head ; Mourn for the Triend and father dead ; — Should earth rejoice, still weep thou on, And, whispering, sigh — 'tis worth that's gone. And as the evening zephyrs seek To kiss the tear-drop from thy cheek, Tell them to bear where'er they go True friendship's loss — the widow's wo. Time was— but, ah ! that time has fled-^— When our young hearts in friendship wed, And all the earth to us seem'd gay, — For bask'd we in hope's flatt'ring ray. .. Peace to thy ashes ! sleep thou on ; Earth's life has ebb'd — thy spirit got": To fairer fields than e'er we trod ; Body to dust-— the soul to God. THE AUTUMN ¥lND. Chill autumn wind, has't no remorse or pity For the tall tenants of the forest wide ? Say, does thy ruling spirits deem it pretty To lay their leaves and branches side by side ? II 2 166 THE FALLEN LEAF. There, in that nook, upon the mountain's breast, With leafy canopy above my head, I've mused on God's great work — then gone in quest Of thoughts among the living and the dead. Before me in her curhng, sparkling smiles. The ever-moving river flowed along, While on her shining bosom, with her wiles. The tiny barks were borne, 'mid purling song. And there were tall masts that spoke to the eye Of far-off" lands and lost home of my youth, That from my quiv'ring heart would bring a sigh, When I remembered pledges formed in truth. Oh, ceasC; then, autumn wind, nor tyrant play ; Nor rob the heart-sick of their forest friends j If thou art strong, have mercy in thy day. For so God's dealing with the world tends. THE FALLEN LEAF. Whither now, thou tiny leaf. Wherefore in such haste? :;' Oh, I see ; the cruel wind Resting place wont let thee find, But makes thee sorrow taste. High a little while ago. Wedded to that bough : Now an outcast, toss'd about, Airy spirits laugh and shout To see thee treated so. .V ■ ) i . 'I v'.. THE WIDOW S DIRECTIONS. Forced along against thy will From thy mountain home ; Hard's thy fate — no rest to know ; Onward, onward still ye go, And with the wind must roam. There, at last, your journey's o'er : In foul ditch you lie ; And your " sear and yellow'' face Hint to mortals of a place All reach — for all die. 167 THE WIDOW'S DIKECTIONS TO HER EMANUENSIS, ON WRITING TO HER FRIENDS f.N SCOTLAND. Oh ! tell them, Davie, what's befa'n Sin' I saw Scotland last ; Tell them, that pleasure, noo, I've nane, 0' muckle grief that's past. Say, when we last walked by the Clyde, My Robin he was there ; An' no a lad amang them a' To me seem'd half sae fair. He's dead and gane ! — beneath the yird His manly form is laid ; A kind, kind man he was to me — A better ne'er was made. h3 168 THi! WIDOW S DIRECTIONS. Oh ! say that on my loving breast At nicht he laid his head ; And hoo, when I awoke, 1 found, My Robin he was dead ! I thocht him sleeping, and I tried A' ways to mak' him speak ; 1 clasped him in my feeble arms And kiss'd his cauld, cauld cheek. I started wildly frae his side, An' frae his new born wean, — 'Twas ten days auld when Robin's corpse Was in the Kirkyard lain. My bonnie bairns are fatherless, A lanely widow I ; Sad thochts disturb me through the day, A' night I sab and cry. Oh ! mind and tell them o't, Davie, For noo I'm far frae hame ; I'm guideless left in a strange land. For Robin's dead and gane. I fain would dee, but for their sakes I e'en maun ' .' a fen ; Anither man I ne'er can tak' — An' yet — / dinna ken. 169 AT HAME I'D LIKE TO DEE The winter's gane, and soon, Jean, We'll saunter through the fields, An' pu' the springing buds, Jean, The willing warm earth yields. The winter may be gane, Willie, And summer back again, But oh ! the fields in Canada Are no like them at hame. We dinna hear tlie mavis, That whistled in the spring, Nor yet the lilting lav'rock That gart the muirlands ring. An' weel ye ken the bo»».Je glens That lay around our col, Were decked wi' mountain daisies, But here we hae them not. Nae doot, the same wise Providence Surrounds us every where, But here there's muckle wickedness We'll look in vain for there. I cai.na wander forth, Willie, Though fair the fields may be, I'd rather turn my thochts on hame, An' wander 'cross Ihe sea. For there, ye ken, there's kindly hearts Wha think on you ?in' me, An' should God will it as 1 wish, At hame I'd like lo dee. u rf A ' I \i'. *i i! f| ' ii<|{ -?