Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 18

by Unknown

Believing this to be the case, Captain Clydesdale now became anxious to know whether any others had escaped; but could not make himself understood. At length one of the savages, of more apt comprehension than the others, seemed to have obtained a glimmering of the import of the captain's queries, and fell upon an ingenious mode of replying to them. Grasping Mr Clydesdale by the arm, he conducted him to a small pool of water that was hard by. He then took a piece of bark that was lying on the ground, placed about a dozen small pebbles on it, and launched it into the pool. Then stooping down, he edged it over, till the stones slid, one after the other, into the water, until one only remained. Allowing the piece of bark now to right itself, and to float on the water, he pointed to the single stone it carried, and then to the child; thus intimating, as Mr Clydesdale understood it, and as it was evidently meant to signify, that all had perished excepting the little girl.

While this primitive mode of communication was going on, the man who had brought the child to Captain Clydesdale had returned to his wigwam, and now reappeared, carrying several articles in his hand, which he held up to the former. Mr Clydesdale took them in his hand, and found them to consist of fragments of a child's dress, made, as he thought, after the fashion of those in use in Scotland. On the corner of what appeared to be the remains of a little shift, he discovered the initials, J. E. But the most interesting relic produced on this occasion, was a small locket, containing some rich black hair on one side, and on the other the miniature of a young man in a military uniform, with the same initials, J. E., engraven on the rim. This locket, the man who brought it gave Captain Clydesdale to understand, had been found hanging around the neck of the child when first discovered.

Satisfied now, beyond all doubt, of the child's European descent, Mr Clydesdale approached her, took her kindly by the hand, and, hoping to make something of her own testimony, began to put some questions to her; but, to his great disappointment, found that she did not understand him, although he spoke to her both in French and English. The little girl, in truth, he soon discovered, neither understood nor spoke any language but that of the tribe in whose hands she was.

It appeared, however, sufficiently clear to Captain Clydesdale, that a shipwreck had taken place on the coast, and that at no very great distance of time, and that the child before him had been on board of the unfortunate vessel. Various circumstances, too, led him to the belief that the ship had been a British one; and in this opinion he was joined by the mate.

The result of the Captain's reflections on these points, was a determination to take the child to Scotland with him, if he could prevail upon her present possessors to part with her, and to take his chance of making some discovery regarding her on his return home.

Having come to this resolution, he hastened to make known to the natives his wish to have the little girl; and was well pleased to perceive that the proposal, which they seemed at once to comprehend, was not received with any surprise, far less indignation. Encouraged by this reception of his overture, Captain Clydesdale now addressed himself particularly to the man who appeared to be the guardian, or, perhaps, proprietor of the child, and, unbuckling his cutlass from his side, presented it to him—making him, at the same time, to understand that he offered it as the price of the little girl. The man demurred. Captain Clydesdale pulled a clasp-knife out of his pocket, and made signs that he would give that also, provided the locket and fragment of shift, with the initials on it, were given along with the child. This addition to the first offer had the desired effect. The cutlass and knife were accepted, the locket and shift given in exchange, and the little hand of the girl placed in Captain Clydesdale's, to signify that she was now his property. After some farther interchange of civilities with the natives, the captain, his mate, and the little Julia Elderslie—for, we presume, the reader has been all along perfectly aware that the child in question was no other than that unfortunate little personage—proceeded on their way towards the place where the watering party had been left. This spot they reached in safety, after about an hour's walking, and found the men waiting their return—the casks having been already all filled and shipped.

In half an hour after, the boat was alongside the Dolphin, and little Julia was handed upon deck; and, in less than another hour, the ship was under weigh, and prosecuting her voyage to the Cape, where she ultimately arrived in safety. During this time, Captain Clydesdale had discovered in his Ponakonta—the name given to little Julia by the Africans, and by which he delighted to call her—a disposition so docile and affectionate, and a manner so gentle and unobtrusive, that he already loved her with all the tenderness of a parent, and had secretly resolved that he would adopt her as his own, and as such bring her up and educate her, if no one possessed of a better right to discharge this duty to her should ever appear.

In about six months after the occurrence of the events just related, the good ship Dolphin arrived safely at the harbour of Ayr, all well; and the little demi-savage, Ponakonta, in high spirits, and already beginning to jabber very passable English—an acquisition which still more endeared her to her kind-hearted protector, who took great delight in listening to her prattle, and in questioning her regarding her life amongst the Africans—of which she was now able to give a tolerably intelligible account. She had, however, no recollection whatever of the shipwreck, nor of any incident connected with it. Some dreamy reminiscences, indeed, she had of her mother; but, as might have been expected, considering how very young she was when that catastrophe happened which had deprived her of her parent, they were too vague and indefinite to be of the slightest avail towards throwing any light on her parentage.

On arriving at Ayr, Captain Clydesdale's first step, with regard to his little charge, was to avail himself of every means he could think of to make her singular history, with all its particulars, publicly known, in the hope that it might bring some one forward who stood in some relationship to her. The worthy man, however, took this step merely as one that was right and proper in the case, and not, by any means, from any desire to get rid of his little protegée. On the contrary, if truth be told, he would have been sadly disappointed had any one appeared to claim her. Nothing of this kind occurring, after a lapse of several weeks, Captain Clydesdale—who, although pretty far advanced in years, was unmarried, and had no domestic establishment of his own, being almost constantly at sea—placed little Julia under the charge of some female relatives, with instructions to give her every sort of education befitting her years; for all of which—boarding, clothing, and tuition—he came under an obligation to pay quarterly—giving a handsome sum, in the meantime, to account. Having thus disposed of his protegée, and satisfied that he had placed her in good hands, which was indeed the case, Captain Clydesdale went again to sea—his destination, on this occasion, being South America.

The worthy man, however, did not go away before having a parting interview with his little Ponakonta, whom he kissed a thousand times, nor before he had entreated for her every kindness and attention, during his absence, at the hands of those whom he had now constituted her guardians. It was upwards of two years before Captain Clydesdale returned from this voyage; for it included several trading trips between foreign ports; and thus was his absence prolonged.