For many months after this
afflicting event took place, the family at Lochmore continued to mourn
over their beloved and amiable child; but their grief was tempered with
resignation; and in the course on time, though Annie could never be
forgotten, yet they recovered their cheerfulness, and felt, in
conversing on her peculiar virtues and character, a degree of pleasure
that none but the parents of a Christian child can ever either feel or
understand. Jessie had fulfilled her sister’s wishes with regard to the
lockets, which were now worn in the bosoms of her parents and brothers;
while Jessie herself had received from Mrs. Beaumont a small miniature
that Annie had sat for, during the time she had remained in Edinburgh.
Three years passed away after Annie’s death, and General (now Sir
Charles) Beaumont was still in India. His last letters, however,
mentioned his hopes of being able to sail for England by the next fleet.
“ Whenever,” wrote he, “I return to England, Arthur shall accompany me;
for I am now so attached to him, that I really never could consent to
part with' him; and as his regiment is likely to continue here some
years longer, he has written home for leave to exchange into another
that is stationed in Europe. I think, however, I shall prevail on him to
quit the army altogether, and reside in our neighbourhood, if he can
find a small estate that will be near Glenlyn and Lochmore. Tell Allen
from me, that as soon as he has taken orders, I shall find means to fix
him in a living, near enough for us to have his society; we shall then
have nothing more to think of for our children but to find a husband for
Jessie, who will be contented to live amongst us, for I will never
consent to her removal from the circle I hope to see formed around us in
our old age. I had almost forgotten to mention to you, that a very
extraordinary circumstance occurred to me a few days ago, which I cannot
account for in any other way, than by supposing that you carry on a
private correspondence with Arthur; and yet I know not how that can be
either, for the writing was not yours. I went hastily one morning into
his room, when he was busy writing to England. I stood talking to him
about some business I wished to consult him on, when my eyes fell upon a
large packet, on which was a seal that instantly attracted my whole
attention; I suppose my sudden stopping in what I was saying, surprised
him; for he looked up, and seeing the direction my eyes were in, he
snatched up the packet, and was putting it into his pocket, when I
caught his hand. "Tell me, Arthur, from whom you received that letter?
Your answer is of great consequence to my happiness?"
"Pardon me, General" answered he, "if I refuse to answer that question
farther than by saying, that it was conveyed to my hands through my
brother Allen. More I am not at liberty to inform even you; and
therefore you will oblige me extremely by pressing me no further on the
subject."
"This is extraordinary, Arthur. That seal belonged to my wife’s father,
Sir Alexander M’Donald; and since his death I have never seen it. Indeed
till now, I always believed that it had been lost with him, in the
little vessel which foundered at sea, when he was endeavouring to make
his escape after the fatal battle of Culloden; for he was persuaded,
(contrary, I am confident, to his own judgment,) to hazard both his
fortune and life in the cause of the House of Stuart Will you at least
allow me to examine the seal, to convince myself whether I am right in
saying it is Sir Alexander’s?’
"No, my dear General, I cannot even do that consistently with what I
think right I have acted unpardonably in leaving to the power of chance
its ever being seen; and I can only be reconciled to myself again, by
your promising never to mention the subject to me."
“I found I could gain nothing; and therefore desisted from farther
inquiries; but the accident, my dear Mary, has affected me more than I
can well tell you. Is it possible that by any chance you have possession
of this family seal? Do, my love, answer me truly; for if it is not in
your hands, I will move heaven and earth to regain what, in fact, no one
but ourselves is entitled to keep possession of, and which is invaluable
to me, as the only relic that I know of, which remains of my much valued
and ever lamented uncle.” Lady Beaumont was greatly distressed at this
discovery made by Sir Charles. The seal was one that she knew was too
remarkable for him not to recognise immediately. It was a head of Prince
Charles Stuart, the Pretender, in a highland bonnet, and broadsword,
with the cross of St. George on his left shoulder, and bearing the
inscription, suum cutque; in English, ‘His own to every man.’
To attempt to deceive her husband, she knew would be vain. She would
have given the world to have been able to consult her father what answer
to make; but even yet she had discovered no means of conveying
intelligence to him, though she saw by his notes, that he was acquainted
with all the events that occurred in her house. After rejecting a
thousand answers that rose to her mind, she resolved to mention before
Allen and Jessie, that her husband had been much surprised with the
sight of a seal, sent on a packet from Allen, and to ask him if he knew
any thing about it. This she put in practice the very next day. Allen,
however, took no notice of her question, but, turning hastily to Jessie,
said, “I must go, dear sister, for my father expects me home early; good
evening, ma’am, I shall see your ladyship to-morrow.” “Good evening,
Allen; recollect, I must write to-morrow to India.”