^^ "OLD mum WE'LL defei^d;' Music by W. R,^> b W-- rr 3izt^ :^^ The voice of War comes on the wind, We hear il8 whis-per [^ nigh, And should our coun - try ask our aid, Shall we re-fuse .' % ^ f^' M A 1^ ,_^ -• 0-^- 0- • ^ « . 1 ^ Ail I M r - ■ 1* J •-«i*- ^ ^ u . ■ ■ m ^ shall we re - fuse and fly ? Will Bri-tor/j bow to Jon-a-than, when ii- It 3! ■]izrniip-,Kiic :s pbtfi:^£:^ ^=b JoQ-a-vaun is wrong i* Oh no ! 9uch das-tard cow-ard - ice IE a=^3^ :^=EP go? ^1^ Tu England can't be - long, to England ean't be-long. Oh not Ipsn^ii »i)ch dast-ard low-ard-ict to fiog'-land can't be-long. « \^\ •^m ,. .... *i.- 171 SP il« whis-per 11 we re-fuse ? d - ICO Oh no! £ OLD ENGLAND WE'LL DEFEND. The voice of war comes on the wind, We hear ita whisper nigh, And should our country ask our aid, Shall we refuse and fly 1 Will Britons bow to Jonathan When Jonathan is wrong ? Oh, no ! such dastard cowardice . To Britons can belong. Old England has a mother been, And fostered us with care : In all our troubles — all our griefs — • . She's nobly borne her share. . As children, then, our duty is, In answer to her cry, To join the shout, " for England yet " We'll conquer or we'll die." "i ' The deeds of Scotia's sons have aye Been sounded forth by fame ; And Erin's trusty warriors Have gained a martial name ; And Gaul's descendants round us In apathy wont lie, But nobly join, and swell the shout, '< We'll for old England die !" United thus, we may defy The haughty boast of those Whom ardently wo wish ns friend-?, ' And fear not as our foes : }i5 *(ijt^::.\. ' '■'-i-'^RJSSJtV'T':' " I f i ^«il| 172 THE DECBIVEO. But the spirit of our fathers To tyranny wont bend j So, should war come, our watchword is " Old England we'll defend !" - THE DECEIVED. Oh, whisht ye, then, my lovely bairn, I'll hap ye frae the blast That's driving on your mother's face Frae oot the cauldrife wast. Oh, whisht ye, bonnie, bonnie lamb. Your mother's heart is sair To think liiat she should e'er hae faun Into the traitor's snare. ■ (. ■■: Oh, dinna cry, for ilka stoon Says, Mother, ye're to blame ; Oh, dinna cry, for ilka wail Tells o' your mother's shame. Oh, was't for this your father ask'd , That T should leave my hame, To rob me o' my peace o' mind. And blight a maiden's fame. Oh, did my puir auld father ken, Or could my brother see, They'd mak your father sadly rue What he has done to me. FAIR ANN. 173 Oh, whisht ye, then, my bonnie bairn. The drift comes frae the wast, I'll perish, but I'll screen ye Frae its cauld bitter blast. FAIR ANN. What but fair Ann's eyes Keeps me always sighing T What but Pm in love Keeps me always dying ? Fair Ann's eyes are dark. Fair Ann's lips are rosie. Teeth like pretty gems Braided wi' a posie. Fair Ann looks sae kind, Nane there's half sae charming, Love shoots frae her een, Oh, waes me, tak' warning. On me would she smile. Open path to heav'n, A' the ills o' life To ithers would be driv'n. Could my heart but tell A' the pangs that smart it, Kindly blinks frae Ann Frae care aye would part it. Her I darena blame. She ne'er had a fautie, Were 1 free to choose Ann would be my dauiie. If 6 I ■ I I ■*s > i ^£' ',i ' ] '^1 174 THE BUSY SEASONr SIGH NOT. ■'■ ' Sigh not thy youth away, love, All pleasure hath not flown : ' ' ' • Ere summer comes again, love, I will call thee my own. The flower which rude winds blast, love^ May fall from off* the stem, Yet warmth and simny showers, love. Supply another gem : . ' ■ * And thou art dear to me, love, I'm happiest when thou'rt near j The thoughts of coming spring, love, , f Will stay the coming tear. : -,;f Let sorrow's gloom no more, love, . ,. .; In thy blue eyes be shown. For ere the summer comes, love, I will call thee my own. THE BUSY SEASON. Dear I'im, I'm tired of Montreal, The why I soon will give my reason ; Meet whom I may, go where [ will — With all here, it is busy season^ Examples, I will note a few : Your compliments I gave old TeesoHj He grinn'd, and with a business bow Remark'd, that it was busy season. THE BUSY SEASON. 