|
Every town in Scotland has
its "character," in the shape of some bedlamite, innocent, or odd fish.
There is something interesting about these out-of-the-way beings.
Everything they do is a kind of current chapter of biography among their
neighbours;—what they say is regarded as the words of an oracle —more
worthy of memory than the inquiries of the laird or the advice of the
parson. They are in a manner immortalised.
Having, in the course of different summers,
taken up a short residence in some of the smaller borough towns and
villages scattered through Scotland, I took no small delight in
observing the peculiarities of many of those objects of compassion, and
in tracing the source of that dismal malady which laid prostrate the
edifice of reason, and arrested the harmonious mechanism of an organised
mind. The task was sometimes of a melancholy nature : I found
histories—real histories—turning upon incidents the most tragical, and
only wonder they are so little known, and meet with such slender
sympathy. The crisis of a well-written romance brings out more tears
than were ever shed for the fall of man; but never have I read of
anything so pathetic as was developed in the following sketch—a sketch
which the pen of a Scott could do little to adorn. The naked truth of
the story is a series of catastrophes, a parallel to which imagination
seldom produces. It was told me by a sister of the unfortunate female
who figures so conspicuously in it.
Jane Malcolm was the daughter of a lint-mill
proprietor in the small town of K——n. Her father, being a wealthy man,
held for a long time the provostship of the place—a Scottish burgh. His
family consisted of two daughters and a son. Jane was the youngest of
these, and her father’s favourite. There was something about the girl
extremely attractive ; she possessed all the advantages of personal
beauty, combined with a gentleness of disposition and quickness of
understanding, that wrought upon the affections of all she knew. At the
manse she was peculiarly beloved ; the good old minister recognised in
her the image of one he had lost ; the illusion strengthened as she grew
up, and Jane Malcolm was as much an inmate there as she was in the house
of her father. A few years saw her removed to Edinburgh, to finish an
education imperfectly carried on under the superintendence of a village
governess. She returned graceful and accomplished, to be looked up to by
all her former companions. But Jane was not proud ; —her early
friendships she disdained to supplant by a feeling so unworthy-—so
unlike herself. Her over-bending nature, indeed, was her fault: it
brought the vulgar and undiscerning mind into too much familiarity with
her own. It became the cause of all her misery.
Among those most intimate with her was one
Margaret Innes, a young and lively girl, but far below Jane’s rank in
life. The daughter of an aged fisherman, it was not uncommon for Jane to
find her employed in offices the most menial. For all this she loved her
not the less. The affection and humble virtues of Margaret amply repaid
Jane for her condescension. Mr Malcolm himself saw no harm in this
growing friendship, marked, as it was, with such a strong disparity of
situation. But he overlooked the circumstance that Margaret Innes had a
brother, a handsome, fearless lad. A sailor by profession, it is true he
was seldom at home, but though seldom, he was often enough for Jane to
discover that his every return brought with it a stronger impression in
his favour. When very young they were play-fellows together, and now
when both were grown up, she could not refuse a smile or a word,
whenever, after a long voyage, the light-hearted sailor returned to his
native home. Sandy felt vain of her notice, but by no means attempted
more familiarity than was consistent with his station. Without daring to
love, he would have done anything to serve Miss Malcolm, and his
readiness was not unfrequently put to the test.
Nothing Jane loved better than a short
excursion upon the neighbouring sea. The boat of the old fisherman was
often in request for this purpose, and he himself, accompanied by his
daughter Margaret, made up the party on these occasions. When Sandy was
at home, he supplied the place of his father, and his active and skilful
hand directed many a pleasant voyage-made more pleasant by a fund of
amusing anecdotes and adventures picked up in the course of his travels.
One afternoon, on the day after his return from the coast of Norway,
this little group had embarked to enjoy the delightful freshness of the
sea-breeze, after a noon of intolerable heat. Standing up to gaze at a
dock of sea-birds, collected for the purpose of devouring the small fry
of the herring which at that season visited the coast, Jane Malcolm
accidentally fell into the water. The boat receded rapidly from the
spot, its sail being filled by the wind. Immediately, however, Sandy
Innes swam towards the terrifed girl. She clung to him for support. It
was no easy matter to reach the boat, carried along as it was by the
breeze, and not till Margaret had recovered from her first alarm, was
she able, by turning the helm, to give them the required assistance.
