Confessions of a Justified Sinner (29 page)

On the first of June, 1712 (well may I remember the day), I was sitting locked in my secret chamber, in a state of the utmost despondency, revolving in my mind what I ought to do to be free of my persecutors, and wishing myself a worm, or a moth, that I might be crushed and at rest, when behold Samuel entered, with eyes like to start out of his head, exclaiming: ‘For God’s sake, master, fly and hide yourself, for your mother’s found, an’ as sure as you’re a living soul, the blame is gaun to fa’ on you!’

‘My mother found!’ said I. ‘And, pray, where has she been all this while?’ In the meantime, I was terribly discomposed at the thoughts of her return.

‘Been, sir! Been? Why, she has been where ye pat her, it seems — lying buried in the sands o’ the linn. I can tell you, ye will see her a frightsome figure, sic as I never wish to see again. An’ the young lady is found too, sir: an’ it is said the Devil — I beg pardon, sir,
your friend
, I mean — it is said your
friend
has made the discovery, an’ the folk are away to raise officers, an’ they will be here in an hour or two at the farthest, sir; an’ sae you hae not a minute to lose, for there’s proof, sir, strong proof, an’ sworn proof, that ye were last seen wi’ them baith; sae, unless ye can gie a’ the better an account o’ baith yoursel an’ them either hide or flee for your bare life.’

‘I will neither hide nor fly,’ said I, ‘for I am as guiltless of the blood of these women as the child unborn.’

‘The country disna think sae, master; an’ I can assure you that, should evidence fail, you run a risk o’ being torn limb frae limb. They are bringing the corpse here, to gar ye touch them baith afore witnesses, an’ plenty o’ witnesses there will be!’

‘They shall not bring them here,’ cried I, shocked beyond measure at the experiment about to be made. ‘Go, instantly and debar them from entering my gate with their bloated and mangled carcases.’

‘The body of your own mother, sir!’ said the fellow emphatically. I was in terrible agitation; and, being driven to my wits’ end, I got up and strode furiously round and round the room. Samuel wist not what to do, but I saw by his staring he deemed me doubly guilty. A tap came to the chamber door: we both started like guilty creatures; and as for Samuel, his hairs stood all on end with alarm, so that, when I motioned to him, he could scarcely advance to open the door. He did so at length, and who should enter but my illustrious friend, manifestly in the utmost state of alarm. The moment that Samuel admitted him, the former made his escape by the prince’s side as he entered, seemingly in a state of distraction. I was little better, when I saw this dreaded personage enter my chamber, which he had never before attempted; and, being unable to ask his errand, I suppose I stood and gazed on him like a statue.

‘I come with sad and tormenting tidings to you, my beloved and ungrateful friend,’ said he, ‘but, having only a minute left to save your life, I have come to attempt it. There is a mob coming towards you with two dead bodies, which will place you in circumstances disagreeable enough: but that is not the worst, for of that you may be able to clear yourself. At this moment there is a party of officers, with a Justiciary warrant from Edinburgh, surrounding the house, and about to begin the search of it for you. If you fall into their hands, you are inevitably lost; for I have been making earnest inquiries, and find that everything is in train for your ruin.’

‘Aye, and who has been the cause of all this?’ said I, with great bitterness. But he stopped me short, adding, ‘There is no
time for such reflections at present; I gave my word of honour that your life should be safe from the hand of man. So it shall, if the power remain with me to save it. I am come to redeem my pledge, and to save your life by the sacrifice of my own. Here — not one word of expostulation, change habits with me, and you may then pass by the officers, and guards, and even through the approaching mob, with the most perfect temerity. There is a virtue in this garb, and, instead of offering to detain you, they shall pay you obeisance. Make haste, and leave this place for the present, flying where you best may, and, if I escape from these dangers that surround me, I will endeavour to find you out, and bring you what intelligence I am able.’

I put on his green frock coat, buff belt, and a sort of a turban that he always wore on his head, somewhat resembling a bishop’s mitre: he drew his hand thrice across my face, and I withdrew as he continued to urge me. My hall door and postern gate were both strongly guarded, and there were sundry armed people within, searching the closets; but all of them made way for me, and lifted their caps as I passed by them. Only one superior officer accosted me, asking if I had seen the culprit. I knew not what answer to make, but chanced to say, with great truth and propriety: ‘He is safe enough.’ The man beckoned with a smile, as much as to say: ‘Thank you, sir, that is quite sufficient,’ and I walked deliberately away.