175 I went to friends, expecting tea, Their looks would almost make you freeze on- They said that now they nothing eat, Because, as how, 'twas busy season. I called on Holdemfast and Co., Expecting I'd have cash to seize on ; The batch of Hardfists said — Pray call When we get througl. our busy season. I met Bob Sweet, his beard unshaved, I said his chin seemed to have trees on ; Chin, chin, trees, trees— no, none on hand ! — i With him I saw 'twas busy season. I asked Miss Pink about her beaux, She simper'd no one tried to please on j And yet you know her charms can tell That with them it is busy season. Go to the clubs, a blank's the prize ; Seats erst that you were glad to squeeze on, May now be had for lying on ; — And all because 'tis busy season. % REFLECTION. Oh man ! it may be that to day Grim death thy head lays his d( crees on, And then, prepared or not prepared, You can't avoid Ms busy season. u7 f^ vm k 176 A NEW TEAR S GIFT, TO FOR A NEW YEAR 8 GIFT. Thanks to you, for your big Scotch Lun, An' for your bonnie cake. But for the greening o' the wife, I'd keep them for your sake. The wee green shamrock on their face, The rose sae fresh and fair, The sturdy thistle waving free, Seem'd nurtur'd in the air. But wives wha seem to love their lords, Maun often hae their will ; The bun and cake were broken up, To keep them baith frae ill. What could the guidraan say to see On ae wee cheek a rose — A jagged thistle in a han' A shamrock on the nose. Na, na, search a' your books o' lore, Nae reason e'er could be Sae strong as set aside this truth Wi' a' its mystery. Thanks for the gift — 'twas unco guid — I tasted it mysel' : Wha'll sen' me ane by next new year j I'm sure I canna' tell. SI. ANDREW'S DAY. Auld Scotland's sons are hardy, Auld Scotland's sons are brave, Auld Scotland's blooming heather Was ne'er trod on by slave. Yet though her sons are hardy, Their hearts are ever warm, Their courage in the cot or camp Protects the weak from harm. Auld Scotland's sons are loyal, Auld Scotland's sons are leal, Their queen they'd gladly die for, Next to their country's weal. They have no spot from north to south On which a foe could stand. For the proud earth in wrath would heave The tyrant from the land. No traitor to his country Their patron saint will brook j No traitor to his country On Andrew's cross will look. So while our saint we pledge in faith, May love our actions sway. And Scot wish Scot a happy time, Till next St. Andrew's day. November, 184f5. 177 ''ANOTHER OF THE SAME." Our early days were near the hills where heather bella are seen, And echoing rills from mountain pasi leap down on meadows green, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) /. //^ A^^ z ^. 1.0 I.I 11.25 lfi|2£ 125 U. Hi 14! i|2.0 1.8 U. 11.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 <^>' , T*' 11 ; : 4 And where the waving thistle growe: — stern in its na- tive soil, It makes the tyrant wish to crush, within itself recoil. But scenes have changed, and other lands have now become our home, And strangers in an unco soil, from Scotland's hills we roam, Yet God is our protector, as he was in days of yore. When Andrew's flaunting cross came forth unharmed from heathen shore As scions of so good a stem ; on this auspicious day We meet in honour of our saint, and to him homage pay^ Yet, while we boast as being sons of earth where An- drew trod. Let no vain glory lead us from the homage due to God. Nor may we in our festival forget our humbler friends. But freely share with them the gifts which bounteous Heaven sends. And cheer our country '^8 wanderers, with outstretched. open hand. Whose spirits grieve 'neath ripened woes far from theilr native land. Our country's honour may we guard, nor sully her high fame. Be zealous for the weal of ail who bear the Scottish name ; And weave, with kind remembrances, a laurel for our dead. Who died as Scotchmen ought to do, in