CHAPTER IX
LATIMER'S JOURNAL, IN CONTINUATION
There is at length a halt--at length I have gained so much privacy as toenable me to continue my journal. It has become a sort of task of dutyto me, without the discharge of which I do not feel that the businessof the day is performed. True, no friendly eye may ever look upon theselabours, which have amused the solitary hours of an unhappy prisoner.Yet, in the meanwhile, the exercise of the pen seems to act as asedative upon my own agitated thoughts and tumultuous passions. I neverlay it down but I rise stronger in resolution, more ardent in hope. Athousand vague fears, wild expectations, and indigested schemes,hurry through one's thoughts in seasons of doubt and of danger. But byarresting them as they flit across the mind, by throwing them on paper,and even by that mechanical act compelling ourselves to consider themwith scrupulous and minute attention, we may perhaps escape becoming thedupes of our own excited imagination; just as a young horse is cured ofthe vice of starting by being made to stand still and look for some timewithout any interruption at the cause of its terror.
There remains but one risk, which is that of discovery. But besides thesmall characters, in which my residence in Mr. Fairford's house enabledme to excel, for the purpose of transferring as many scroll sheets aspossible to a huge sheet of stamped paper, I have, as I have elsewhereintimated, had hitherto the comfortable reflection that if the recordof my misfortunes should fall into the hands of him by whom they arecaused, they would, without harming any one, show him the real characterand disposition of the person who has become his prisoner--perhaps hisvictim. Now, however, that other names, and other characters, are to bemingled with the register of my own sentiments, I must take additionalcare of these papers, and keep them in such a manner that, in caseof the least hazard of detection, I may be able to destroy them at amoment's notice. I shall not soon or easily forget the lesson I havebeen taught, by the prying disposition which Cristal Nixon, this man'sagent and confederate, manifested at Brokenburn, and which proved theoriginal cause of my sufferings.
My laying aside the last sheet of my journal hastily was occasioned bythe unwonted sound of a violin, in the farmyard beneath my windows. Itwill not appear surprising to those who have made music their study,that, after listening to a few notes, I became at once assured that themusician was no other than the itinerant, formerly mentioned as presentat the destruction of Joshua Geddes's stake-nets, the superior delicacyand force of whose execution would enable me to swear to his bow amongsta whole orchestra. I had the less reason to doubt his identity, becausehe played twice over the beautiful Scottish air called Wandering Willie;and I could not help concluding that he did so for the purpose ofintimating his own presence, since what the French called the nom deguerre of the performer was described by the tune.
Hope will catch at the most feeble twig for support in extremity. I knewthis man, though deprived of sight, to be bold, ingenious, and perfectlycapable of acting as a guide. I believed I had won his goodwill,by having, in a frolic, assumed the character of his partner; and Iremembered that in a wild, wandering, and disorderly course of life,men, as they become loosened from the ordinary bonds of civil society,hold those of comradeship more closely sacred; so that honour issometimes found among thieves, and faith and attachment in such as thelaw has termed vagrants. The history of Richard Coeur de Lion and hisminstrel, Blondel, rushed, at the same time, on my mind, though Icould not even then suppress a smile at the dignity of the example whenapplied to a blind fiddler and myself. Still there was something in allthis to awaken a hope that, if I could open a correspondence withthis poor violer, he might be useful in extricating me from my presentsituation.
His profession furnished me with some hope that this desiredcommunication might be attained; since it is well known that, inScotland, where there is so much national music, the words and airsof which are generally known, there is a kind of freemasonry amongstperformers, by which they can, by the mere choice of a tune, expressa great deal to the hearers. Personal allusions are often made in thismanner, with much point and pleasantry; and nothing is more usual atpublic festivals, than that the air played to accompany a particularhealth or toast, is made the vehicle of compliment, of wit, andsometimes of satire. [Every one must remember instances of this festivecustom, in which the adaptation of the tune to the toast was remarkablyfelicitous. Old Neil Gow, and his son Nathaniel, were peculiarly happyon such occasions.]
