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WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS

AND OF SCOTLAND.

HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE.

WITH A GLOSSARY.

REVISED BY

ALEXANDER LEIGHTON

ONE OF THE ORIGINAL EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS.

VOL. XVI.

LONDON:

WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE

AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.

1885.

CONTENTS.

THE LEVELLER, _(JOHN MACKAY WILSON)_

THE OLD CHRONICLER'S TALES, _(ALEXANDER LEIGHTON)_

THE DEATH OF JAMES III.

GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT. _(PROFESSOR THOMAS GILLESPIE_)

V.--THE RESCUE AT ENTERKIN VI.--THE FATAL MISTAKE VII.--BONNY MARY GIBSON VIII.--THE ESKDALEMUIR STORY IX.--THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

THE COUNTESS OF CASSILIS, _(ALEXANDER CAMPBELL)_

THE HAPPY CONCLUSION, _(ANON.)_

MR SAMUEL RAMSAY THRIVEN: A TALE OF LOVE AND BANKRUPTCY, _(ALEXANDER LEIGHTON)_

THE MAN-OF-WAR'S MAN, _(JOHN HOWELL)_

THE ANGLER'S TALE, _(OLIVER RICHARDSON)_

PERSEVERANCE; OR, THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF RODERIC GRAY, _(JOHN MACKAY WILSON)_

THE IRISH REAPER, _(JOHN MACKAY WILSON)_

GRACE CAMERON, _(ALEXANDER CAMPBELL)_

THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE, _(ANON.)_

WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND.

THE LEVELLER.

How far the term, "A Leveller," is provincial, or confined to the Borders, I am not certain; for before I had left them, to become as a pilgrim on the earth, the phrase had fallen into disuse, and the events, or rather the cause which brought it into existence, had passed away. But, twenty-five or even twenty years ago, in these parts, there was no epithet more familiar to the lips of every schoolboy than that of a _Leveller_. The juvenile lovers of mirth and mischief displayed their loyalty, by _smeeking_ the houses or burning the effigies of the Levellers; and he was a good subject and a perfect gentleman, who, out of his liberality and patriotism, contributed a shilling to purchase powder to make the head of the effigy go off in a rocket, and its fingers start away in squibs. Levellers were persecuted by the young, and suspected by the old. Every town and village in the kingdom had its coterie of Levellers. They did not congregate together; for, as being suspected individuals, their so doing would have been attended with danger; but there was a sympathy and a sort of brotherhood amongst those in the same place, and they met in twos and threes, at the corners of the streets, in the fields, or the workshop, and not unfrequently at the operating rooms of the barber, as though there had been a secret understanding in the growth of their beards. Some of them were generally seen waiting the arrival of the mail, and running across the street, or the highway, as the case might be, eagerly inquiring of the guard--"What news?" But if, on the approach of the vehicle, they perceived it decorated with branches, or a flag displayed from it, away turned the Levellers from the unwelcome symbols of national rejoicing, and condoled one with another in their own places of retirement. They were seldom or never found amongst rosy-faced country gentlemen, who walked in the midst of their fellow-mortals as if measuring their acres. Occasionally they might be found amongst tradesmen; but they were most frequently met with at the loom, or amongst those who had learned the art and mystery of a cordwainer. The Leveller, however, was generally a peaceful and a moral man, and always a man of much reading and extensive information. Many looked upon the Leveller as the enemy of his country, and as wishing the destruction of its institutions: I always regarded them with a more favourable eye. Most of them I have met with were sincerely attached to liberty, though they frequently took strange methods of showing it. They were opposed to the war with France, and they were enthusiastic admirers, almost worshippers, of Napoleon and his glories. They could describe the scene of all his victories--they could repeat his speeches and his bulletins by heart. But the old Jacobins of the last century, the Levellers of the beginning of this, are a race rapidly becoming extinct.

I shall give the history of one of them, who was called James Nicholson, and who resided in the village of T----. James was by trade a weaver--a walking history of the wars, and altogether one of the most remarkable men I ever met with. He had an impressive and ready utterance; few could stand before him in an argument, and of him it might have been truly said--

"In reasoning, too, the parson own'd his skill, And, though defeated, he could argue still."