battle or in bed^ JL SOCIAL SONG. 179 Hurrah ! then, for the Thistle — for St Andrew and hit cross, For Highlandmen and Lowlandmen, — from Berwick round to Ross, Uplift your voices — sho5U again ! — as 'twere a Scottish fray, Peace, health, and plenty to all friends — till next St. Andrew's day. November 28, 1846. A '' SOCIAL'' SONG. Drink friends — the glass pass round, There's wo within the bowl ; What though the devil in the end Will claim the drunkard's soul. There's grief in wine — When sparkling fine j A toast I'll give to-day — " Our wives — old hags Our children's rags ?" So drink boys while we may. Drink friends — let no dull tho\ight Of care or grizzly sorrow, Whisper to any *' jolly dog," *' Your head will ache to-morrow." No, no such thing, Let sense take wing ; h9 Kt- 'V' ;, ! •^ »'• I i :;J 180 THE DRUNKEN MOTHER* While here we don't require it ; Twixt you and me, Fools we would be, Should ever we admire it. Brink friends — our wives may weep, We'll curse th'^m sho"ld they grumble j What though our children cry for bread — We drink to keep them humble. Come, come then boys^ We'll taste the joys, Which bring their vot'ries sorrow. What though our glee Cause misery, We'll think of that to-morrow i THE DRUNKEN MOTHER. Stay, lady ; step aside with me Into this humble place. Start not ! That form wus fair as thine, And beauty in that fare. — 'Tis bloated now. You ask me, why ? The tale is one of sin She fell beneath that world's curse — Man-ruin-spreading gin. Whose sickly little babe is that ? 'Tis hers — yet there she lies ; The fondling-mother-feelingfl deaf To that sick infant's cries. ■^' THK DACGHTER's APPEAL. 'Tia but the shadow of a child ; Yet let the parent wake, Like aspen leaf, in summer breeze, That helpless thing will shake. The husband — where is he 1 you ask ; He toils from morn till night — Too often, when his work is o'er. He looks on that sad sight ; And lifts his baby in his arms To hush its feeble moan, And prays that God may guide its steps. For mother, it has none. Oh, lady, weep not — rather pray That this poor erring one May find a refuge yet from sin In God's own holy Son. Pray that the father, mother, child, Be found 'mid heaven's host ; And that their happy greeting be, " All here — no wand'rer lost." 181 THE DAUGHTER'S APPEAL. O mother, throw that cup away, It is an evil thing ; There's venom in the subtle draught, Each drop contains a sting. It flattercth— then deceiveth j And holdeth up to scorn 182 WHY AM I BAB SAD. 1 1 I II ^1 ,. J. The victims of its deadly course — The wretched and forlorn. O mother, throw that cup away, Or soon that little child That looketh now so pleasantly, So laughingly and mild ; May come to be, what God forbid So sweet a thing should be, The orphan of a drunkard And a child of misery. O mother, dearest mother. These are not words of wrath ; My wish is but to show you how To shun the drunkard's path ; 'Tis but the lesson I give back You taught me in my youth, Ere that foul cup had wil'd you from The path of God and truth. O mother, dear, dear mother. The day is drawing nigh. When little babe, and you, and I, In father's grave will lie : And oh : think on the agony, The anguish, fear and gloom. With which the drunkard's soul is filled To hear the drunkard's doom. .f"»y'ti^x^v*>i^*j'»i* v^N« 0, "WHY AM I SAE SAD ? O, why am I sae sad, Why is my heart sae sair ? ,1'i FEEL FOR THE POOB. Say, if you'd mak' me glad, I'll see my country mair ; For there the fondest ties, A mother e'er can feel, Under the turf there lies In the land o' the leal. O, dinna vex me sae. This country's fair nae doubt ; Thochts o' my bairns brings wae,- I've nane to rin aboot. Wha hae our love to keep ; Wi' them the heart will be, For a blink o' whare they sleep, 0, I would cross the sea. The trackless road is lang, An' storms may sleep aboon, The mermaid's sweet cave-sang May wile the ship to doom : A' dangers I would dare, An' cross the ocean wide, To snod my bairnies' lair. An' lay me by their side. 183 FEEL FOR THE POOR. Feel for the poor, they are brothers and sisters : Their hearts