Allen came the next evening, but had only remained a few minutes, when
he again seemed to recollect something to take him away, and hastily ran
off before Lady Beaumont had time to ask him any questions.
She remained buried in thought for some time after he was gone; when
Jessie, starting up, said, "Who can that be on the stairs?" and, opening
the door, was astonished to see Allen on the landing place. He placed
his finger on his lips, as a token of silence, and then glided softly
down stairs. Jessie did not understand his reason; but she saw he wished
to conceal from her aunt that he had been there. She, therefore, said
nothing when she returned to her seat, and Lady Beaumont, who was deeply
engaged in her own reflections, never even knew that Jessie had risen.
In the evening, when they retired to their respective rooms, Lady
Beaumont found on her table a note from her father; it contained the
following words:
“The General, I understand, has seen my seal. No doubt it has surprised
him; and it would have been better if Arthur had been more careful.
However, we must now do the best we can, and satisfy his inquiries, by
telling him a part of the truth, though not the whole.—Write to him, and
say, that you have not the seal in your own possession; but that you
received this information in strict confidence before he left the
country; that for the present you know who has it, and you are satisfied
that it should remain where it is, as you are certain in a few years,
or, perhaps, sooner, it will be honestly restored to you, without the
possibility of a disappointment. Desire him not to question Arthur upon
the subject, as his honour is pledged never to reveal who is in
possession of that seal.”
Lady Beaumont immediately sat down and wrote to her husband, to the
effect of the above note, well pleased that she was enabled to answer
his question, at least according to the known wishes of her father. This
was the last of her correspondence with India; for, late in the summer,
she received a letter from Sir Charles, informing her of his safe
arrival at Portsmouth, in company with Arthur, who was then writing to
his father, and was in perfect health. Great was the joy that this
pleasing information gave to all at Glenlyn and Lochmore; and they
waited with the utmost impatience to see the beloved travellers restored
to their native country, after so long an absence. A whole week passed
before another letter arrived. One, at last, came from Sir Charles.—He
said that he had been greatly agitated on his arrival in London, by
receiving a summons from Colin Monteith, to come immediately to him at
Richmond, where, he said, his father lay at the point of death, and that
he himself was, he firmly believed, fast following him.
“I could not, my dear Mary,” continued Sir Charles, “impatient as I am
to get to you, refuse the request of a dying man. I, therefore, left
town instantly, carrying Arthur with me, as Colin particularly expressed
a wish to see Colonel Mathieson. What a scene have we been witnesses to!
And, oh! my dear wife, what a lesson it ought to be to all those who
fear not God, and despise his precepts! On our arrival at Richmond, we
inquired for Colin, and were instantly shown into his bedroom, where we
found him reclining on the bed, the absolute spectre of the young man we
had formerly known. He rose the moment he saw us, and, advancing to me,
said, "Sir Charles, my father has been wounded in a duel, and is
pronounced to be drawing near his end. His own violence and irritability
have greatly accelerated his fate; for he has never ceased raving since
he received his wound. In every interval of pain, he calls for you,
declaring that he cannot die till he has seen you; and, as I learnt, by
accident, that you were in England, I have taken the liberty to send for
you, in hopes that your presence may have the power of quieting his
mind, and comforting him in his last moments." I answered, that I was
entirely ignorant of any business Colonel Monteith could have with me;
but that I was ready to afford him any comfort that lay in my power, if
he was serious in wishing to see me.
“‘I will let him know that you have arrived, Sir Charles; meantime, may
I request that you will remain here with Colonel Matheson, till my
return?’ He left the room, but returned in a very few minutes, begging
that I would follow him instantly to his father. I found the Colonel
supported in his bed by pillows, his face bloated, and his eyes sunk.
The moment he caught sight of me, he screamed loudly for me to come
forward, and hear his confession. I advanced towards him, wondering what
I could possibly have to do in any of his concerns.
“‘Beaumont! exclaimed he, ‘I have much to say to you, and much to hear
from you; but leave us, boy, turning to Colin; ‘you are the cause of my
present sufferings, and have been a curse to me from your birth even
till now, when on your account I am hurried so prematurely to the grave.
“Greatly shocked, I begged the unhappy man to compose himself; I would
answer any questions he wished to put to me, and do any thing in my
power, either to serve him or his son. At the same time, I entreated
Colin to leave us, and promised to call him when our business was
finished.
