Christmas Stories

The following paper was handed about, as the last dying speech of John Wildgoose.

"I acknowledge the justice of the sentence by which I suffer; and would have all young men take warning from my example. I attribute my crime and punishment, in the first place, to my neglect of the Lord's Day; and in the second, to my keeping bad company. Had I been regular in going to church, and attentive to my religious duties, I should, under the blessing of God, have preserved and increased the good impressions, which I had received from my parents. These impressions, however, I suffered to wither away. By keeping bad company I was led into poaching, in which I at first thought there was not much harm. When by a kind friend I was convinced that it was wrong, the want of firmness in religion prevented me from giving it up. Poaching made me the companion of sabbath-breakers, swearers, drunkards, and thieves; and at last led me on to the dreadful crime of murder. May God support and comfort the poor woman whom my hand has robbed of a husband, and the dear and excellent parent, whom the same rash action has deprived of a son; may He make my sad fate productive of good to all who hear of it; and may He have mercy on my own soul through Jesus Christ!"

As soon as Lucy had recovered her strength sufficiently to enable her to travel, she went to her native village, where she found that Mrs. Wildgoose had passed the crisis of her disorder, and was beginning to recover. Her two daughters were most attentive to her; but Lucy obtained permission to assist them in nursing, and to take her turn in sitting up by her bed-side during the night. When the poor woman's health was in some degree re-established, Lucy felt it right to return to her kind mistress; but her cheerfulness and good spirits had entirely forsaken her, and a settled melancholy seemed to have taken possession of her soul. Her only comfort is in prayer, and the consolations of religion.

After a confinement to her bed of several weeks, Susan Wildgoose was at length able to move about her house; and the wants of herself and family forced her to return to her former occupations: but she hardly spoke to any one; she served her customers in silence; and it is evident that the deep affliction under which she continually labours, will shortly bring her to the grave. Her daughters and surviving son have youth and health on their side; but their behaviour and appearance are totally changed: and instead of being merry and light-hearted, they have become pensive and serious. Time will wear away much of the acuteness of their grief, but it is probable that, as long as they live, they will never be free from the most painful and distressing recollection, that they have had a brother who was executed as a murderer.

N.B. This Tale is sold as a Tract, price 9 d.

NOTES

The following Extracts from Acts of Parliament are much abridged.

[A.]

If any higler, carrier, inn-keeper, &c. shall have in his possession, or shall buy, sell, or offer for sale, any hare, pheasant, partridge, or grouse, every such higler, &c. unless such game be sent by some person qualified, shall forfeit for every hare, pheasant, &c. the sum of five pounds, half to the informer, and half to the poor. 5 Ann. c. 14. s. 2.

[B.]

If any person whatsoever, whether qualified or not qualified to kill game, shall buy any hare, pheasant, partridge, or grouse, he shall, on conviction before one justice, forfeit 5l. half to the informer and half to the poor. 58 G. III. c. 75. s. 1.

Any person may recover the said penalty by information, or may sue for and recover the whole for his own use, in any court of record, wherein the plaintiff if he recovers shall have double costs. Sect. 3.

[C.]

If any person shall enter any park or paddock, fenced in and inclosed, or into any garden, orchard, or yard, adjoining or belonging to any dwelling house, and shall steal any fish kept in any water therein; or shall be assisting therein; or shall receive or buy any such fish, knowing the same to be stolen; and at the Assizes be convicted of such offence, he shall be transported for seven years. 5 G. III. c. 14. s. 1, 2.

And if any person shall take or destroy, or attempt to take or destroy, any fish, in any other inclosed ground, being private property, without the consent of the owner, he shall upon conviction by one justice forfeit 5l. to the owner of the pond or fishery, and, in default of payment, shall be committed to the house of correction for any time not exceeding six months. Sect. 3, 4.

[D.]

Whenever it shall appear to the justices, or to the overseers, to whom application shall be made for relief of any poor person, that he might, but for his extravagance, neglect, or wilful misconduct, have been able to maintain himself, or to support his family, it shall be lawful for the overseers (by the direction of the justices, &c.) to advance money to the person applying, by way of loan only, and take his receipt for, and engagement to repay, (without stamp;) upon default of payment, two justices may commit him for not exceeding three calendar months. 59 G. III. cap. 12. sect. 29.

[E.]

If any person shall knowingly and wilfully kill, take, or destroy any hare, or use any gun, dog, snare, net, or other engine, with intent to kill, take, or destroy any hare in the night, (or in the day time, upon a Sunday or Christmas-day,) he shall on conviction, on oath of one witness, before one justice, forfeit for the first offence not exceeding 20l. nor less than 10l.; and for the second not exceeding 30l. nor less than 20l.

[F.]