can be warm, though their spare limbs be cold ; A thin garb may cover a mind that is noble, And hunger can tame the rich, powerful, and bold. ■l-3=rf-r' IV ' H.; 184> HYMN FOB MISSIONS. Feel for the poor, they are sad and lone-hearted, And sorrow sits brooding within their damp walls ; No wood for the hearth — not a crumb in the cupboard ^ While children's bread-cry on the tortur'd heart falls. Feel for the poor ; they are broken in spirit, For want and its minions have crossed their life path, And the ice-winds of winter havr marked their lone dwellings. To spend on their windowless hovels their wrath. Feel for the poor, ye in couches reclining, Remember the snows ^i^hich in winter come down — Nor turn your warm bodies away at the wailing Of those who will mingle their dust with your own. Feel for the poor j they are scantily covered : Give something, give freely what ye can afford ; Remember what Christ on his earth-mission taught us. Who gives io the poor, only lends to the Lord. HYMN FOR MISSIONS. God of heaven, we will praise thee, That to us a Saviour's known ; That for us he died and suffered ; That we cla'.m him as our own. God, thy love to us exceedeth Far above what we can think : From thy Word we learn salvation, And from living waters drink. INVITATION TO 8AB?)ATH SCHOOL. CouniIe?s thousands of the heachen, Bowing still to stock and stone ; Giving thus to man's invention Honour due to God alone. Many cry " Come o'er and he\^ us — Come and teach us all you know ; Let us hear of Christ and heaven, How to shun the place of wo." Can we, then, who know the blessing Cf our Lord's redeeming grace, See them perish midst their idols. While they cry to see His face? Of what sins we may be guilty, 'Gainst us let not this one stand — That when asked for heav'nly manna, We refused a famish'd land. Lord, let not our missions' labours Rest, till every land rejoice, With the joyful songs of Zion, From a universal voice. 165 INVITATION TO THE SABBATH SCHOOL. Come now, Robert, come away, This is not a day for play ; It is Sabbath, and, you know, All good boys to school should go. 186 ODD FELLOWSHIP. The Lord, who died for you and me, When bad men nailed him to the tree, Bid8 us leave off every sin And wickedness, and flee to him. You'll be told what God has done, In sending forth his only Son To bear our sins, that we might be Happy throughout eternity. While on earth the Saviour gaid, When children in his arms were laid, " Suffer them to come" — what love ! — " For of such is heaven" above. You know that we all must die — Repent, and God will hear your cry ; And when death and judgment's past, A happy home is yours at last. Come, then, Robert, come away, In evil paths, oh, do not stay ; Christ is asking you to go ; — Will you, will you, answer No. 1 ODD FELLOWSHIP.-A DREAM. CANTO FIRST. Tired mankind,- weary with the toils of day. Fell off in slumbers to the night wind's play j The poet on his pallet, hard and bare, Oppresa'd with visions of deep wo and care, ODD t^ElLOWSHlP. I8t Besought hia natal genius for relief From worldly sorrow and from heartfelt griefs At once the objects of his trouble fledj And sweetest minstrels hover'd in their stead ; Their strains of music in his vision rung, And he, enraptured, listened while they sung : — " Who has not seen the fast increasing power— The Order's progress since its dawning hour ? Or viewed without emotion, mixed with pride. The Bark Odd Fellow skim along the tide ; Mann'd with the bravest of the country's youth, Bound by the ties of Friendship, Love, and Truth ? Prosper the gallant Ship ! full many pray. As from the kindly shore she bears away. Dashing aside in her majestic sweep The worse than dangers of the mighty deep, — The worldling's subtlety — deceit's foul shoal : — Her mission. Charity^ — Justice, her goal. Freighted with such, who would not say, God speed The noble craft ! but let her crew take heed Of shoals and breakers, — false and crafty men, — . Whose deep-laid schemes go far beyond the ken Of those whose actions for the Order's good Are wise and virtuous — who have withstood The flattery of knaves, or fear of those f Who'd heap upon their victims greater woes ; ,^ ,, So that their own base views were gratified, They'd blacken virtue, whether known or tried. , ', . " But to return ; — the noble Ship has gone, And in their god-like course the crew hold on ; \ T M ■ I .11 188 ODD FELLOWSHIP. They haste to spread those principles abroad, By good men cherished as a gift Irora God. • i They reach the land, — 'tis evening's twilight hour, — A peaceful stillness reigns in every bower, The sun throws back his golden rays of red, Ere 'neath the western wave his light is hid. There's scarce a breeze to shake the tiny leaf, Or cool the burning head and give relief. This feathery songsters — loath to leave their play- Repeat the echoes of their notes of day. From glittering ocean, or the river's rush, Scarce floats a sound — nor e'en from brake or bush ; — The God of Nature walks in soothing power, In the love-speaking time — sweet twilight hour. Villas, and cots, and spires, confront the eye, But labour ceased tells night is drawing nigh. Night's magic influence presses every head. All seem unconscious as the silent dead, Save those who sorrow and defy the spell Of balmy sleep j — their suffering who can tell. For there are few who seek lo soothe their woes ; Yes, few indeed, of friends or gen'rous foes. They mix unnotic'd 'midst the general mass. While thousands of the sons of Mammon pass And repass, nor pitying look bestow. But onward in their hardened course they go. The widows' and the orphans' cause, /or them. Is pled by nobler and more virtuous men. Who know and feel the harrow'd thoughts that lie Hid in the anguish of the widow's sigh. The tinsell'd proudling's heart is dry and cold, :(!H lll^- ODD FELLOWSHIP. 189 All Christian feeling hushed in love of gold ; He sees the orphan — hears her aching tale — Her silent eloquence — oh ! can it fail To hurst the iron confines of ihe soul ? No : one small spark emerges from control, ' The op'lent's mite at the poor form is hurl'd, And then the act is published to the world j But see, the Odd Fellows, their mites give too, — Their right hands know not what their left hands do. *' Where is the vessel now, and little band 1 See, they have left, and taken to the land ; They seek for worth, benev'lence, honour, love, All cardinal virtues given from above ; While in one glorious whole the gems are thrown, Reflecting splendor wheresoe'er they're shown. Night's beauteous orb, half-blushing, hid her face, To their refulgent standard giving place ; On high they raise it — straight the slumb'ring land Is roused from torpor by their magic wand j Crowd upon crowd Come hast'ning forth to view, And, as if spell-bound, cluster round the few; Wond'ring what mighty power to them is giv'n. That they should thus usurp the stamp of heav'n. Their banners then the trusty band unfurled, And told their mission to the wond'ring world ; * Thrice welcome !' was the cry of all around, < That which we long have sighed for, now is found ; Come, live with us, and distant be the day, When from our kindly shores you seek to stray ; Hope's flatt'ring meteor long foretold this hour, 190 ODD FEtLOWsHl!'. L«f». m. 1 ■ i;,* - i ' 1 . » - t '*!' i - I ^i 1 De.ipair's dark clouds no more shall o'er us low'r.' " To them the harbinger of love was brought, Dispensing peace amid their chequer'd lot ; A temple planted in their fertile plain, Made thousands follow quickly in the train. CANTO SECOND. The scene is changed — two summer suns have gone, And wintry winds with fearful howl and moan, Rule in their might and majesty. The plain Receives quiescent the light flickering train ; ' The oak's strong branches shake beneath the blast, While to the earth the wither'd leaves are cast ; ' The frighten'd cattle seek the shelt' ring shed, '■'■^ And from its fury bird and beast have fled ; ' On high, on every side, dark masses hang, Threat'ning, like poison'd viper's deadly fang, ■ " To bla^t beneath its power each vestige fair ' ' That tells the eye man's careful hand was there. '' ** No cheerful streak of light or sunny ray " ' Broke through the gloom of that portentous day; '' •' Snow, hail, ard rain, seemed freighted with a scourge, Fiercely impeli'd, like tempest ocean's surge. '" From every face a gleam of terror shoots, ''• ^ And bad men shrink aghast— unwelcome fruits Of all their evil deeds. The very child Clings to its mother, and in accents mild Soft whisp'ring says, " I pity those who stray Abroad in such a fearful stormy day." Gust after gust in quick succession fly ; Sad still the view, though night is drawing nigh. '/.' ODD FELLOWSHIP. 