“As he left the room, his father’s eyes glared wildly after him, and,
pointing with his finger, he said, "There, Beaumont, is the cause of all
the crimes I have committed. A fetal ambition took possession of my
mind, from the moment he was born, and led me at last to perpetrate even
robbery and murder to gratify it’
“‘Good God Monteith,’ exclaimed I, ‘you are then the murderer of
Hector’s children?’“ ‘No, no,’ returned he, ‘that crime I have been kept
from committing, by means that appear almost supernatural. I have, for
some time past, suspected, that you were the person who saved them from
my grasp; and it is partly on that account that I have longed to see
you, and question you on their fate; but though I am free from the
actual guilt of dipping my hands in their blood, am I less criminal in
having murdered their father and mother, and thrown the helpless orphans
upon the world, to starve, or to be beholden only to the charity of
strangers? Listen to my tale; and then, if you can find any hope for
mercy to so great a sinner, in the creed I know you profess, exert your
prayers, that a few more years may be granted to me to repent, and
repair the injuries I have done both to them and to you.
“My elder brother and I were, as you know, brought up together. When
young, we were as good friends as boys, being so exactly alike, would
naturally be; but as we advanced towards manhood, a very visible change
took place in my father’s conduct and conversation towards us. Arthur
was treated with much greater attention than I was. Great deference was
paid to his opinions; and, if I presumed to differ from him, I was told
that it was my duty to yield implicitly to the wishes ana directions of
my elder 5 brother. In short, it soon became so extremely irksome to me,
to be obliged to submit on all occasions to the pleasure of the young
laird, that I resolved to free myself from the bondage, by quitting my
paternal home. This was not veiy easy for me to accomplish, my father
having set his heart on my being bred to the bar; but, as I had great
influence over Arthur in private, I prevailed on him to intercede with
my father, that I might enter the army. In this, he, at last, with great
difficulty, succeeded; hoping that he was not only gratifying my wish of
becoming a soldier, but binding still closer the bonds of brotherly love
and affection, which he believed to have always subsisted between us.
“‘At the age of nineteen, I quitted Monteith, inwardly hating the very
brother who had been the means of my emancipation. At parting, Arthur
earnestly begged that if I should ever require more literal means of
subsisting, as my father’s son and his brother ought to do, than what my
commission, and the allowance now settled on me afforded, I would apply
directly to him for the supply of my wants.
“'This was certainly meant in kindness by him, but it appeared very
differently to my jaundiced mind; and I swore, as I crossed the
threshold, of Monteith House, rather to starve, beg, or even steal, than
ever subject myself to the mean necessity of accepting assistance from
one who, I conceived, had not only secured the possession of my father’s
wealth by coming into the world a few months before me, but had
likewise, by his artful and flattering attentions to him, entirely
alienated his affections and love from me and fixed them wholly upon
himself.
“‘From that day I never once had the slightest connection with my
father, farther than receiving a few letters from him, which I never
answered. Arthur wrote, and "wrote again, entreating that I would
explain, at least to him, the nature of the offence I had conceived
against my family; but his letters were likewise disregarded; and the
regiment to which I belonged being ordered on foreign service, I had no
opportunity of hearing of any of them for ten years. Meanwhile, from the
jvish at first of being able to keep myself free from debt, lest I
should be under the necessity of applying to Arthur for assistance, I
gradually became so excessively fond of money, that at last there was
nothing, however mean or unprincipled, that I scrupled to do for its
attainment. Eager for promotion, as a means of increasing my wealth, I
put myself forward in all the various engagements in which I was
employed, so as to attract the attention of my superior officers; who in
justice, as they said, to my known courage, promoted me repeatedly,
though, in their parts, I know they despised every other feature of my
character. By the time I returned to England with the regiment, I bore
the rank of captain, and had saved a considerable sum of money, both
from the accumulation of my pay, and from the prize money which I had
gained; besides which I had contrived to buy up the shares from young
thoughtless laas who were willing to part with any chance of future
payment, or a little ready money.
“‘On my arrival in England I learned that my father was dead, and my
brother married to a very beautiful and amiable young woman, of some
considerable fortune, in the country. The news was gall and wormwood to
me, and suggested the idea of going down, on pretence of visiting him,
and spying out whether I could by any means disturb his happiness.
Accordingly I applied for six months leave of absence; and, having
obtained it, I set out for Scotland, where I arrived a few weeks after
the birth of my niece Isabella, now Lady Nairn. Hector was nearly five
years old at the time. It is impossible for me to describe the hatred
and detestation with which I regarded this innocent child, whom I swore
I would ruin by some means or other, whatever might be the consequence.