While these things passed through my mind rapidly, I heard my friendbeneath recommence, for the third time, the air from which his ownname had been probably adopted, when he was interrupted by his rusticauditors.
'If thou canst play no other spring but that, mon, ho hadst best put upho's pipes and be jogging. Squoire will be back anon, or Master Nixon,and we'll see who will pay poiper then.'
Oho, thought I, if I have no sharper ears than those of my friends Janand Dorcas to encounter, I may venture an experiment upon them; and, asmost expressive of my state of captivity, I sang two or three lines ofthe 137th Psalm--
By Babel's streams we sat and wept.
The country people listened with attention, and when I ceased, I heardthem whisper together in tones of commiseration, 'Lack-a-day, poor soul!so pretty a man to be beside his wits!'
'An he be that gate,' said Wandering Willie, in a tone calculated toreach my ears, 'I ken naething will raise his spirits like a spring.'And he struck up, with great vigour and spirit, the lively Scottish air,the words of which instantly occurred to me--
Oh whistle and I'll come t'ye, my lad, Oh whistle and I'll come t'ye, my lad; Though father and mother and a' should gae mad, Oh whistle and I'll come t'ye, my lad.
I soon heard a clattering noise of feet in the courtyard, which Iconcluded to be Jan and Dorcas dancing a jig in their Cumberland woodenclogs. Under cover of this din, I endeavoured to answer Willie's signalby whistling, as loud as I could---
Come back again and loe me When a' the lave are gane.
He instantly threw the dancers out, by changing his air to
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee.
I no longer doubted that a communication betwixt us was happilyestablished, and that, if I had an opportunity of speaking to the poormusician, I should find him willing to take my letter to the post,to invoke the assistance of some active magistrate, or of thecommanding-officer of Carlisle Castle, or, in short, to do whateverelse I could point out, in the compass of his power, to contribute tomy liberation. But to obtain speech of him, I must have run the riskof alarming the suspicions of Dorcas, if not of her yet more stupidCorydon. My ally's blindness prevented his receiving any communicationby signs from the window--even if I could have ventured to makethem, consistently with prudence--so that notwithstanding the mode ofintercourse we had adopted was both circuitous and peculiarly liable tomisapprehension, I saw nothing I could do better than to continue it,trusting my own and my correspondent's acuteness in applying to the airsthe meaning they were intended to convey. I thought of singing the wordsthemselves of some significant song, but feared I might, by doing so,attract suspicion. I endeavoured, therefore, to intimate my speedydeparture from my present place of residence, by whistling thewell-known air with which festive parties in Scotland usually concludethe dance:--
Good night and joy be wi' ye a', For here nae langer maun I stay; There's neither friend nor foe, of mine But wishes that I were away.
It appeared that Willie's powers of intelligence were much more activethan mine, and that, like a deaf person accustomed to be spoken to bysigns, he comprehended, from the very first notes, the whole meaning Iintended to convey; and he accompanied me in the air with his violin,in such a manner as at once to show he understood my meaning, and toprevent my whistling from being attended to.
His reply was almost immediate, and was conveyed in the old martial airof 'Hey, Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver.' I ran over the words, andfixed on the following stanza, as most applicable to my circumstances:--
Cock up you
r beaver, and cock it fu' sprush; We'll over the Border and give them a brush; There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour, Hey, Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver.
If these sounds alluded, as I hope they do, to the chance of assistancefrom my Scottish friends, I may indeed consider that a door is open tohope and freedom. I immediately replied with:--
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands! farewell to the North! The birth-place of valour, the cradle of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Willie instantly played, with a degree of spirit which might haveawakened hope in Despair herself, if Despair could be supposed tounderstand Scotch music, the fine old Jacobite air,
For a' that, and a' that, And twice as much as a' that.
I next endeavoured to intimate my wish to send notice of my condition tomy friends; and, despairing to find an air sufficiently expressive of mypurpose, I ventured to sing a verse, which, in various forms, occurs sofrequently in old ballads--
Whare will I get a bonny boy That will win hose and shoon: That will gae down to Durisdeer, And bid my merry men come?