He possessed also a bold imagination and a masculine understanding, and both had been improved by extensive reading. With such qualifications, it is not a matter of wonder that he was looked up to as the oracle, the head, or king, of the Levellers in T---- (if, indeed, they admitted the idea of a king). For miles around, he was familiarly known by the designation of Jemmy the Leveller; for though there were others of the name of James who held similar sentiments in the village and neighbourhood, he was Jemmy _par excellence_. But, in order that the reader may have a correct representation of James before him, I shall describe it as I saw him, about five-and-twenty years ago. He then appeared a man approaching to sixty years of age. His shoulders were rather bent, his height about five feet eleven, and he walked with his eyes fixed upon the ground. His arms were generally crossed upon his breast, and he stalked with a long and slow step, like a shepherd toiling up a hill. His forehead was one that Spurzheim would have travelled a hundred miles to finger--it was both broad and lofty; his eyebrows were thick, of a deep brown colour, and met together; his eyes were large, and of a dark greyish hue; his nose appertained to the Roman; his mouth was rather large, and his hair was mixed with grey. His figure was spare and thin. He wore a very low-crowned and a very broad-brimmed hat, a short brown coat, a dark striped waistcoat, with a double breast, corduroy breeches, which buckled at the knees, coarse blue stockings, and strong shoes, or rather brogues, neither of which articles had been new for at least three years; and around his body he wore a coarse half-bleached apron, which was stained with blue, and hung loose before him. Such was James Nicholson as he first appeared to me. For more than forty years he had remained in a state of single blessedness; but whether this arose from his heart having continued insensible to the influence of woman's charms--from his never having met with one whom he thought he could safely take "for better, for worse"--or whether it arose from the maidens being afraid to risk their future happiness, by uniting themselves with such a strange and dangerous character as Jemmy the Jacobin, I cannot tell. It is certain, however, that he became convinced that a bachelor's life was at best a _dowie_ one; and there was another consideration that had considerable weight with him. He had nobody to "_fill his pirns_," or "_give in his webs_;" but he had to hire and pay people to do these things, and this made a great drawback on his earnings, particularly when the price of weaving became low. James therefore resolved to do as his father had done before him, and to take unto himself a wife. He cast his eyes abroad, and they rested on a decent spinster, who was beginning to be what is called a "_stayed lass_"--that is, very near approaching to the years when the phrase, a "_stayed lass_," is about to be exchanged for that of an old maid. In a word, the object of his choice was but a very few years younger than himself. Her name was Peggy Purves, and it is possible she was inclined to adopt the language of the song, and say--

"O mother, onybody!"

for when James made his proposal, she smirked and blushed--said she "didna ken what to say till't"--took the corners of her apron in her fingers--hung her head--smiled well pleased, and added, she "would see!" but within three months became the wife of Jemmy the Leveller.

James became the father of two children, a son and daughter; and we may here notice a circumstance attending the baptism of the son. About three weeks after the birth of the child, his mother began to inquire--

"What shall we ca' him, James? Do ye think we should ca' him Alexander, after your faither and mine?"

"Haud yer tongue, woman," replied James, somewhat testily. "Goodness me! where's the use in everlastingly yatter-yattering about what I will ca' him? The bairn shall hae a name--a name that will be like a deed o' virtue and greatness engraven on his memory as often as he hears it."

"Oh, James, James!" returned Peggy, "ye're the strangest and perversest man that ever I met wi' in my born days. I'm sure ye'll ne'er think o' giein ony o' yer heathenish Jacobin names to my bairn!"

"Just content yersel, Peggy," replied he--"just rest contented, if ye please. I'll gie the bairn a name that neither you nor him will ever hae cause to be ashamed o'."

Now, James was a rigid Dissenter, and caused the child to be taken to the meeting-house; and he stood up with it in his arms, in the midst of the congregation, that his infant might publicly receive baptism.

The minister inquired, in a low voice, "What is the child's name?"