I found my intentions frustrated, however, at this time, in a manner I
had not anticipated. On my arrival at Monteith, I had been received with
the greatest kindness and hospitality by Arthur and his young and
beautiful wife; and after remaining a week or two with them, in order to
reconnoitre on what grounds I had to work, I perceived that I still
possessed the same influence as formerly over my brother; and therefore
I had little doubt, that in a short while I should be able to persuade
him to separate Hector from his mother, which was tne main object I had
in view; as I had resolved that through him the blow I meditated should
come.
“‘I had only begun, in a very gentle way, to throw out hints that the
boy would be ruined by indulgence, if left to his mother’s direction,
when I was most disagreeably surprised one day on going into the
parlour, by seeing Sir Alexander Mu)onald, of Dun-Evan, (your wife’s
father, Sir Charles,) who was at that time a young man, about my own
age, and had served abroad with me for several years. The moment I saw
him, I became convinced that it was time for me to leave Monteith, as he
had, by accident, become more acquainted with my real character than any
one else in the world; and I was persuaded he would as certainly unmask
me to my brother, if he discovered the slightest trace of my intentions.
“'His manner to me was cold and distant; and I fancied that both my
brother and his wife regarded me with less kindness than they had
previously done. I, therefore, thought it best to retreat, in order to
return at a time more suspicious for my purpose. The next morning, at
breakfast, I pretended to have received sudden orders to repair to
London; in short, I set out that very evening for England, where, in the
course of a few months, I married the daughter of a rich jeweller in the
city; and though the match was contrary to her father’s wishes at first,
we were soon not only forgiven, but received twenty thousand pounds by
way of my wife’s dowry, with a promise, if we conducted ourselves with
propriety, of nearly twice as much more at his death.
"'Again I was ordered abroad, and, with my wife, sailed for America,
where year after year passed on, without any hope of a return to our own
country. My wife had no family, and the suspicion which I entertained,
that on this account her father would leave his immense property to her
sister, who was the mother of several children, made me almost detest
the sight of her. Indeed, for several years before her death, after my
hopes on that subject were at an end, no human creature could endure a
life of greater suffering than she did. I almost, at last, grudged her
both victuals and clothes; and I have little doubt that her death was
brought about from privation of necessaries, added to the agony of a
broken heart.
“‘This event put a finishing stroke to all my hopes on her lather’s
property; and, therefore, I redoubled, if possible, my miserable habits,
in order to increase my worldly stores, in that way at least, fully
resolving to marry again, the first opportunity I could do so with
advantage. To have an heir to my wealth, I considered now indispensable,
lest it should eventually descend to my hated brother and nephew. I had,
however, no such opportunity for many years. The regiment was still
abroad: and I could not bear the idea of giving up my commission, even
to insure success to my favourite scheme. At length, a letter,
containing information that nearly drove me distracted, made me resolve
to fincl a wife, at all hazards, where I was, rather than be without an
heir. It was written by a man of the name of M’Leod, who from similarity
of disposition, had been at one time my only intimate associate in the
regiment, and had, by the death of his brother, become heir to an estate
in the neighbourhood of Dun-Evan.
“‘He wrote me a long account of the illness and death of my brother’s
wife, which had so much affected Arthur as to lay the foundation of a
serious illness, that in the end carried him off, about three years
previously to the date of his letter. Sir Alexander McDonald, he
informed me, had been appointed guardian to my nephew Hector, and is
sister Isabella, the only children that had survived their parents. He
added, that Hector, who was now of age, had, about a month before,
married Miss Campbell, the beautiful niece of Sir Alexander; and that he
had now gone to take possession of the estate of Monteith. Isabella was
said to be engaged to Sir George Nairn; but her guardian thought that
she was still too young to marry, and had stipulated with Sir George,
before he would give his consent, that the marriage should not take
place till the following summer.
“‘The rage that seized me on reading this letter, knew no bounds; I
resolved instantly to marry, and, at least, to have the chance of an
heir for my own wealth, whatever course I might afterwards pursue. I
paid my addresses to several young women, daughters and sisters of the
officers belonging to the English army; but they all, without exception,
gave me a peremptory refusal; my character as a husband being too
notorious to allow even my wealth to weigh with them in the scale. I
then looked about among the inhabitants of New York, where we were
stationed; but even there, I found a report of my former cruelty had put
a bar to my success; at last, I paid my addresses to the daughter of a
barber in a neighbouring village, who was little more than seventeen,
and as vain as she was beautiful. I was readily accepted by herself and
found no difficulty in obtaining the consent of her father, who had a
large family, and was glad to dispose of one of them so eligibly. We
were, therefore, married, and, in less than a year, I became a father;
but, alas! instead of a son, she presented me with a very sickly little
girl, whom I soon hated almost as much as I had done Hector Monteith.
