THE Writer's parentage and education - Attempts the Stage, and fails - Joins a recruiting party, and sails for the Isle of Wight - Adventure there.
From motives of delicacy, which the narrative will explain, I choose to conceal my name, the knowledge of which can be of little importance to the reader. I pledge myself to write nothing but what came under my own observation, and what I was personally engaged in.
I was born of poor but respectable parents, in Edinburgh, who bestowed upon me an education superior to my rank in life. It was their ambition to educate me for one of the learned professions; my mother wishing me to be a clergyman, my father, to be a writer. They kept from themselves many comforts, that I might appear genteel, and attend the best schools: my brothers and sister did not appear to belong to the same family. My parents had three children, two boys and a girl, besides myself. On me alone was lavished all their care. My brothers, John and William, could read and write, and, at the age of twelve years, were bound apprentices to trades. My sister Jane was made, at home, a servant of all-work, to assist my mother. I alone was a gentleman in a house of poverty.
My father had, for some time, been in a bad state of health, and unable to follow his usual employment. I was unable to earn any thing for our support. In fact, I was a burden upon the family. The only certain income we had was the board of my two brothers, and a weekly allowance from a benefit society, of which my father was a member. The whole sum was five shillings for my brothers, and six from the society, which were soon to be reduced to three, as the time of full sick-money was almost expired.
I do confess (as I intend to conceal nothing) this distressed state of affairs softened not my heart. I became sullen and discontented at the abridgment of my usual comforts; and, unnatural wretch that I was! I vented that spleen upon my already too distressed parents. My former studies were no longer followed, for want of means to appear as I was wont. That innate principle of exertion, that can make a man struggle with, and support him in the greatest difficulties, had been stifled in me by indulgence and indolence. I forsook my former school-fellows, and got acquainted with others, alas! not for the better.
I was now sixteen years of age, tall and well made, of a genteel appearance and address. Amongst my new acquaintances, were a few who had formed themselves into a spouting club, where plays were acted to small parties of friends, who were liberal in their encomiums. I was quite bewildered with their praise, and thought of nothing but becoming another Roscius, making a fortune, and acquiring a deathless name. I forsook my classical authors for Shakespeare, and the study of the stage. Thus, notwithstanding the many tears of my mother, and entreaties of my father, I hurried to ruin. I was seldom at home, as my parents constantly remonstrated with me on the folly of my proceedings. This I could not endure: I had been encouraged and assisted by them in all my former whims. All my undertakings were looked upon by them as the doings of a superior genius. To be crossed now, I thought the most unjust and cruel treatment.
I had, through the interference of my new acquaintances, got introduced to the Manager of the Theatre at Edinburgh, who was pleased with my manner and appearance. The day was fixed on which I was to make my trial. I had now attained the summit of my first ambition. I had not the most distant doubt of my success. Universal applause, crowded houses, and wealth, all danced before my imagination. Intoxicated with joy, I went home to my parents. Never shall the agony of their looks be effaced from my memory. My mother's grief was loud and heart-rending, but my father's harrowed up my very soul. It was the look of despair - the expression of his blasted prospects - prospects he had so long looked forward to with hope and joy - hopes, that had supported him in all his toil and privations, crushed in the dust. It was too much; his eyes at length filled with tears, and, raising them to heaven, he only said, or rather groaned, "God, thy ways are just and wise; thou hast seen it necessary to punish my foolish partiality and pride: but, O God! forgive the instrument of my punishment." Must I confess, I turned upon my heel, and said, with the most cool indifference, (so much had the indulgence of my former life blunted my feelings towards my parents), "When I am courted and praised by all, and have made you independent, you will think otherwise of my choice." "Never, never," he replied; "you bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." - "Thomas, Thomas, you will have our deaths to answer for," was all my mother could say; tears and sobs choked her utterance.
I was immovable in my resolves. The bills were printed, and I had given my word. This was the last time I ever saw them both. The scene has embittered all my former days, and still haunts me in all my hours of thought. Often, like an avenging spirit, it starts up in my most tranquil hours, and deprives me of my peace. Often, in the dead of night, when on duty, a solitary sentinel, has it wrung from my breast a groan of remorse.
Scarce had I left the house, when a sensation of horror at what I had done pierced my heart. I thought the echo of my steps sounded, "You will have our deaths to answer for!" I started, and turned back to throw myself at the feet of my parents, and implore their forgiveness. Already I was at the door, when I met one of my new acquaintances, who inquired what detained me? I said, "I must not go; my parents are against my going, and I am resolved to obey them." He laughed at my weakness, as he called it. I stood unmoved. Then, with an affected scorn, he said I was afraid, conscious I was unable to perform what I had taken upon me. Fired by his taunts, my good resolves vanished and I once more left my parents' door, resolved to follow the bent of my own inclinations.
I went to the Theatre, and prepared for my appearance. The house was crowded to excess. I came upon the stage with a fluttering heart, amidst universal silence. I bowed, and attempted to speak; my lips obeyed the impulse, but my voice had fled. In that moment of bitter agony and shame, my punishment commenced. I trembled; a cold sweat oozed through every pore; my father and mother's words rung in my ears; my senses became confused; hisses began from the audience; I utterly failed. From the confusion of my mind, I could not even comprehend the place in which I stood. To conclude, I shrunk unseen from the Theatre, bewildered, and in a state of despair.
I wandered the whole night. In the morning early, meeting a party of recruits about to embark, I rashly offered to go with then; my offer was accepted, and I embarked at Leith, with seventeen others, for the Isle of Wight, in July 1806.