They were soon safe. This adventure called forth the liveliest feelings
of gratitude on the part of Jane Malcolm. She regarded the youthful
sailor as her preserver, and thought no recompense too liberal for the
service he had rendered. Imprudently she revealed to his sister the
secret of her growing attachment. Margaret was too generous all at once
to give her brother the advantage offered. She reasoned with Jane on the
impropriety—the unsuitableness of such a union as was hinted at; and, to
render it impracticable for the present, she induced Sandy to engage
with a ship bound for North America. Accordingly, he again. left the
country. Miss
Malcolm was not to be deterred. She upbraided Margaret for her want of
feeling; and, in short, took it so much to heart, that the poor girl, on
Sandy’s return, was, out of self-defence, obliged to communicate to him
the tidings she willingly would have hid. To be brief, they were married
without Mr Malcolm’s consent. This was a blow the old man never got
over; he died a few days after the ceremony. His only son had just
returned from England, a lieutenant in the army ; alas! it was to lay in
the grave the remains of a heart-broken father. Enraged at the cause of
this melancholy blow, he vowed revenge against the innocent intruder
into his domestic peace. The feelings of his unhappy sister he thought
no sacrifice to win retaliation; the step she had already taken showed
them, in his eye, to be blunted and incapable of injury. To have
challenged one so much his inferior never entered into his mind ; he
brooded over a purpose more dark and sanguinary, though less consistent
with his honour. His design was to have the husband of his sister
murdered, and he appears to have formed it without a moment’s
hesitation. Professing regard for his new brother-in-law, he pretended
to be reconciled to the unfortunate marriage, and even divided with him
and his other sister the patrimony of the deceased. This show of
friendship had the effect of producing a seeming intimacy between them.
Many a time they went out for a few hours upon fishing excursions,
without any discovery being made by Sandy Innes of the growing hostility
harboured by young Malcolm. One evening, however—the latter having, by
various excuses, delayed their return to shore till after sunset—as the
boat was lying quietly at anchor, about a mile from harbour, the
unsuspecting sailor leant over to recover an oar which Malcolm had
purposely dropped, when he found himself suddenly precipitated into the
sea. In attempting to regain the vessel, he was driven back, and
violently struck with the boat-hook, which his villanous brother-in-law
had seized, with the intent to put the finish to his murderous
treachery. In this, however, he was disappointed. Sandy Innes, with
strong presence of mind, caught hold of the instrument, managing, at the
same time, to overset the boat, and thus involve Malcolm in the same
fate with himself. Both had a hard struggle for life; but alas! without
success. Next morning the bodies of the two young men were discovered
lying upon the beach. They were carried into Jane’s habitation without
her knowledge—the unfortunate girl having gone out to a different part
of the shore in quest of the boat, which, she fancied, had, by the wish
of her brother, harboured all night at Inchkeith. When she returned, the
first object that met her eyes was the body of her own dear husband—a
cold corpse, with the long black hair hanging down over his once noble
brow, and the dark eyes wide open, as if fixed in death upon her and
heaven. A few days afterwards the young men were buried, side by
side,—for a fearful story was whispered of Malcolm’s guilt : how he was
seen by the crew of a boat that had landed, without notice, upon a
neighbouring rock, at the moment he attempted the atrocious deed. Their
assistance, though instantly offered, was too late, for both had gone
down ere they reached the spot.
After that sad catastrophe Jane was never
herself. A fever carried away her intellects, and left her mind in
ruins. Though possessed of a competency, it has never been used. The
same weeds, though now reduced to rags, still cover her in her long and
sorrowful widow-hood. The last time I saw her, I saw a fearful picture—a
beautiful female altered to a revolting spectacle of squalidness and
deformity. She was gathering the shell-fish from among the brown layers
of tangle, beyond the farthest ebb of the tide. Now and then she broke
the shells with her teeth, muttering,—"We shall find him here—we shall
find him here;" and then she threw the shells round about her, with a
sad sigh, as if her heart were longing to break, but felt chained up in
a lone and weary prison. As I passed, I called to her—"Jane, this is a
cold day, and you seem at cold work." " Ay! ay !” she replied, "and so
are the worms ! But did ye see him? Bonny Sandy! If ye be gaun to the
town, tell Meg Innes to come ; for he’s a wild laddie, and maybe she’ll
ken whaur he’s hidden himsel!”
Poor creature, thought I, she will find rest
in the grave!—Edinburgh Literary Journal. |
