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 he had so long looked forward to, with hopes 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 grey 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 immoveable 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 them; 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 my 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 be 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,