He drowned the latter part of the verse by playing, with much emphasis,
Kind Robin loes me.
Of this, though I ran over the verses of the song in my mind, I couldmake nothing; and before I could contrive any mode of intimating myuncertainty, a cry arose in the courtyard that Cristal Nixon was coming.My faithful Willie was obliged to retreat; but not before he had halfplayed, half hummed, by way of farewell,
Leave thee--leave thee, lad-- I'll never leave thee; The stars shall gae withershins Ere I will leave thee.
I am thus, I think, secure of one trusty adherent in my misfortunes;and, however whimsical it may be to rely much on a man of his idleprofession and deprived of sight withal, it is deeply impressed onmy mind that his services may be both useful and necessary. Thereis another quarter from which I look for succour, and which I haveindicated to thee, Alan, in more than one passage of my journal. Twice,at the early hour of daybreak, I have seen the individual alluded to inthe court of the farm, and twice she made signs of recognition inanswer to the gestures by which I endeavoured to make her comprehend mysituation; but on both occasions she pressed her finger on her lips, asexpressive of silence and secrecy.
The manner in which G.M. entered upon the scene for the first time,seems to assure me of her goodwill, so far as her power may reach; and Ihave many reasons to believe it is considerable. Yet she seemed hurriedand frightened during the very transitory moments of our interview, andI think was, upon the last occasion, startled by the entrance of someone into the farmyard, just as she was on the point of addressing me.You must not ask whether I am an early riser, since such objects areonly to be seen at daybreak; and although I have never again seen her,yet I have reason to think she is not distant. It was but threenights ago, that, worn out by the uniformity of my confinement, I hadmanifested more symptoms of despondence than I had before exhibited,which I conceive may have attracted the attention of the domestics,through whom the circumstance might transpire. On the next morning, thefollowing lines lay on my table; but how conveyed there, I cannot tell.The hand in which they were written is a beautiful Italian manuscript:--
As lords their labourers' hire delay, Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, Which, if far short of present pay, Still, owns a debt and names a sum.
Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, Although a distant date be given; Despair is treason towards man, And blasphemy to Heaven.
That these lines were written with the friendly purpose of inducing meto keep up my spirits, I cannot doubt; and I trust the manner in which Ishall conduct myself may show that the pledge is accepted.
The dress is arrived in which it seems to be my self-elected guardian'spleasure that I shall travel; and what does it prove to be?--A skirt, orupper-petticoat of camlet, like those worn by country ladies of moderaterank when on horseback, with such a riding-mask as they frequently useon journeys to preserve their eyes and complexion from the sun and dust,and sometimes, it is suspected, to enable then to play off a littlecoquetry. From the gayer mode of employing the mask, however, I suspectI shall be precluded; for instead of being only pasteboard, covered withblack velvet, I observe with anxiety that mine is thickened with a plateof steel, which, like Quixote's visor, serves to render it more strongand durable.
This apparatus, together with a steel clasp for securing the mask behindme with a padlock, gave me fearful recollections of the unfortunatebeing, who, never being permitted to lay aside such a visor, acquiredthe well-known historical epithet of the Man in the Iron Mask. Ihesitated a moment whether I should, so far submit to the acts ofoppression designed against me as to assume this disguise, which was,of course, contrived to aid their purposes. But when I remembered Mr.Herries's threat, that I should be kept close prisoner in a carriage,unless I assumed the dress which should be appointed for me; and Iconsidered the comparative degree of freedom which I might purchaseby wearing the mask and female dress as easily and advantageouslypurchased. Here, therefore, I must pause for the present, and await whatthe morning may bring forth.
[To carry on the story from the documents before us, we think it properhere to drop the journal of the captive Darsie Latimer, and adopt,instead, a narrative of the proceedings of Alan Fairford in pursuit ofhis friend, which forms another series in this history.]