STORY OF WILLIAM.
While in winter quarters, in the latter end of 1812, a detachment of recruits joined us from the depot at home, some of whom were attached to our company. Among them was a lad of the name of William Young, a native of Glasgow. His conduct and character were so strikingly different from that of his comrades, that he soon became an object of remark. He might then be about eighteen or nineteen years of age, prepossessing in his appearance; but his countenance was ‘sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,’—something seemed to lie heavy at his heart. When not on duty he was in the habit of wandering much by himself, and, unless when he could not avoid it, he rarely spoke to any one. When the weather did not permit him to ramble, he occupied himself in reading a small pocket Bible, which he always carried about with him, and often, while thus engaged, the tears could be seen trickling down his cheeks. Those of course were considered symptoms of religious feeling, and as such were ridiculed by the more brutal and illiterate part of his comrades; it was, however, confined to them, for there is a sacredness attached to even the appearance of religion in the minds of those who have been brought up by religious parents, that however lax their own morality may be, prevents them from turning it into ridicule. Their hearts still cherish the recollection of the holy feelings which have been excited in their younger years, and untainted at the core, sigh to think they do not now feel as they were wont, that purity and happiness which by association must ever be connected with their religious observances. I felt interested in him, and soon acquired his confidence so far, that he confided to me the outlines of his story, up to the time of his enlisting. There seemed, however, to be a feeling of self-contempt mixed up with his grief, that prevented him from entering particularly into the circumstances which led to that step. What I learned was, that he had left a widowed mother and a sister behind, who had depended in a great measure upon him for support; that the Bible, which he was in the habit of reading, was the gift of his mother, when they parted; and although he felt pleasure and consolation from scanning its contents, there were other feelings connected with it which often led his thoughts far from what he was reading, and raised emotions in his mind that brought tears from his eyes. Without seeking to pry into what he seemed inclined to conceal, I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to turn the current of his thoughts into some other channel, but my efforts were unavailing; the destitute manner in which he had left his mother seemed to prey upon his mind, and although he conformed himself well enough to the duties he had to perform, yet he still remained the same melancholy, abstracted being as when I first knew him.
We had advanced some way into France, when one evening we were walking together, and talking of the possibility of our soon seeing home, as we had now some reason to expect peace.
‘I hope,’ said he, ‘that I will live to return to my poor mother; but if it should be my fate to fall, and yours to survive, there is one request I have to make.’
‘What is that?’ said I.
‘That you will send home this Bible to my mother; I have fastened a lock of my hair at a place she will remember, and think with pity and forgiveness of me when I am no more.’
‘Don’t let such melancholy reflections get the better of you,’ said I; ‘still hope for the best. I trust we shall both see our native land again, but should there be any necessity for it, and I survive, I will faithfully perform what you wish.’
A few days after, the battle of Orthes was fought. At night when the companies were mustered, poor William was missing: he had been detached with the sharp-shooters in the morning, to cover the advance of the column, and had been killed by a grape shot in the early part of the day. We were far past the place where he had fallen, and I could not return even had there been any chance of finding him among the numbers of dead and wounded that strewed the field. But he had given his Bible in charge to an officer’s servant, with whom he was acquainted, to place among his master’s baggage, as a place of greater security, from whom I received it, previous to our embarkation at Pauilhac, for Ireland. Between the Old and New Testaments, on the blank page, was fastened a lock of his hair, so disposed as to encircle the following passages, which were copied in a small hand, with the chapter and verse of each annexed:—
‘Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears, for there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again unto their own border.’
‘Fear not, thy Maker is thine husband.’
‘Commit thy fatherless children to my care.’
‘Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.’