If any person or persons, having entered into any park, wood, plantation, or other open or inclosed ground, with intent illegally to take, or kill, game, or rabbits, or to aid and assist in so doing, shall be found at night armed with any gun, fire arms, bludgeon, or any other offensive weapon, such person being lawfully convicted, shall be adjudged guilty of a misdemeanour, and shall be sentenced to transportation for seven years, or such other punishment as may be inflicted on persons guilty of misdemeanour; and if any such offender shall return before the expiration of such term, he shall be sentenced to transportation for life. 57 G. III. cap. 90. sect. 1.

[G.]

Extracts from Stonhouse's "Sick Man's Friend," on a Death-bed Repentance.

Bishop Burnet, in his excellent book entitled the Pastoral Care, (page 173, of the fourth edition,) says, "A clergyman ought to give no encouragement to men, who have led a bad course of life, to hope much from a death-bed repentance; yet he is to set them to implore the mercies of God in Christ Jesus, and to do all they can to obtain his favour. But unless the sickness has been of long continuance, and that the person's repentance, patience, and piety, have been very extraordinary during the course of it, he must be sure to give him no positive ground of hope, but leave him to the mercies of God. For there cannot be any greater treachery to souls that is more fatal and pernicious than the giving quick and easy hopes, upon so short, so forced, and so imperfect a repentance. It not only makes those persons perish securely themselves, but it leads all about them to destruction, when they see one, of whose bad life and late repentance they have been the witnesses, put so soon in hopes, nay by some unfaithful guides made sure of salvation. This must make them go on very secure in their sins, when they see how small a measure of repentance sets all right at last: all the order and justice of a nation would be presently dissolved, should the howlings of criminals and their promises work on juries, judges, and princes. So the hopes that are given to death-bed penitents must be the most effectual means to root out the sense of religion from the minds of all who see it. Therefore, though no dying man is to be driven to despair, and left to die obstinate in his sins, yet, if we love the souls of our people, if we set a due value on the blood of Christ, and if we are touched with any sense of the honour or interests of religion, we must not say any thing that may encourage others, who are but too apt of themselves, to put all off to the last hour. We can give them no hopes from the nature of the Gospel covenant; yet, after all, the best thing a dying man can do is to repent. If he recover, that may be the seed and beginning of a new life, and a new nature in him: nor do we know the measure of the riches of God's grace and mercy."

"When," says Dr. Assheton, page 45 and 46 of his Death-bed Repentance, "you visit sick beds, and hear a poor dying creature lamenting his sins with tears, and most earnestly begging pardon for the sake of Jesus Christ; when you observe how passionately he resolves, that if God will but spare him, he will become a new man, and never be guilty of such extravagance; what do you say or do in such a case? Nay, what must such a wicked man do, who having lived in sin, shall thus happen to be surprised by death? Dare you be so uncharitable as to declare that he is past hope, that there is no remedy, but that he will certainly be damned? I answer, that I dare not presume to limit God, whose mercies are infinite. In such a case I will not censure him, but admonish and instruct him to the best of my judgment and abilities. I will exhort the dying sinner to remember his sins, to bewail them, to beg pardon for them, to form firm resolutions of amendment, and (when there is occasion) to make restitution; and having prayed earnestly for him, and recommended him to God's mercy, do I then say such a one will be damned? No, I dare not. But do I say he shall be saved? No, I cannot. What then do I resolve? What do I determine in this matter? I will be silent, and determine nothing; for as I dare not flatter him into a false and groundless presumption, so neither would I sink him into the horror of despair. I say, I will determine nothing: I will judge nothing before the time. However, I must be so faithful to my ministerial office as to admonish this dying sinner, that the Gospel (by the laws of which we are to be judged) expressly declares, that "without holiness no man shall see the Lord," and that Christ is the author of eternal salvation unto them (and to them only) who obey him. Heb. v. 9. When therefore the sick man has been vicious and extravagant all his life long, if God accepts his dying resolutions, it is more than he has promised, and it is more than he has given his ministers power to preach and declare."

Repentance is a change of heart from an evil to a good disposition; no man can justly be called a true penitent, till his heart be thus changed, and whenever that change is made, repentance is certainly complete.

Now there is reason to conclude, God will consider that life as amended, which would have been amended if he had spared it. Repentance in the sight of man cannot be known but by its fruits. The only way man can judge is by the rule Christ himself has given us, "by their fruits ye shall know them." Matt. vii. 20.

But God (our great Creator) sees the fruit in the blossom or in the seed. He (and He only) knows those resolutions which are fixed; those conversions which would be lasting; and will receive such as are qualified by holy desires for works of righteousness, without exacting from them those outward duties, which the shortness of their lives hindered them from performing. All, therefore, a minister can do, is to recommend a death-bed penitent to the mercies of God. But it is impossible for him to pronounce what will be his state in another world.

THE SMUGGLER.

ADVERTISEMENT

It is possible that in the following little Tale there may be several inaccuracies with regard to the habits and manners both of seamen, and of smugglers. The residence of the author in an inland county must be his apology.