His neighbours were anxious to hear the answer; and, in his deep, sonorous tones, he replied aloud--

"GEORGE WASHINGTON!"

There was a sort of buzz and a movement throughout the congregation, and the minister himself looked surprised.

When her daughter was born, the choice of the name was left to Peggy, and she called her Catherine, in remembrance of her mother.

Shortly after the birth of his children, the French Revolution began to lour in the political horizon, and James Nicholson, the weaver, with a fevered anxiety, watched its progress.

"It is a bursting forth o' the first seed o' the tree o' liberty, which the Americans planted, and George Washington reared," cried James, with enthusiasm; "the seeds o' that tree will spread owre the earth, as if scattered by the winds o' heaven--they will cover it as the waters do the sea--they will take root--they will spring up in every land: beneath the burning sun o' the West Indies, on the frozen deserts o' Siberia, the slave and the exile will rejoice beneath the shadow o' its branches, and their hearts be gladdened by its fruits."

"Ay, man, James, that's noble!" exclaimed some brother Leveller, who retailed the sayings of the weaver at second hand. "Losh! if ye haena a headpiece that wad astonish a privy council!"

But, when the storm burst, and the sea of blood gushed forth like a deluge, when the innocent and the guilty were butchered together, James was staggered, his eyes became heavy, and his countenance fell. At length he consoled his companions, saying--

"Weel, it's a pity--it's a great pity--it is bringing disgrace and guilt upon a glorious cause. But knives shouldna be put into the hands o' bairns till they ken how to use them. If the sun were to rise in a flash o' unclouded glory and dazzling brightness in a moment, succeeding the heavy darkness o' midnight, it wad be nae wonder if, for a time, we groped more blindly than we did in the dark. Or, if a blind man had his sight restored in a moment, and were set into the street, he would strike upon every object he met more readily than he did when he was blind; for he had neither acquired the use o' his eyes nor the idea o' distance. So is it wi' our neighbours in France: an instrument has been put into their hands before they ken how to use it--the sun o' liberty has burst upon them in an instant, without an intermediate dawn. They groaned under the tyranny o' blindness; but they hae acquired the power o' sight without being instructed in its use. But hae patience a little--the storm will gie place to the sunshine, the troubled waters will subside into a calm, and liberty will fling her garment o' knowledge and mercy owre her now uninstructed worshippers."

"Weel! that's grand, James!--that's really famous!" said one of the coterie of Levellers to whom it was delivered; "odd! ye beat a'thing--ye're a match for _Wheatbread_ himsel."

"James," said another, "without meaning to flatter ye, if Billy Pitt had ye to gie him a dressing, I believe he wad offer ye a place the very next day, just to keep yer tongue quiet."

James was one of those who denounced, with all the vehemence and indignation of which he was capable, Britain's engaging in a war with France. He raised up his voice against it. He pronounced it to be an unjust and an impious attempt to support oppression, and to stifle freedom in its cradle.

"But in that freedom they will find a Hercules," cried he, "which, in its very cradle, will grip tyranny by the throat, and a' the kings in Europe winna be able to slacken its grasp."

When the star of Napoleon began to rise, and broke forth with a lustre which dazzled the eyes of a wondering world, the Levellers of Britain, like the Republicans of France, lost sight of their love of liberty, in their admiration of the military glories and rapid triumphs of the hero. James Nicholson was one of those who became blinded with the fame, the splendid success, and the daring genius of the young Corsican. Napoleon became his idol. His deeds, his capacity, his fame, were his daily theme. They became the favourite subject of every Leveller. They did not see in him one who laughed at liberty, and who made it his plaything, who regarded life as stubble, whose ambition circled the globe, and who was the enemy of Britain: they saw in him only a hero, who had burst from obscurity as a meteor from the darkness of night--whose glory had obscured the pomp of princes, and his word consumed their power.