191 w'r.» " gone, last, •■ ■ .)/ .' ',< >n scourge, .-. ! r* v.n ' i.^«,/' • -'f .! ■<.... • 'iilV: . -» Night closes in ; the storm roars wild without; And cold and cheerles very spot about ; Nor moon, nor star, can in the heav'n be seen, The King of Storm has robbed Night of her Queen. Wild as the night was, still there were a few Bound by Love's ties, and to each other true. United firm, in sickness and distress To soothe a brother's sorrow, and to bless ; To whisper consolation in his ear. Or from the cheek to wipe the falling tear ; Gently to chide his failings or his faults, Yet shield him trom the world's fierce assaults ; Poirtt out the path to Virtue's humble cell. Where he in love and happiness may dwell. Such were the (ew — imbued with fervent zeal Alike for love and for the Order's weal ; And while the thunder loudly roared above, It knit them closer in the bond of love ; Swiftly and pleasantly the moments passed. The storm still raged, as if 'twould " blow its last.'* But see, one entrance gains — a stranger too,— No stranger, but a brother of the blue ,• Clare on his forehead — of all peace bereft — No pleasure his, since e'er his home he left ; Through storm and thunder's roll he hurried on, To seek for refuge — yet to find a home ; — For in the temples of Odd Fellowship Ti cheer such brethren all is rivalship. Friendless upon the world he had been thrown, No one to cheer, no act of pity shown ; Lonely and cheerless, long had been his path, On him the demon storm had poured its wrath ; 192 ODD F£LL0W8Hf?. Soon had he sunk beneath the fiendish force Of boist'rous elements in their rude course. They saw him cold, and faint, and hungry too — No brother stopped to ask what he should do ; But each seemed eager by some kindly act, To veil his agony, by calling back His mind from brooding over all his ills, Where nestled that vile care- worm which oft kills. His tale was sorrowful — 'twas shortly told, — Misfortunes, losses, — all he did unfold ; How he had left his wife and little child- Distracting thought — it almost drove him wild. Pleak were his prospects ; bleaker far the night, The lightning glanced — he started with affright : Worn out and weary, still he trudged along. And as he neared their temple grew more strong ; Like to the men of old, he saw afar, And followed in its wake, his guiding star; In want he came, his wants were all supplied ; In plenty went, and storm and flood defied j Lodges, like gems, reflect their light on earth. Fraud's greatest enemy — the friend of worth. Thus, then, our Order, in the hour of want. Is Charity and Hope's sweet-sealing plant. O Hope ! O Charity ! ye Heaven-born pair ! Soothers of sorrow — beauteous and fair ; Man, but for your kind offices, would be The veriest wretches on life's troubled sea ; Does fortune frown ? in thee we find a prop. Thou blest and blessing, ever-living Hope ; Faith, thy kir^ sister, spreads her spell around, OUR PILLARS, 193 Her sweet'ning influence in all abound. Another yet, the greatest of the three, Thou wo-dispeller God-like Charity. O may I thus invoke your sacred name. While humbly now I sing the Order's fame ! Let harmony be ours without alloy, And may no factious jarrings peace destroy ; For while our meetings please each other here. They may relieve the orphan of a tear ; The widow, too, in silence as she mourns. Will bless our actions, while her fond heart bums In silent gratitude. Yes, the pure tears Of widows, helpless ; orphans, young in years. Have all been