Two years passed away, and I began to be in despair; this time, I had no
hope of losing my wife, for she was a stout, healthy young woman, who
resolved to take her own way, in spite of all my endeavours and
authority. Again I had the prospect of an heir; and, during the whole
time that this expectation lasted, she contrived so to alarm me for her
health, and the safety of the child, that, wonderful as it may appear,
she, under one pretence or another, absolutely extracted from me nearly
four thousand pounds.
“'At last, the long wished-for hour arrived, that made me the father of
a son. Never shall I forget the feelings that seized me, on looking at
the infant. That the detested Hector should stand between this adored
boy and the estate of Monteith, was a thought which I could not endure;
and I determined, even the first night of his birth, to return to
England, as soon as he could be removed with safety; firmly resolving to
insure his interest as the family heir, even if I should perish in the
attempt.
“'My wife appeared to recover from her confinement very slowly. She
persuaded the medical person who attended her, to insist on her suckling
the young heir, both on account of her own health, and that of the
child; and, during the time this lasted, the same system of robbery went
forward (for I can call it by no other name) as had done during the
previous nine months. The slightest refusal to any of her requests
produced the greatest possible violence. I was instantly threatened y
his mother with the child’s death. At last, the time for Colin’s being
weaned, arrived. Mrs. Lewis, his grandmother, undertook the charge of
him, and his mother went to her father’s, to be out of his sight; for
she declared, that she could not endure the pain of hearing him cry,
without indulging him in what would pacify his uneasiness.
“‘A week passed, and the child had got over all his troubles. I wondered
that my wife did not return home, and sent her a message to that effect;
when a note was returned to me, written by herself the day she had gone
to her mothers. It stated that she could endure to live with me no
longer, and had quitted the country, never to return. She had left her
son, (she said) as an equivalent for all the money I had given her,
which, she added, had, in her opinion, been hardly earned, bv four years
of misery and wretchedness. She concluded by taking leave of me for
ever; promising, faithfully, never to annoy me in any way during her
life, provided I did not resent her conduct on her parents, who had
known nothing of her intention, till it was too late to prevent her from
carrying it into execution.
“'I was, at first, in a dreadful rage at the perfidy of this worthless
woman; but, by degrees, I began to count the gain I was likely to derive
from her desertion, and resolved to conceal her flight till I could
procure a passage for myself and children to England, as I did not
choose to become the laughing-stock of all my acquaintances, by the
disclosure. I applied, the very next day, for leave of absence; but this
became unnecessary, as the regiment was ordered home, and I, of course,
accompanied it.
"'It was three weeks before we embarked; and, in the course of that
time, my domestic history had become public, and made me the jest of the
whole place. The moment we reached London, I placed my daughter, who was
three years old, under the care of an officer’s widow, that I had known
something of, and who now kept a school in the outskirts of the town.
Colin was too precious a treasure to be allowed to be out of my sight;
I, therefore, hired a servant to take care of him, and lived in a small
lodging frith him at Pimlico. I had been in town only a few days, when
M’Leod called on me, and related what a dreadful state of agitation
there was in the public mind in Scotland, with regard to the Pretender;
insomuch, that, from circumstances which had come to his knowledge, he
said he should not be surprised if a rising in the country were to be
the consequence.
"'How is Hector Monteith affected?’ was my first question. 'believe,’
answered M'Leod, 'that if he were left to himself he would join the
Stewart faction directly; but he is so ruled and managed by Sir
Alexander M’Donald, that he will do nothing but what he advises.”
“'We must set to work then, M’Leod, and endeavour to seduce M’Donald to
take part in the rebellion. Do you not think that you could assist me in
this? for, positively, I will leave no stone unturned to effect both his
ruin, and that of my detested nephew. If I can but succeed in once
getting them fairly into the field in the Stuart interest, then the
estate of Monteith is mine, past a possibility of failure.
"M’Leod and I then contrived a plot, to work upon Sir Alexander’s
feelings; and, after having settled all the particulars, he left me to
put them in immediate execution, having first obtained my promise of ten
thousand pounds, to be paid down the day I should enter into possession
of the estate of Monteith. All succeeded beyond our most sanguine
expectations. M’Leod pretended to be himself a staunch Mend of the
Stuarts: and, for a great while, went regularly to Sir Alexander, to
cousult him on the proper measures to insure success. The latter,
however, resisted every thing that M’Leod proposed, clearly showing him
the impracticability of the Pretender’s ever being able to succeed, in
the then state of Scotland, with plans so rash and ill-digested. M’Leod,
finding that he could make nothing of him in that way, appeared to
acquiesce in his superior judgment, and wrote privately to me, that
unless I could supply im with some false documents to lay before Sir
Alexander, we had no chance of either getting him or Hector to fall into
the snare.
