IF a disobedient and undutiful son may still address you by that dear and now much-valued name;—and my mother!—the blood forsakes my heart, and my hand refuses to move, when I think upon that unhallowed night I left your peaceful roof to follow my foolish and way ward inclinations. O, I have suffered, and must ever suffer, for my guilty conduct. Pardon me! pardon me! I can hardly hope—yet—O drive me not to despair! I have doomed myself to seven years’ punishment. I made this choice in an hour of shame. I could not appear in Edinburgh after what had happened. Never shall I again do any thing to bring shame upon myself or you. The hope of your pardon and forgiveness alone sustains me. Again I implore pardon on my knees. Would I could lay my head at your feet! then would I not rise till you pronounced my pardon, and raised to your embrace
Your wretched
Thomas.
Now I began to drink the cup of bitterness. How different was my situation from what it had been! Forced from bed at five o’clock each morning, to get all things ready for drill; then drilled for three hours with the most unfeeling rigour, and often beat by the sergeant for the faults of others—I, who had never been crossed at home—I, who never knew fatigue, was now fainting under it. This I bore without a murmur, as I had looked to it in my engagement. My greatest sufferings were where I had not expected them.
I could not associate with the common soldiers; their habits made me shudder. I feared an oath—they never spoke without one: I could not drink—they loved liquor: They gamed—I knew nothing of play. Thus was I a solitary individual among hundreds. They lost no opportunity of teasing me. “Saucy Tom,” or “The distressed Methodist,” were the names they distinguished me by. I had no way of redress, until an event occurred, that gave me, against my will, an opportunity to prove that my spirit was above insult. A recruit who had joined at the same time with myself, was particularly active in his endeavours to turn me into ridicule. One evening I was sitting in a side-window reading. Of an old newspaper he made a fool’s cap, and, unperceived by me, placed it upon my head. Fired at the insult, I started up and knocked him down.—“Clear the room; a ring, a ring,—the Methodist is going to fight,” was vociferated from all sides. Repenting my haste, yet determined not to affront myself, I stood firm, and determined to do my utmost. My antagonist, stunned by the violence of the blow, and surprised at the spirit I displayed, rose slowly, and stood irresolute. I demanded an apology. He began to bluster and threaten, but I saw at once that he was afraid; and, turning from him, said in a cool decided manner, “If you dare again insult me, I will chastise you as you deserve; you are beneath my anger.” I again sat down, and resumed my reading, as if nothing had happened.
From this time I was no longer insulted; and I became much esteemed among my fellow-soldiers, who before despised me. Still I could not associate with them. Their pleasures were repugnant to my feelings.
There was one of my fellow-soldiers, Donald M‘Donald, who seemed to take pleasure in my company. We became attached to each other. He came up in the same smack with myself: He was my bed-fellow, and became my firm friend. Often would he get himself into altercations on my account. Donald could read and write. This was the sum of his education. He was innocent, and ignorant of the world; only 18 years of age, and had never been a night from home before he left his father’s house, more than myself. To be a soldier was the height of his ambition. He had come from near Inverness to Edinburgh on foot, with no other intention than to enlist in the 71st. His father had been a soldier in it, and was now living at home after being discharged. Donald called it his regiment, and would not have taken the bounty from any other.
To increase my grief, I was ordered to embark for the Cape of Good Hope, fifteen days after my arrival in the Isle of Wight, and before I had received an answer to my letter to my father. If my mind had been at ease, I would have enjoyed this voyage much. We had very pleasant weather, and were not crowded in our births. There were six soldiers to a birth, and we were at liberty to be on deck all day if we chose.
The first land I saw after leaving the Channel, was Porto Santo. It is very low, yet we could distinguish it plainly while we were 30 miles off. It has the appearance of a collection of small hills ending in peaks. In a short time after, we had a most pleasant sight; the island of Madeira, covered with delightful verdure. The view of it calmed me greatly, and I felt just as I had done the first time I saw the country after a long illness, in which my life was despaired of. How much was that pleasure increased when we anchored between the Desertas and the island! The weather was beautiful and clear; we lay at a distance of not more than six or seven miles, at most, from the shore. The island is quite unlike Porto Santo. It seems to be one continued mountain, running from east to west, covered with stately trees and verdure. Every spot looked more luxuriant than another. As it is approached from the east, it has the appearance of a crescent, or new moon, the corners pointed towards you.
While we lay there, we had boats alongside every day with oranges, lemons, figs, and many other fruits, which we purchased at a rate that surprised us, considering how dearly we had been accustomed to purchase them in England. As soon as we cast anchor, the health-boat came alongside, to inquire the state of the crew and passengers. This is always done before any communication is allowed with the island. We had the pleasure to tell them that there was not a sick person onboard; that we only wanted a supply of water, and were to sail as soon as possible.
Funchal is the largest town on the island. It is situated on the north side of a hill towards the ocean, covering the hill from the summit to the base. The houses reach to the water’s edge, and they all look as if they were newly built, they are so white and clean. Another range of hills is seen rising above the one on which the town is built; these are also covered with houses, vineyards, and plantations of fruit trees. Nothing could be more charming to our eyes, which had ached so long in looking over a boundless expanse of sea.