Major Gilroy wasna lang at Jamaica when an unco change for the waur took place. There was naething but orderin’, cursin’, swearin’, an’ lashin’ o’ slaves frae mornin’ till nicht. Joe’s wife was amang the first that succumbed to the murderous whip, an’ Joe himsel’ cam in for mair than his share. Rumours soon began to spread that the maister himsel’ was tyrannised ower by his brither. He was ane o’ the very kindest o’ maisters to his slaves, until his brither cam like a frosty blicht, and filled the whole estate wi’ lamentation. Sae this state o’ things gaed on for nearly six months, when ae day Joe, exasperated at the inhuman treatment he was receivin’ at the major’s instigation, took leg-bail to the sea-shore, an’ hid himsel’ amang the cliffs. There he lurked, day after day, crawlin’ oot at nicht to gather shell-fish an’ dulse frae the rocks, an’ castin’ his e’e ower the wide watery waste for the welcome sicht o’ a sail to bear him frae the accursed spot. Mair than ance he had heard the shouts o’ the manhunters on his track, intermingling wi’ the terrible bay o’ the bluidhound. But a’ their vigilance was eluded by the impregnable nature o’ his position, high up amang the rocks.
On the morning o’ the thirteenth day after his escape, he cautiously emerged frae his high den, an’ looked around him as usual. The air was intensely hot, an’ dark-red masses o’ cloud were fast drivin’ through a black, lowering sky, the certain presage o’ a fearfu’ storm. The sea lay calm and still, for there wasna a breath o’ wind stirring, an’ flocks o’ sea-birds were filling the sultry air wi’ their harsh, discordant cries. Suddenly a flash o’ forked lichtnin’ illumined the black, murky sky, an’ a loud clap o’ thunder reverberated amang the mountains. Then the lichtnin’ an’ thunder became incessant, the sea lashed itsel’ into foam an’ fury, an’ the rain poured doun in torrents. As the slave surveyed the elements thus ragin’ in a’ their terrific grandeur, the distant sound o’ carriage-wheels caught his ear. Nearer an’ nearer they cam, till he recognised a gig driven by the major comin’ on at a rattlin’ pace. His brither sat beside him, propped up wi’ shawls and cushions, an’ appeared to be at that moment in an attitude o’ earnest entreaty; while every noo and then the faint sound o’ voices in noisy altercation was borne on the gale that noo roared ower land an’ sea, though what they said it was utterly impossible to distinguish. The slave looked on, first in astonishment, an’ syne in horror; for, instead o’ turnin’ the horse’s head hamewards as the storm cam on, the major persisted in drivin’ richt on through the sands as the spring-tide was fast cornin’ in, in spite o’ the agonised entreaties o’ his brither to turn. At last the gig was stopped, as the horse, plunging and restive, went up to the middle in water. Then a deadly struggle took place that lasted scarcely a minute, when the report o’ a pistol reverberated amid the thunder, an’ the next instant the body o’ the invalid was hurled into the roaring surge. Then, indeed, the horse’s head was turned hameward, an’ aff went the gig in richt earnest, but no before a wild yell o’ execration frae the cliff warned the murderer that the deed had been witnessed by mair than the e’e o’ God abune. Scarcely had the sound o’ the wheels died away, when the slave descended the lofty precipitous rocks wi’ the agility o’ a wild cat, an’ plunged into the sea to save, if it were yet possible, his puir maister. But the dark purple streaks on the surface o’ the water where the deed was accomplished telt, ower fearfully, that the sharks were already thrang at their horrid wark, an’ that a’ hope o’ saving him, if he werena clean deid after the pistol-shot was fired, was for ever gane. Therefore he reluctantly swam back to the shore, wi’ barely enough o’ time to save himsel’. Before scaling the cliff, he lifted the pistol that the murderer, in the hurry an’ confusion o’ the moment, had left behind him on the beach. This incident filled the slave wi’ fresh alarm, for it was certain the major wad come back for’t before lang. Sae a’ that nicht he wearied sair for the mornin’ to come in. Slowly at last the storm subsided, as the first pale streaks o’ dawn were visible in the horizon; an’ as the daylicht lengthened mair an’ mair, he saw a dark speck floating on the waves, that on a nearer approach proved to be a boat that had burst frae its moorings frae some ship in the distant harbour. Fervently thanking God for this providential means o’ deliverance, he descended frae his friendly shelter for the last time, an’ boldly struck out for the boat, which he reached in safety. Seizing the oars, he steered oot to the open sea, wi’ a fervent prayer that the dark drizzly fog that enveloped the ocean wad continue to shield him, for a time, frae his merciless enemy, till some friendly ship wad tak him up. It was high time; for he hadna gi’en half-a-dozen strokes, when the sound o’ angry voices, among which was the major’s, was borne on the breeze, an’ again the deep-toned bay o’ the bluidhound nerved his arms wi’ a’ the energy o’ desperation. Farther an’ farther oot he gaed, battling wi’ the heavily swelling rollers that threatened every moment to engulph the boat he steered sae bravely. For mony a lang and weary hour he struggled wi’ the giant waves, enveloped in fog, till the darkness o’ nicht had nearly set in; an’ he was fast gi’en up a’ hopes o’ succour, when the tout o’ a horn near at hand warned him that a ship was bearing doun upon him. He had barely time to steer oot o’ her way, when he was hailed by the captain, an’ asked where he cam frae. Joe made answer that he was the sole survivor o’ the Nancy, bound for England, that had sprung a leak, an’ foundered in last nicht’s gale. At that moment a terrible wave capsized the boat, and Joe was struggling in the water. But a rope was flung oot to him, an’ he speedily drew himsel’ on board. This circumstance o’ the boat’s being swamped was a mercy for Joe; for had the name o’ the ship she belanged to met the captain’s e’e, the lee wad hae been fand oot, an’ it micht hae fared waur wi’ him. But the captain treated Joe wi’ great kindness, and telt him he micht work his passage to Leith, which was the port o’ their destination. The vessel was a Leith trader named the William and Mary, an’ was on her passage hame frae the Island o’ Cuba.