I had not well left the gate till, hearing a great noise coming from the deep glen towards the east, I turned that way, deeming myself quite secure in this my new disguise, to see what it was, and if matters were as had been described to me. There I met a great mob, sure enough, coming with two dead bodies stretched on boards, and decently covered with white sheets. I would fain have examined their appearance, had I not perceived the apparent fury in the looks of the men, and judged from that how much more safe it was for me not to intermeddle in the affray. I cannot tell how it was, but I felt a strange and unwonted delight in viewing this scene, and a certain pride of heart in being supposed the perpetrator of the unnatural crimes laid to my charge. This was a feeling quite new to me; and if there were
virtues in the robes of the illustrious foreigner, who had without all dispute preserved my life at this time: I say, if there was any inherent virtue in these robes of his, as he had suggested, this was one of their effects, that they turned my heart towards that which was evil, horrible, and disgustful.

I mixed with the mob to hear what they were saying. Every tongue was engaged in loading me with the most opprobrious epithets! One called me a monster of nature; another an incarnate devil; and another a creature made to be cursed in time and eternity. I retired from them and, winded my way southwards, comforting myself with the assurance that so mankind had used and persecuted the greatest fathers and apostles of the Christian Church, and that their vile opprobrium could not alter the counsels of Heaven concerning me.

On going over that rising ground called Dorington Moor, I could not help turning round and taking a look of Dalcastle. I had little doubt that it would be my last look, and nearly as little ambition that it should not. I thought how high my hopes of happiness and advancement had been on entering that mansion, and taking possession of its rich and extensive domains, and how miserably I had been disappointed. On the contrary, I had experienced nothing but chagrin, disgust, and terror; and I now consoled myself with the hope that I should henceforth shake myself free of the chains of my great tormentor, and for that privilege was I willing to encounter any earthly distress. I could not help perceiving that I was now on a path which was likely to lead me into a species of distress hitherto unknown, and hardly dreamed of by me, and that was total destitution. For all the riches I had been possessed of a few hours previous to this, I found that here I was turned out of my lordly possessions without a single merk, or the power of lifting and commanding the smallest sum, without being thereby discovered and seized. Had it been possible for me to have escaped in my own clothes, I had a considerable sum secreted in these, but, by the sudden change, I was left without a coin for present necessity. But I had hope in Heaven, knowing that the just man would not be left destitute; and that, though many troubles surrounded him, he would at last
be set free from them all. I was possessed of strong and brilliant parts, and a liberal education; and, though I had somehow unaccountably suffered my theological qualifications to fall into desuetude, since my acquaintance with the ablest and most rigid of all theologians, I had nevertheless hopes that, by preaching up redemption by grace, preordination, and eternal purpose, I should yet be enabled to benefit mankind in some country, and rise to high distinction.

These were some of the thoughts by which I consoled myself as I posted on my way southwards, avoiding the towns and villages, and falling into the cross ways that led from each of the great roads passing east and west to another. I lodged the first night in the house of a country weaver, into which I stepped at a late hour, quite overcome with hunger and fatigue, having travelled not less than thirty miles from my late home. The man received me ungraciously, telling me of a gentleman’s house at no great distance, and of an inn a little farther away; but I said I delighted more in the society of a man like him than that of any gentleman of the land, for my concerns were with the poor of this world, it being easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven. The weaver’s wife, who sat with a child on her knee, and had not hitherto opened her mouth, hearing me speak in that serious and religious style, stirred up the fire with her one hand; then, drawing a chair near it, she said: ‘Come awa, honest lad, in by here; sin’ it be sae that you belang to Him wha gies us a’ that we hae, it is but right that you should share a part. You are a stranger, it is true, but
them
that winna entertain a stranger will never entertain an angel unawares.’