The threatened invasion, and the _false alarm_, put the Leveller's admiration of Napoleon, and his love of his native land, to a severe trial; but we rejoice to say, for the sake of James Nicholson, that the latter triumphed, and he accompanied a party of volunteers ten miles along the coast, and remained an entire night, and the greater part of a day, under arms, and even he was then ready to say--

"Let foe come on foe, like wave upon wave, We'll gie them a welcome, we'll gie them a grave."

But, as the apprehension of the invasion passed away, his admiration of Napoleon's triumphs, and his reverence for what he termed his stupendous genius, burned with redoubled force.

"Princes are as grasshoppers before him," said James; "nations are as spiders' webs. The Alps became as a highway before his spirit--he looked upon Italy, and the land was conquered."

I might describe to you the exultation and the rejoicings of James and his brethren, when they heard of the victories of Marengo, Ulm, and Austerlitz; and how, in their little parties of two and three, they walked a mile farther together in the fields or by the sides of the Tweed, or peradventure indulged in an extra pint with one another, though most of them were temperate men: or, I might describe to you how, upon such occasions, they would ask eagerly, "But what is _James_ saying to it?" I, however, shall dwell only upon his conduct when he heard of the battle of Jena. He was standing with a brother Leveller at a corner of the village when the mail arrived which conveyed the important tidings. I think I see him now, as he appeared at that moment. Both were in expectation of momentous information--they ran to the side of the coach together. "What news?--what news?" they inquired of the guard at once. He stooped down, as they ran by the side of the coach, and informed them. The eyes of James glowed with delight--his nostrils were dilated.

"Oh, the great, the glorious man!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands in ecstasy, and turning away from the coach; "the matchless!--the wonderful!--the great Napoleon! There is none like him--there never was--he is a sun among the stars--they cannot twinkle in his presence."

He and his friends received a weekly paper amongst them; it was the day on which it arrived. They followed the coach to the post-office to receive it; and I need not tell you with what eagerness the contents of that paper were read. James was the reader; and after he had read an account of the battle, he gave his readers a dissertation upon it.

He laid his head upon his pillow, with his thoughts filled with Napoleon and the battle of Jena; and when, on the following morning, he met two or three of his companions at the corner of the village, where they were wont to assemble for ten minutes after breakfast, to discuss the affairs of Europe, James, with a look of even more than his usual importance and sagacity, thus began:--

"I hae dreamed a marvellous dream. I saw the battle of Jena--I beheld the Prussians fly with dismay before the voice of the conqueror. Then did I see the great man, arrayed in his robes of victory, bearing the sword of power in his hand, ascend a throne of gold and of ivory. Over the throne was a gorgeous canopy of purple, and diamonds bespangled the tapestry as a firmament. The crowns of Europe lay before him, and kings, and princes, and nobles, kneeled at his feet. At his nod he made kings and exalted nations. Armies fled and advanced at the moving of his finger--they were machines in his hand. The spirits of Alexander and of Caesar--all the heroes of antiquity--gazed in wonder upon his throne; each was surrounded by the halo of his victories and the fame of ages; but their haloes became dim before the flash of his sword of power, and the embodiment of their spirits became as a pale mist before the majesty of his eyes and the magnificence of his triumphs. The nations of the earth were also gathered around the throne, and, as with one voice, in the same language, and at the same moment, they waved their hands, and cried, as peals of thunder mingle wi' each other, "Long live the great emperor!" But, while my soul started within me at the mighty shout, and my eyes gazed with wonder and astonishment on the glory and the power of the great man, darkness fell upon the throne, troubled waters dashed around it, and the vision of night and vastness, the emperor, the kneeling kings, the armies, and the people, were encompassed in the dark waves--swallowed as though they had not been; and, with the cold perspiration standing on my forehead, I awoke, and found that I had dreamed."[1]

[Footnote 1: Many in this neighbourhood, who read the Leveller's dream, will remember the original. Twenty years ago, I heard it related by the dreamer, with all the enthusiasm of a staunch admirer of Napoleon, and I have preserved his words and imagery as closely as I could recollect them.]

"It is a singular dream," said one.

"Sleeping or waking, James is the same man," said another, "aye out o' the common run. You and me wad hae sleepit a twelvemonth before we had dreamed the like o' that."