“‘Not in the least discouraged, I instantly set to work, and forged
letters as from persons of the first weight at the court of France,
assuring the partisans of the Stuarts that they should be supported,
both with men and money, to an extent that must insure success.
“‘Even for some days after M’Leod had laid these letters before Sir
Alexander, he still seemed to hesitate; but his son, who was an
enterprising young man, united in persuading mm to join the rebels, and,
after some deliberations, he agreed to raise the vassals on his estate;
an example, which, as you know, was eagerly followed by Hector Monteith.
Meanwhile, the regiment to which I belonged, was ordered into Scotland,
under the command of the Duke of Cumberland; and, during the short
campaign of that summer, I distinguished myself in so marked a manner as
to gain his favour and support, which was of infinite service to me in
the sequel.
“‘I now began to dread that M’Leod would betray my complicated
treacheries, and resolved to take the first opportunity of destroying
him. Such an occasion presented itself at the battle of Culloden, where
he was stationed just before me; and, whilst .his attention. was engaged
with the approach of the enemy, I ran my sword through his body, and
left nim, (as I firmly believed,) dead on the spot.
“‘Immediately after the battle, I was despatched by the Duke on some
particular business to Stirling. I rode ’post' thither, and, having
effected my purpose, was returning slowly towards Dunblane, where I
intended to sleep; when, in suddenly turning an angle of the road, I
perceived you, Beaumont, in earnest conversation with two Highlandmen.
What put it into my head, I cannot say, but I determined to watch and
discover who they were, and, likewise, what was the business you seemed
so earnestly engaged in. I, therefore, leaped from my horse, and, tying
him up to a tree within the neighbouring plantation, crept softly under
a wall that divided the road from the thicket, until I came near enough
to discover what you were about I dare say you remember what then
passed. An old servant of Sir Alexander’s, With his son, was begging you
to conceal their master, till the first search should be over, and he
could find an opportunity of making his escape. I learned, likewise,
that Hector Monteith was with him; and I could scarcely conceal my
delight, when I heard you promise to protect them, if they would
instantly take shelter in the house of Mrs. Beaumont’s nurse, where you
would supply them with every thing that they might want, and procure a
passage for them to France, as soon as you thought they could leave
their retreat with safety.
“'You had no sooner quitted the men, and they had disappeared, than I
remounted my horse, rode directly back to Stirling, and gave information
where Sir Alexander and Hector were to be found; but I charged the
governor to conceal who it was that gave the information, telling him
that I had it from you, and that, as you had married Sir Alexander’s
daughter, you could not properly appear in the business. A party was
sent out to the nurse’s house, which was situated among the Ochill
hills. The fugitives were seized, and marched off towards Stirling. On
the road, a very heavy mist came on, and Sir Alexander, complaining of
fatigue, was allowed to sit down, for the purpose of resting himself, on
the edge of one of the hills. He did so; but taking advantage of the
inattention of his guards, he laid himself at his length on the ground,
and rolled (as you know boys in Scotland often do for sport) down the
steep side of the hilL So rapidly did he descend, that he was out of
sight before he was even missed, and, by the help of the thick fog, he
completely escaped. Monteith, however, was carried prisoner to Stirling
Castle, where his wife ana children joined him, and continued in
confinement for nearly six months. Meanwhile, I contrived to exasperate
the government, both against him and M’Donald. The latter, I have since
heard, got in safety to Leith, but embarked there in a small leaky
vessel, which foundered at sea, and all on board perished.
“‘Great exertions were made to obtain a pardon for Monteith; but as I
had gained'the ear of the duke, no extenuation of his crime was listened
to, and I was promised the possession of the estate which had tempted me
to the commission of so many crimes. Humanity, however, prompted the
government to insist on a provision for the widow and children that he
might leave; and I was obliged to come under a promise to allow them a
small annuity, before I could obtain assurance of complete success.
Under the power which this promise gave me, I determined to secure the
persons of the widow and children, fully intending to take care that the
latter should never reach an age that could give me any trouble. I
hurried, with this view, down to Stirling, a day or two before I knew
that Hector was to be removed to Carlisle, and I gave positive orders to
the governor not to suffer either Mrs. Monteith or the children to be
liberated till after Hector had left the prison.
“'This injunction, I have reason to believe, was strictly obeyed; but in
the morning after Hector’s departure no one was to be found in his
apartment except Mrs. Monteith; and from that time till the present, so
far as I know, it has never been discovered how the three children were
conveyed from the castle; their mother constantly, till the day of her
death, refusing to give the slightest information concerning them. Most
people, I believe, have given me the credit of having put them out of
the way myself; but as I am a living man, Beaumont, I know no more of
them than I have now related.