The morning was beautiful and refreshing. A fine breeze wafted us from the Roads. The darkness of the preceding night only tended to deepen the gloomy agitation of my mind; but the beauties of the morning scene stole over my soul, and stilled the perturbation of my mind. The violent beat of the pulse at my temples subsided, and I, as it were, awoke from a dream.. I turned my eyes, from the beauties of the Forth, to the deck of the vessel on which I stood: I had not yet exchanged words with any of mv fellow-recruits; I now inquired of the sergeant, to what regiment I had engaged myself? His answer was, "To the gallant 71st; you are a noble lad, and shall he an officer." He ran on in this fulsome cant for some time. I heard him not. Tantallon (1) and the Bass (2) were only a little way from us. We were quickly leaving behind all that was dear to me, and all I ought to regret: the shores of Lothian had vanished; we had passed Dunbar. I was seized with a sudden agitation; a menacing voice seemed to ask, "What do you here? What is to become of your parents?" The blood forsook my heart; a delirium followed, and I fell on the deck.
I have no recollection of what passed for some days. I was roused out of my lethargy by a bustle over my head. It was the fearful noise of a storm, which had overtaken us in Yarmouth Roads. The looks of despair, and the lamentable cries of the passengers, pierced me. I looked upon myself as the only cause of our present danger, like Jonah, overtaken in my guilty flight. The thought of acknowledging myself the sole cause of the storm more than once crossed my mind. I certainly would have done so, had not the violent rocking of the vessel disqualified me from leaving the bed on which I lay. I was obliged to press my feet against one side, and my shoulder against another, to preserve myself from receiving contusions. Striving to assuage the anguish of my feelings in prayer, I was the only composed person there; all around me were bewailing their fate in tears and lamentations. I had seen nothing of the storm, as the passengers were all kept down below, to prevent their incommoding the seamen. During its continuance, I had made up my mind with regard to my future proceedings. As an atonement for my past misconduct, I resolved to undergo all the dangers and fatigues of a private soldier, for seven years. This limitation of service I was enabled to adopt, by the excellent bill brought into Parliament by the late Mr Windham.
Without further accident, we arrived safe at the Isle of Wight, where I was enlisted, and sworn to serve my king and country faithfully for the space of seven years, for which I received a bounty of eleven guineas. The price thus paid for my liberty was the first money I could ever call my own. Of this sum it required about four pounds to furnish my necessaries, assisted by the sale of my present clothing; of the remainder, I sent five pounds to my parents, with the following letter:
NEWPORT BARRACKS,
Isle of Wight, July 1806.
FATHER, - If a disobedient and undutiful son may still address you by that dear and now much valued name - and my mother! - the blood forsakes my heart, and my hand refuses to move, when I think upon that unhallowed night I left your peaceful roof to follow my foolish and wayward inclinations. O, I have suffered, and must ever suffer, for my guilty conduct. Pardon me! pardon me! I can hardly hope - yet, O, drive me not to despair! - I have doomed myself to seven years' punishment. I made this choice in an hour of shame. I could not appear in Edinburgh after what had happened. Never shall I again do any thing to bring shame upon myself or you. The hope of your pardon and forgiveness alone sustains me. Again I implore pardon on my knees. Would I could lay my head at your feet! then would I not rise till you pronounced my pardon, and raised to your embrace your wretched
THOMAS.
Now I began to drink the cup of bitterness. How different was my situation from what it had been! Forced from bed at five o'clock each morning, to get all things ready for drill; then drilled for three hours with the most unfeeling rigour, and often beat by the sergeant for the faults of others. I, who had never been crossed at home - I, who never knew fatigue, was now fainting under it. This I bore without a murmur, as I had looked to it in my engagement. My greatest sufferings were where I had not expected them.
I could not associate with the common soldiers; their habits made me shudder. I feared an oath - they never spoke without one: I could not drink - they loved liquor: They gamed - I knew nothing of play. Thus was I a solitary individual among hundreds. They lost no opportunity of teasing me; "Saucy Tom," or "The distressed Methodist," were the names they distinguished me by. I had no way of redress, until an event occurred, that gave me, against my will, an opportunity to prove that my spirit was above insult.
A recruit who had joined at the same time with myself, was particularly active in his endeavours to turn me into ridicule. One evening, I was sitting in a side-window, reading. Of an old newspaper he made a fool's cap, and, unperceived by me, placed it upon my head. Fired at the insult, I started up and knocked him down. - "Clear the room! a ring, a ring! - the Methodist is going to fight!" was vociferated from all sides. Repenting my haste, yet determined not to affront myself, I stood firm, and determined to do my utmost. My antagonist, stunned by the violence of the blow, and surprised at the spirit I displayed, rose slowly, and stood irresolute. I demanded an apology. He began to bluster and threaten, but I saw at once that he was afraid; and, turning from him, said, in a cool decided manner, "If you dare again insult me, I will chastise you as you deserve; you are beneath my anger." I again sat down, and resumed my reading, as if nothing had happened.
From this time I was no longer insulted; and I became much esteemed among my fellow-soldiers, who before despised me. Still, I could not associate with them. Their pleasures were repugnant to my feelings.
There was one of my fellow-soldiers, Donald M'Donald, who seemed to take pleasure in my company. We became attached to each other. He came up in the same smack with myself: He was my bedfellow, and became my firm friend. Often would he get himself into altercations on my account. Donald could read and write: this was the sum of his education. He was innocent, and ignorant of the world; only eighteen years of age, and had never been a night from home, before he left his father's house, more than myself. To be a soldier was the height of his ambition. He had come from near Inverness to Edinburgh, on foot, with no other intention than to enlist in the 71st. His father had been a soldier in it, and was now living at home, after being discharged. Donald called it his regiment, and would not have taken the bounty from any other.
(1) A ruinous castle on the shore.
(2) A rocky islet in the River Forth.
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