Here, let it be remembered, Joe wasna to be blamed a’thegither for the doonricht lee he telt the captain. He was a rinaway slave in the first place, an’ had the captain kent the truth, it’s mair than likely he wad hae delivered him up at the first port he touched at on the voyage hame. In the second place, there was nae ither witness o’ the fearfu’ crime binna himsel’; an’ he had the tact to see that evidence resting on the sole testimony o’ a rinaway slave, mair especially when that slave micht be reasonably suspected o’ vindictive feelings against the murderer, wad be treated wi’ scorn an’ indignation, an’ even add to the horrors o’ his ain death. Therefore Joe kept his ain coonsel, and when the vessel arrived at Leith, he wandered up to Edinburgh, and resided for mony a lang year in the West Bow, makin’ his livin’ in the manner already related, and wi’ the secret carefully locked up in his breast until now.
“Aweel, Joe,” said my mither, when she had heard him oot, “that’s an unco story, man. But are ye aware that the auld colonel’s aye livin’ yet, an’ that it wad be a duty to let him ken the truth?” Here Joe lookit in her face sae pitifu’ an’ imploring like, that she didna find it in her heart to press the question ony mair at that time. But when the body gaed awa’ ben, my mither sat thinkin’ and thinkin’ till the day was far spent; an’ for mony a lang day after that she hadna muckle peace o’ mind.
Ae mornin’ she put on her bannit and shawl, and said she wadna be hame till late. Although I was a bit lassie at the time, I jaloused where she was gaun, but I never let on. It wasna till late, late at nicht that she cam hame, an’ then she telt me she had been at Hawkesneb Hoose on a pretence to see if an auld servant she had kent mony a year sin’ was aye bidin’ there. As she rang the gate-bell, she said a fearfu’ sense o’ shame an’ disgrace comin’ ower an auld man made her swither; but there was the lodgekeeper’s wife comin’ to the gate, an’ it was ower late noo to gang back. She then inquired for ane Jess Tamson, that had been a servant up at the big hoose three years sin’; but the woman said she didna ken o’ onybody o’ that name servin’ there noo. My mither said that was an unco pity, as she had cam a lang way to see her, an’ her feet were sair blistered wi’ the roads. The woman then opened the gate, an’ asked my mither into the lodge, an’ offered her a cup o’ tea, for which my mither was very thankfu’. Then, when the twa fell on the crack, my mither said the laird wad be gey far doon the brae noo, for he was an auld man in Jess’s time. My mither came oot wi’ this in her ain pawky way, to hear for certain whether the colonel were dead or livin’.
“The auld colonel’s dead an’ gane a year sin’,” said the woman, “but his son the major’s expected hame in a month; an’ I’m sure there has been sic a scrubbin’ an’ cleanin’ an’ hammerin’, that what wi’ masons, joiners, plasterers, painters, and glaziers, there hasna been muckle rest for the servants this last fortnicht.”
“An’ is the major married?” asked my mither.
“Married! no as yet,” said the woman. “They say he’s turned unco silent and cantankerous since his brither’s death, sees naebody, an’ never gangs to sleep without wax candles burnin’ a’ nicht by his bedside.”
“The major never gangs to sleep without wax candles burnin’ a’ nicht by his bedside!” said my mither, slowly comin’ ower the words after her. “Deary me, that’s strange!” tryin’ sair to keep in her breath. “What kind o’ death was’t his brither dee’d o’, hae ye heard?”
“What kind o’ death was’t? It was murder, dounricht murder!” said the woman; “an’ done too by ane o’ his ain slaves through revenge. But it was a grand day for the major when his brither dee’d; for he wasna a month gane when the plantation was selt aff, an’ the major left Jamaica wi’ mony a braw thousand pound in his pouch.”