"Mr Square," said he, "this is a strange business. I myself have not a doubt of the truth of all the circumstances, some of which I have a distinct recollection of—more especially the quarrel and duel; but how to obtain the necessary evidence I at present cannot divine. The loss of the papers is a very material point; and the sudden illness of your foster-parent is very unfortunate. But there is also another difficulty, even were we so fortunate, as I hope we will be, as to restore him to health and consciousness: his testimony could not be taken in any court of justice; he is an outlaw, tainted by actual rebellion, and liable to be apprehended and executed as a traitor. His mildest punishment, if not pardoned after sentence, would be banishment; and, what is not the least worthy of serious consideration, the object to be attained, unless your friend is very rich, may not be worth the expense and trouble. That foolish rhyme has been fulfilled, in the meantime, so far. Your great-grandfather was a zealous partisan of the Lauderdale administration in Scotland; and, I believe, rather rigorous with the adherents of the Covenant. At the Revolution, he fell into disgrace with the powers that assumed the reins of government, and so turned his hopes upon the restoration of the exiled family, and impoverished himself in aiding the intrigues to restore them. Your grandfather had been bred in, and adhered to, the same politics, now a losing game. He still farther reduced the rent-roll by sales and bonds; and, at his death, your two uncles, who remained at home, changed their party. The older died young, without having married; and the younger succeeded to what remained of the estate of his ancestors—a mere wreck, soon spent in dissipation. Not one furr of land that once owned your ancestors as lord now owns their sway. With the sum produced by the last sale, your uncle bade adieu to Scotland; and you are the last of the race. I would advise no farther proceedings than to endeavour, if possible, to recover the documents relating to your birth and legitimacy, if they have not been destroyed in pulling down the old walls."
Why should I dwell on my disappointment. Mr Davidson used every effort, by inquiries and offers of reward; but the papers never were recovered, although we got from one of the workmen the brass Dutch box in which they had been placed. He had purchased it from one of the labourers who picked it up in the ruins, and had destroyed the papers as of no importance. I had now the knowledge of the family from whom I was descended, but no proof to establish my claim, even though my right to property to any amount would have been the consequence.
As for my foster-parent, he gradually recovered from the stupor that had overwhelmed him, but never regained his wonted energies. He was possessed of a few hundred pounds, besides his half-pay from the Dutch Government, which was regularly paid. He never could endure me for any length of time out of his sight; and I remained with him until his death, a few years afterwards. I know that I was wasting my time; yet I could not desert the old man, whose whole happiness was concentrated in me; and, shall I confess, I felt a strange happiness in his society—for he alone of all mankind treated the beggar-boy of former years as an individual of rank; and our conversation was generally about the traditions of my ancestors. When the weather would permit, it was our wont to leave our house at Clock Mill, to wander over the scenes he loved—the spots in and around the bosom of Arthur Seat, where he had first won the affections of his departed Mary—and point out the favourite haunts which my father and mother used to sit in or walk. On these we would gaze, until our imagination seemed vested with the power of calling the personages before us. Thus passed on the time until the lieutenant's death, which happened suddenly.
I was thus once more alone in the world, without a tie to bind me to it, save the natural love of life inherent in man.
In Edinburgh I had formed no acquaintance; a continual soreness haunted me as to the dignity of birth, yet I never assumed even the name of my parent. I only heard it pronounced by my foster-father, who urged me to adopt my family honours. The conversation of the lieutenant had given my mind a military bias. I was weary of Edinburgh, which recalled to my mind too many sad reflections; and I mentioned to Mr Davidson the resolution I had formed. After winding up the affairs of the lieutenant, I found that I was possessed of one hundred and seventy pounds. Mr Davidson, who still insisted that the money I had left as a gift in his hands was at my disposal, generously offered to advance the amount required to purchase me an ensigncy; but this I would on no account allow. My pride revolted at a pecuniary obligation, as a derogation from my family dignity, which still hung heavy upon me. By his advice, and through his assistance, I sunk in the hands of the magistrates one hundred and fifty pounds, as the most profitable way I could invest it—the interest to accumulate until my return in person to claim it. It was about the year 1775, when the troubles in America had commenced. Accounts had just arrived that blood had been shed at Lexington and Concord; and the bootless victory at Boston was announced, but not confirmed. It was the month of August, and the utmost excitement reigned among the people in the city: every means, both legal and scarcely legal, being employed to raise troops. The comprehending act was passed, by which the justices of the peace were empowered to impress and send to the army all idle or immoral characters: an engine of great tyranny and oppression in their hands; for every person who was in the least obnoxious to them was hurried to the army, whatever his character might be. Without informing my friend Mr Davidson, I bade him farewell, and proceeded to Glasgow, where I entered as a private into the Fraser Highlanders, resolved to carve out my own fortune with my sword. This I did through my foolish pride, so little had I