But one circumstance arose which troubled James much, and which all his admiration, yea, all his worship of Napoleon could not wholly overcome. James, as we have hinted, was a rigid Presbyterian, and the idea of a man putting away his wife he could not forgive. When, therefore, Napoleon divorced the gentle Josephine, and took the daughter of Austria to his bed--

"He hath done wrong," said James; "he has erred grievously. He has been an instrument in humbling the pope, the instrument foretold in the Revelation; and he has been the glorious means o' levelling and destroying the Inquisition--but this sin o' putting away his wife, and pretending to marry another, casts a blot upon a' his glories; and I fear that humiliation, as a punishment, will follow the foul sin. Yet, after a', as a man, he was subject to temptation; and, as being no common man, we maunna judge his conduct by common rules."

"Really, James," said the individual he addressed, "wi' a' my admiration o' the great man,[2] and my respect for you, I'm no just clear upon your last remark--when the Scriptures forbade a man to put away his wife, there was nae exception made for king or emperors."

[Footnote 2: I have often remarked that the admirers of Napoleon were wont to speak of him as _the great man_.]

"True," said James--"but----"

James never finished his "but." His conscience told him that his idol had sinned; and when the disastrous campaign to Russia shortly after followed, he imagined that he beheld in its terrible calamities the punishment he had predicted. The sun of Napoleon had reached its meridian, the fires of Moscow raised a cloud before it, behind which it hastened to its setting. In the events of that memorable invasion and retreat, James Nicholson took an eager and mournful interest. Thoughts of it haunted him in his sleep; and he would dream of Russian deserts which presented to the eye an unbounded waste of snow; or start, exclaiming, "The Cossacks!--the Cossacks!" His temper, too, became irritable, and his family found it hard to bear with it.

This, however, was not the only cause which increased the irritability, and provoked the indignation, of James the Leveller; for, as the glory of Napoleon began to wane, and the arms of the British achieved new victories in the Peninsula, he and his brethren in principle became the objects of almost nightly persecution. Never did the mail arrive, bearing tidings of the success of the British or their allies, but as surely was a figure, intended to represent one or other of the Levellers, paraded through the village, and burned before the door of the offender, amidst the shouts, the groans, and laughter, of some two or three hundred boys and young men. The reader may be surprised to hear that one of the principal leaders of these young and mischief-loving loyalists was no other than GEORGE WASHINGTON, the only son of our friend, James Nicholson. To turn him from conduct, and the manifestation of a principle, so unworthy of his name, James spared neither admonition, reproof, nor the rod of correction. But George was now too old for his father to apply the latter, and his advice and reproof in this matter was like throwing water in the sea. The namesake of the great President never took a part in such exhibitions of his father, and in holding his principles up to execration and contempt; on the contrary, he did all in his power to prevent them, and repeatedly did he prevent them--but he entered, with his whole heart, into every proposal to make a mock spectacle of others. The young tormentors knew little or nothing of the principles of the men they delighted to persecute--it was enough for them to know that they were _Levellers_, that _they wished the French to win_; and although James Nicholson was known to be, as I have already said, the very king and oracle of the levelling party in the neighbourhood, yet, for his son's sake, he frequently escaped the persecution intended for him, and it was visited upon the heads of more insignificant characters.

One evening, James beheld his son heading the noisy band in a crusade against the peace of a particular friend; moreover, George bore a long pole over his shoulder, to the top of which an intended resemblance of his father's friend was attached. James further saw his hopeful son and the crowd reach his friend's house, he beheld him scale the walls (which were but a single storey in height), he saw him stand upon the roof--the pole, with the effigy attached to it, was again handed to him, and, amidst the shouts of his companions, he put the pole down the chimney, leaving the figure as a smoke-doctor on its top.

James could endure no more. "Oh, the villain!--the scoundrel!" he cried--"the--the----" But he could add no more, from excess of indignation. He rushed along the street--he dashed through the crowd--he grasped his son by the throat, at the moment of his springing from the roof. He shook with rage. He struck him violently. He raised his feet and kicked him.