“'From the moment I succeeded in gaining the estate, all the enjoyment I
had promised myself in its possession vanished. I attempted at first to
live there; and hired servants and a governess for my children, in the
view of continuing to reside constantly in the country, as my father had
done; but I soon found that Monteith was no place for me. My servants,
one after another, quitted the house, declaring that they could not
reside in a place where the ghost of the former master continually
walked. Not an individual of the neighbouring gentry would visit or
associate with me, and scarcely would meet me on business. In short, at
the end of little more than three months, I was forced to leave Monteith
and Scotland for ever.
“'I next took a house in London, and hired a tutor to educate my boy,
who, by this time, was about five years old; the man appeared willing to
obey my directions in all things, and, by this quality, he soon
Succeeded in gaining so great an influence over me, that for many years
he directed every thing in which I was concerned, my money excepted;
for, on that point, I was inflexible, and not even to him would I trust
the management of a farthing. He was a worthless, debauched,
unprincipled fellow, who corrupted my boy’s morals, and taught him every
species of vice; yet still, though I knew all this, I fancied, as e made
him a good scholar, he had done his duty, and I constantly introduced
him to all the society with which I myself mixed. Chance, at last,
betrayed to me a plot he had formed, of marrying my son Colin to a
daughter of his own, just the evening before it was fixed to take place.
I instantly dismissed the wretch from my house, obtained a commission in
the army for Colin, and, through a personal friend of your own, got you
to appoint him your aide-de-camp.
The expedition sailed, I never suffered him to be out of my sight, by
day or night, and I felt relieved beyond description, when I was assured
that you were gone. Whilst he remained in India, I gave way to every
species of dissipation, merely in the hope of drowning thought; for the
still small voice of conscience would be heard at every moment of
solitude or reflection. Your entreaties, that 1 would allow my son to
return to England, vexed me exceedingly. I imagined that he had
influenced you to apply to me for the permission, and that he still
meant to fulfill his engagement with the daughter of his worthless
tutor. At last your letter, announcing the necessity of his quitting the
regiment, unless he would run the risk of being disgraced, convinced me,
that all which you had before written was true. Mortified as I was at
his conduct, I yet felt relieved that his attachment to the girl at home
was not the cause of his return, and I accordingly received him with
real kindness and affection. He soon gave me a solemn promise to hold no
converse, either with her or her father; and I believe he kept his word
in that particular, though, from the time of his arrival in England, his
extravagance and dissipation have been beyond any thing I even could
have believed possible in a son of mine.
“'My daughter, likewise, has conspired to distract me, by eloping from
the house of the lady where I had placed her, with a worth-' less
fellow, an attorney, or, rather, I believe I ought to say, an attorney’s
clerk, who has the impudence to expect, tnat I will provide for her m
future, ana give him the means to become a fine gentleman.
“‘About a week ago, after having been up the greatest part of the night,
drinking, in company with an old set of debauched companions, on my
return home I was met in the passage by Colin, who entreated that I
would come with him for a few minutes into the parlour. I followed,
loading him with abuse, for troubling me at such an unseasonable moment.
On approaching the light, however, I was struck with the expression of
horror that was in his face, and asked, hastily, what was the matter?
“‘Answer me one question, dear sir, and I shall then know exactly what
is to be done. Do you know what was the fate of Hector Monteith’s three
children?
"‘The question sobered me in a moment.
"What do you mean, Colin, answered by putting such a question to your
father. I know nothing of the fate of these children; and almost
involuntarily added, Oh, would to God that I did!
“‘He grasped my hand; I knew my father could not be a deliberate
murderer.
“'Who has dared to accuse me? (roared I, stamping with rage,) I will
know, I insist upon it. Answer me directly.
“'Colin, for some time, positively refused to explain the meaning of
what he had said; but at last he confessed that he had passed the
evening in a gaming house, where he had quarrelled with a man who
attempted to cheat him. Words grew high, and he had challenged the man,
whose name was M’Leod; but the challenge was insolently refused, M’Leod
declaring that he would never submit to put himself on a footing with
the son of a notorious murderer.
“'At the name of M’Leod, I staggered back into a chair, nearly fainting.