I never was apt to be taken with the simplicity of nature; in general I despised it; but, owing to my circumstances at the time, I was deeply affected by the manner of this poor woman’s welcome. The weaver continued in a churlish mood throughout the evening, apparently dissatisfied with what his wife had done in entertaining me, and spoke to her in a manner so crusty that I thought proper to rebuke him, for the woman was comely in her person, and virtuous in her conversation; but the weaver, her
husband, was large of make, ill-favoured, and pestilent; therefore did I take him severely to task for the tenor of his conduct; but the man was froward, and answered me rudely with sneering and derision and, in the height of his caprice, he said to his wife: ‘Whan focks are sae keen of a chance o’ entertaining angels, gude-wife, it wad maybe be worth their while to tak tent what kind o’ angels they are. It wadna wonder me vera muckle an ye had entertained your friend the Deil the night, for aw thought aw fand a saur o’ reek an’ brimstane about him.
He’s
nane o’ the best o’ angels, an’ focks winna hae muckle credit by entertaining him.’

Certainly, in the assured state I was in, I had as little reason to be alarmed at mention being made of the Devil as any person on earth: of late, however, I felt that the reverse was the case, and that any allusion to my great enemy moved me exceedingly. The weaver’s speech had such an effect on me that both he and his wife were alarmed at my looks. The latter thought I was angry, and chided her husband gently for his rudeness; but the weaver himself rather seemed to be confirmed in his opinion that I was the Devil, for he looked round like a startled roe-buck, and immediately betook him to the family Bible.

I know not whether it was on purpose to prove my identity or not, but I think he was going to desire me either to read a certain portion of Scripture that he had sought out, or to make family worship, had not the conversation at that instant taken another turn; for the weaver, not knowing how to address me, abruptly asked my name, as he was about to put the Bible into my hands. Never having considered myself in the light of a malefactor, but rather as a champion in the cause of truth, and finding myself perfectly safe under my disguise, I had never once thought of the utility of changing my name, and, when the man asked me, I hesitated; but, being compelled to say something, I said my name was Cowan. The man stared at me, and then at his wife, with a look that spoke a knowledge of something alarming or mysterious.

‘Ha! Cowan?’ said he. ‘That’s most extraordinar! Not Colwan, I hope?’

‘No: Cowan is my sirname,’ said I. ‘But why not Colwan, there being so little difference in the sound?’

‘I was feared ye might be that waratch that the Deil has taen the possession o’, an’ eggit him on to kill baith his father an’ his mother, his only brother, an’ his sweetheart,’ said he; ‘an’, to say the truth, I’m no that sure about you yet, for I see you’re gaun wi’ arms on ye.’

‘Not I, honest man,’ said I. ‘I carry no arms; a man conscious of his innocence and uprightness of heart needs not to carry arms in his defence now.’

‘Aye, aye, maister,’ said he; ‘an’ pray what div ye ca’ this bit windlestrae that’s appearing here?’ With that he pointed to something on the inside of the breast of my frock-coat. I looked at it, and there certainly was the gilded haft of a poniard, the same weapon I had seen and handled before, and which I knew my illustrious companion carried about with him; but till that moment I knew not that I was in possession of it. I drew it out: a more dangerous or insidious-looking weapon could not be conceived. The weaver and his wife were both frightened, the latter in particular; and she being my friend, and I dependent on their hospitality for that night, I said: ‘I declare I knew not that I carried this small rapier, which has been in my coat by chance, and not by any design of mine. But, lest you should think that I meditate any mischief to any under this roof, I give it into your hands, requesting of you to lock it by till tomorrow, or when I shall next want it.’

The woman seemed rather glad to get hold of it; and taking it from me, she went into a kind of pantry out of my sight, and locked the weapon up; and then the discourse went on.

‘There cannot be such a thing in reality,’ said I, ‘as the story you were mentioning just now, of a man whose name resembles mine.’

‘It’s likely that you ken a wee better about the story than I do, maister,’ said he, ‘suppose you do leave the
L
out of your name. An’ yet I think sic a waratch, an’ a murderer, wad hae taen a name wi’ some gritter difference in the sound. But the story is just that true that there were twa o’ the Queen’s officers here nae mair than an hour ago, in pursuit o’ the vagabond, for
they gat some intelligence that he had fled this gate; yet they said he had been last seen wi’ black claes on, an’ they supposed he was clad in black. His ain servant is wi’ them, for the purpose o’ kennin the scoundrel, an’ they’re galloping through the country like madmen. I hope in God they’ll get him, an’ rack his neck for him!’