numbered and preserved by Hope ; Nor from that crystal fount shall one small drop Ere pass away, till in one jewel bright She chase from misery its blackest night. For this may we unite — be this our aim ! Nothing we've then to lose, but all to gain. Drink from the well of prudence, and for food Eschew all evil, feast on all that's good. OUR PILLARS. Where is love by love entwined, Where is heart with heart combined, Where is sorrow's suffering cries, Soothed by sympathizing sighs ] Where do those who heart-sore mourn > O'er the sad symbolic urn, m 194 ON THE DEATH OF A BROTHER ODD FELLOW. For he, who, while banded brother, * • - ; Taught us to love one another? - . ; •... • /. i I: Where from all those springs of grief. Can the joyless seek relief? Seek it where enthroned are three- Faith, and Hope, and Charity. , Faith, to point the mind above ; Hope, to reach where all is love ; Charity, where sister brother, Fondly clings to one another. In our temples these are seen, Crowned with laurels evergreen ; Thus, on earth, while plenty's giv'n, Let us make our peace with Heav'n. •,('i» !!i r ' Tt •• i , • . >i ON THE DEATH OF A BROTHER ODD FELLOW. 'Oold is the hand oft outstretched to relieve. Cold now the heart that flowed with noble feeling ; The breath has left its tenement of clay — The tears from brothers' eyes disdain concealing. His virtues, may they live ! — his faults, pass o'er ; — Perfection ne'er was mortal's to enjoy; ' Then, twine with me one laurel round his brow — The diadem be honesty — without alloy. .ia. '.,.M\^ -i-./ A WELCOME. 195 His Lodge— the " Peace" — he now has bid adieu, To stand before our Grand Master in heaven ; There may he rest in happiness for aye, — " In th' Lodge of Peace above — his sins forgiven ! A WELCOME TO LORD ELGIN, THE GOVERNOR GENERAL. One sun has set ;* his radiant gleams have tinged the west and east. Nor 'mid the many mourners left is Canada the least : Another rises in his wake — we hail his dawn with joy ; His march is onward, peace to give and faction to destroy. Up, men of Canada, arise ! the lord of Broomhall comes, A scion of the noble Bruce, the boast of Scotia's sons, Who fought for freedom, not for fame, a tyrant yoke to spurn, ' And taught his foe what freedom dared, on noted Bannockburn. Thanks be to God, those days of strife are now all Imt forgot. Though freemen often turn with pride to that heath covered spot ; 'Tis heard but in tradition now, or cottage fireside books,' For spears and lances then arrayed, are turned to pruning-hooks. • Metcalfe. 196 A WELCOME. Though Bruce may call up Bannockburn, with many a noble deed, .. H*^. *. . ? . T The marbles of his sire bespeak of praise as high a mead ; For science wields her mighty sway, and art hat* con- quered men, And other feelings now possess men's hearts — though brave as them. But why go back to Bannockburn ? is Elgin not the theme 1 A noble man, will noble be, whate'er his father's name : The actions, whether good or bad, tell what the Leart will do. If noble, they enwreath themselves 'mid feelings deep and true. , If Go ask the ebon-coloured son of Afric's golden shore^ When down his iron chains were dashed — thick coated with his gore. Who reared for him and his the school ; and made him love the soil. Where long in galling yoke he groaned, with overbur- den'd toil 1 % He comes to us admir'd, belovM, by men o{ every shade, His laurels, be they ever green ; his virtues never fade ; So every man may bless the day the lord of Broomhall came. And Bruce and Elgin long be known for Canada and fame. fith many a igh a mead ; irt hap cou- rts — though gin not the ler's name : at the Leart eelings deep- den shore^ thick coated id made him th overbur- Bvery shade, never fade ; f Broomhall A WELCOME. 197 Responsibility, witli some, is first, and last, and all, " Come, pin your faith to my coat sleeve, or else the state will fall ;" Our governor, we freely say, must be at no man's nod, His acts must tell for this belief— Responsible to God. Canada and ■■li I i I J. G. BECKBT, PRINTEH, SAtKT PAUL STREET, MONTREAL. fc