Colin, who thought he read, in tnis agitation, a confirmation of my
guilt, burst into tears, and, kneeling at my feet, implored me to
relieve him, by an assurance that these children had not suffered
through me. This I could most conscientiously do; but, alas! I was still
a murderer; though, from his having no suspicion of any other victim
meant, but the children, my assurance quieted him, and he declared that
he would, ere another day passed over his head, force M’Leod to unsay
nis accusation, or fight him like a man. I applauded this resolution,
though I privately determined to meet M’Leod myself before Colin could
possibly find an opportunity to do so. With this intention, I advised
him to go up to bed, and sleep off the fumes of the liquor he had drank;
promising that I would accompany him myself the next day, in search of
my accuser. He agreed at last to retire; and I lost no time in repairing
to the gaming house, where he said he had left M’Leod. There, surely
enough, I met him coming out, just as I reached the door. I knew him
instantly. It was the very man I had stabbed at Culloden, and of whom,
till that moment, I believed myself the murderer.
“‘Ah, traitor 1 is it you" exclaimed he, the moment he saw me. I am glad
of it, for now I shall have my revenge. You thought me dead, no doubt,
and yourself secure in your ill-gotten possessions; but know that the
brave Highlanders against whom I had been fighting saved my life, and
carried me from the field, believing that I had been wounded in their
cause. They took me with them to France, where I have learned better how
to choose my friends, and likewise how to unmask a villain.
"‘I heard no more; but drew my sword, and made a lounge at him, which he
parried, and the next minute ran me through the body. On my felling, he
made off and I lay for a considerable time before I was discovered Some
one at last came up, and had me carried home; where, on the landing
place, Colin met me. The shock he received at that moment, added to the
agitation he had undergone the evening before, was too much for his
exhausted frame, worn out by dissipation and profligacy. He burst a
blood vessel in his lungs, and I am convinced, is now hurrying with
rapid strides to the grave.
"'If you, therefore, dear Beaumont, really know what was the fete of
these children, in mercy tell me at once, for I have resolved, as some
little alleviation of my guilt, to leave them, if -still alive, that
estate which has proved nothing to me but a source of crimes, of misery,
and of never-ending remorse.
"'Thus ended the wretched man. I was, as you may suppose, greatly
shocked at the relation of a life spent in the commission of such
dreadful crimes. I tried, however, to answer him as composedly as I
could; assuring him of what was true, that though I had made every
possible inquiry for Monteith’s children, I had never been able to make
the slightest discovery relative to their fate, and had always believed
that he had conveyed them, himself, from the Castle of Stirling, the
same night that their father was removed. Again he solemnly assured me
that he did not, and that he could not even conjecture by what means
they had so mysteriously disappeared.
“I then suggested the possibility of their being still alive, though
concealed by some of their father’s friends, in the fear of his
attempting any thing against them, and advised him by all means to make
his will, restoring to them their father’s estate, if they should ever
claim it, and be able to prove their identity. He willingly agreed to do
this, and sent* immediately for a solicitor, who, in my presence, drew
up an instrument, leaving not only the estate of Monteith to any of them
that may be still alive, but, likewise, (in the event of his son’s
death,) the greatest part of his personal property; he having consented,
at my earnest entreaty, to bequeath five thousand pounds to his
daughter.
“I expressed much surprise, on finding that his children were not his
first wife’s, as I had, till then, believed them to be. She was, by her
mother’s side, distantly related to my father; and it had been through
that claim of relationship that I had been prevailed upon to take Colin
as my aide-de-camp.
“‘I found, on my return to England,' answered he, 'that it was not known
.when my first wife died; and, as she was a respectable woman, I was
willing to allow it to be believed that she was the mother of my
children; for I never could think of the despicable creature who gave
them birth.
“As soon as he had signed his will, I left him to try to get a little
repose, and returned to Colin, whom I found so ill, as to make me doubt
even if he would survive his father. He had been engaged in conversation
with Arthur the whole time of my stay with the colonel, and was now
unable to speak. We saw him put to bed by his servant, and then walked
out to the inn together, desiring that if we were wanted, we should
instantly be sent for. We were too much engaged with our own thoughts,
to enter into conversation; and, as if by mutual agreement, retired to
separate rooms, to reflect on what had passed between us and our
respective individuals. I have thought that the above narrative would be
most interesting to you, as it completely explains the accusing letter
that you received from your father, written before he so unfortunately
embarked in a vessel at Leith. It has relieved my mind, in a great
degree, from the fear, that by some inadvertency of my own, I might have
been the means, however unintentionally,' of betraying the secret of his
concealment Many years of misery this apprehension has occasioned me;
and even yet feel wretched, when I think that my beloved uncle died in
the belief of my deliberate guilt I shall not leave this place till I
see the end of the wretched man; therefore, address me at the Star and
Garter, Richmond, where we have, for the present, taken up our abode.” |