During "the hundred days," James forgot all his sorrow and all his solitariness; like the eagle, he seemed to have renewed his youth. But the tidings of Waterloo arrived.
"Treachery! foul treachery!" cried the old man, when he heard them; and he smote his hand upon his breast. But he remembered that his son was in that battle. He had not heard from him—he knew not but that he was numbered with the slain—he feared it, and he became tenfold more unhappy and miserable than before.
A few months after the battle, a wounded soldier arrived at T—— to recruit his health amongst his friends. He had enlisted with George, he had served in the same regiment, and seen him fall at the moment the cry of "The Prussians!" was raised.
"My son!—my poor son!" cried the miserable father, "and it is my doing—it is a' mine—I drove him to list; and how can I live wi' the murder o' my poor George upon my head?" His distress became deeper and more deep; his health and strength more rapidly declined; he was unable to work, and he began to be in want. About this period, also, he was attacked with a paralytic stroke, which deprived him of the use of his right arm; and he was reluctantly compelled to remove to Stirlingshire, and become an inmate in the house of his daughter.
It was a sad grief to his proud spirit to feel himself a burden upon his child; but she and her husband strove anxiously to soothe him and to render him happy. He was still residing with them when the radical meetings took place in various parts of the country, and especially in the west of Scotland, in 1819. James contemplated them with delight. He said the spirit of liberty was casting its face upon his countrymen—they were beginning to think like men, and to understand the principles which he had gloried in, through good report and through bad report—yea, and through persecution, for more than half-a-century.
A meeting was to take place near Stirling, and James was sorrowful that he was unable to attend; but his son-in-law was to be present, and James charged him that he would bring him a faithful account of all the proceedings. Catherine knew little about the principles of her father, or her husband, or the object of the meeting. She asked if it would make wages any higher; but she had heard that the military would be called out to disperse it—that government would punish those who attended it, and her fears were excited.
"Tak my advice, Willie," said she to her husband, as he went towards the door; "tak a wife's advice for ance, and dinna gang near it. There will nae guid come out o't. Ye can mak naething by it, but will lose baith time and money; and I understand that it is likely great danger will attend it, and ye may be brought into trouble. Sae, dinna gang, Willie, like a guid lad—if ye hae ony regard for me, dinna gang."
"Really, Katie," said Willie, who was a good-natured man, "ye talk very silly. But ye're just like a' the women, hinny—their outcry is aye about expense and danger. But dinna ye trouble yersel—it's o' nae use to be put about for the death ye'll ne'er die. I'll be hame to my four-hours."
"The lassie's silly," said her father; "wherefore should he no gang? It is the duty o' every man to gang that is able; and sorry am I that I am not, or I wad hae rejoiced to hae stood forth this day as a champion in the great cause o' liberty."
So William Crawford, disregarding the remonstrances of his wife, went to the meeting. But while the people were yet assembling, the military were called out—the riot act was read—and the soldiers fired at or over the multitude. Instant confusion took place; there was a running to and fro, and the soldiers pursued. Several were wounded, and some seriously.