learned by my former experience. During my short stay with the party, before I joined the regiment, my mind became disgusted by the modes I saw practised to augment the army, by trepanning and actual violence. The landed gentlemen and magistrates appeared to have lost, in their zeal, every sense of justice. The most disgusting modes were resorted to: such as putting a shilling into a drinking jug, and causing the king's health to be pledged; while the soldier, in plain clothes, sitting in company as a tradesman, or a person from the country, was ready to seize the person whom he had pitched upon, the moment he drank the royal toast. If he resisted, nothing could save him from prison; enlist, and attest he must. So prevalent, indeed, was this mode, that the publicans were under the necessity of getting pewter jugs with glass bottoms to drink from, or their houses would have been deserted. This gave security to the customer that there was not a shilling in the bottom; and allowed him to watch through the glass the motions of the persons with whom he drank. The only redress the kidnapped individual got was, that he might choose the regiment he would join; and he in general fixed upon some other one than the one to which his betrayer belonged. One instance disgusted me beyond endurance. It happened to a good-looking young lad, belonging to Hamilton. An intimate acquaintance of his had been enlisted, whether voluntarily or not I do not recollect, but he was still without any marks of his new profession. Several of the old soldiers were also with him, prowling about for recruits, when he recognised his former friend in the Briggate, accompanied by his intended bride and their mothers, who had come to Glasgow with the young people to purchase their plenishing. Rejoiced to meet an old acquaintance in the city, the party, being fatigued with their walk and the heat of the weather, retired to a neighbouring public-house to rest and refresh themselves. The companions of the betrayer, to avoid suspicion, had passed on, as if they were not of his party, but entered the house a short time after. As those from the country had business to transact, they refused to tarry, and the new-made soldier insisted to pay for the entertainment, which, after a good-natured dispute, he was allowed to do. By design, or otherwise, he sat at the far end of the table, and when the landlady was called, he said, handing forward a shilling—
"Here, George, is a shilling; be so good as hand it to the landlady."
"The reckoning is one and sixpence," said she.
"Oh, I have plenty of the king's coin. Here is another for you, George."
To the alarm and grief of the bridal party, when they were at the door to proceed on the business they had come to town upon, the soldiers in waiting seized the young man, and declared him one of the king's men. The betrayer shrunk back, not yet hardened to the trade; but his associates compelled the victim to go with them to the jail. Fortunately for them and the young man, they had respectable friends in the city, who waited upon some of the magistrates. An investigation took place. The soldiers scrupled not to maintain that he was enlisted, and were willing to swear that he had taken the second shilling in the king's name—the usual words of voluntary enlistment. They even produced the landlady, who, either leaning towards the soldiers (her good customers), or not paying much attention at the time, declared that she heard, when the second shilling was given, distinctly the words "king and coin." So powerful was the feeling at this time, that he was declared duly enlisted, and only escaped by paying to the party a round sum of smart-money.
After passing the winter at drill, I was embarked with a numerous body, to reinforce the army besieged in Quebec, where we arrived in the month of May. I was now on the field where I was to reap the fruits of my ambition; but I found it unpromising, and strewed with thorns. Still I had an object to attain, however distant it might be, and my oppression left me. I was most assiduous in my duties, and was soon made a corporal. My heart leaped for joy. This was the first step to my ambition; my hopes began to brighten, and I submitted to our privations without a murmur. At the storming of St John's, I was made a serjeant; and here I stuck. In vain was all my daring and good conduct. At the descent upon Long Island, I was as conspicuous as I dared to be by the rules of strict discipline, and, in consequence, often had the charge of small picquets upon dangerous service, and was twice slightly wounded. Once I led the company, and took several prisoners, after both the captain and ensign were carried to the rear dangerously wounded. The ensign died in a few days of his wound; and it was generally believed by the men of the regiment that I would have been promoted to his rank. At length, in the month of August, 1781, I was made paymaster-serjeant; which rank I did not long retain; for the army was not long after completely surrounded by the Americans, besieged in Yorktown and at Gloucester, and, after suffering the extreme of hardships for twelve days, from sickness, famine, and the fire of the enemy, Lord Cornwallis, hopeless of being relieved, surrendered himself and army prisoners of war. This put an extinguisher upon all my hopes. I was now a prisoner, sick, and looked upon for death, and must have perished, had it not been for one of the captains of the American army, to whom the sick prisoners were delivered over. He proved to have been one of the palantines—an Aberdeen lad—who had been my companion in early misfortune, now an extensive proprietor in New England. To him I was indebted for much kindness during my imprisonment until the peace. When I returned to Britain, I was discharged with a pension of one shilling per day, being what is called the king's letter, which, with the accumulation of my annuity, enables me to finish my chequered career in competence, and wander as I list amidst these scenes of wo and pleasure, lovely by nature, and endeared by former recollections.