The similarity in some respects of the offence of smuggling, to the illegal pursuit which forms the subject of the preceding Tale – written two years ago – must be the author's excuse for the recurrence of similar sentiments and expressions.

Jan. 1823.

THE SMUGGLER

It was the latter end of the month of November, when Mary Waldron, having carefully put her two children to bed, sat down with an aching head and a heavy heart, to wait for the return of her husband.

He had sailed from Folkestone in a stiff half-decked vessel, in company with eight or ten of his sea-faring companions, and then told his wife that she might expect him back on the day following. But that day and another had passed away, and he was still absent.

The night was dark and tempestuous. The wind howled mournfully round the house; the rain beat hard against the windows; and whenever the storm seemed lulled for a moment, the continued roar of the waves, as they broke on the shingly beach, came heavily on her ear. She tried to occupy herself in mending one of her husband's fishing jackets; but her hands and the jacket were constantly in her lap, and it was with difficulty that from time to time she was able in some degree to rouse herself.

At length, wearied out with watching and anxiety, and her candle having nearly burnt to the socket, she lay down on the bed in her clothes, and was just falling into an unquiet slumber, when she was waked by a knocking at the door. She hurried down stairs, and let in her husband, who was accompanied by a short stout-built ill-looking man, in a rough seaman's jacket, from one of the pockets of which peeped forth the butt end of a pistol. Both were wet and tired, and both seemed sullen, and out of temper. At their first entrance, Mary eagerly cried out, "Oh! James, I am so glad to have you home again. I have passed a sad wearisome time since you went." But Waldron received his wife's greeting coldly, and almost in silence. He walked up to the fire place, and, stooping over the embers, began drawing them together, at the same time telling his wife to get a bit or two of wood, and then to warm a little beer. His companion had under his arm a large bundle, tied round with a piece of sail-cloth. "At least we've got that safe," said James, placing it in one of the chairs: and he then ordered his wife to put it under the bed for the night, and to carry it early in the morning, before it was quite light, to Mrs. Hawker's shop, near the church. "I," added he, "shall be glad to lie in bed a bit, after being up three nights running." When they had finished their beer, the stranger withdrew; and Mary, after uttering a fervent prayer for all who are in peril by land or by water, and for the bringing back to the right way of those who have strayed from it, retired to rest.

Early the next morning, Mary, in compliance with her husband's directions, carried the sail-cloth bundle to Mrs. Hawker, who received it with one of her most gracious smiles, while her little black eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She immediately took it into a back parlour, and then returning to the shop, pressed Mary Waldron to take a glass of something comfortable. This Mary declined, and immediately hastened home, carrying with her a loaf for her husband's breakfast.

She found him still asleep, and the eldest of the two children trying to keep his little sister quiet, that she might not disturb him. At length, towards eleven o'clock, he got up, and the refreshment of a night's rest, a comfortable breakfast, and the active though quiet assiduity of his wife, seemed to have restored him to good humour. "We'd a roughish time of it last night," said he. "Yes, indeed," replied Mary; "and I wish, my dear James, you did but know a hundredth part of what I have suffered since you took to your present way of life." "Why should you be more uneasy now," said James, "than when I was nothing but a fisherman? We were then often out night after night, and sometimes in rough weather too." "To be sure, I used now and then to be a little anxious," said Mary, "but you were seldom out when it blew hard, and besides" – she hesitated a little – "besides – don't now be angry with me, James, for saying it – I felt then that you were trying to get your living in a lawful and honest way. Now when you are absent, my thoughts run upon all horrible things. I do not think so much of the perils of the wind and the waves, though that is bad enough, as of the chance of your being taken as a smuggler, or of your doing some dreadful deed in order to escape. They tell me, that the preventive-service men keep a sharp look out."

"A pretty deal too sharp," said Waldron, "I can tell you; if it had not been for them, we should have been back to Folkestone the night before last. We were to have landed our tubs just beyond Dimchurch, and had made a signal for the men to be ready with the horses to meet us. There was a thickish fog at the time; but still, these fellows somehow got sight of us, and pulled off in their boat, just as we were nearing the land. Jack Spraggon, the man that was here last night, proposed sinking them; but, though they deserved it, I was not quite bloody-minded enough for that. We had nothing else to do, therefore, but to put about, and as the wind blew off shore, we soon by the help of the fog gave them the slip. As it was of no use to think of landing then, we stood right out to sea. The wind soon after chopped about, and freshened to a gale. When we were nearly off Folkestone, a Dane merchantman had managed to run aground at some distance from the shore. The king's men – I must say that for them – are always ready enough to help any ship in distress, and dashed away to take the poor fellows off the wreck. And while they were busy at this job, two of our boats came out to us, and put us and part of our cargo on shore in East Weare Bay – just under the red and white cliff there, under the signal house. As ill luck would have it, one of the men on the look out saw us, and gave the alarm. We soon knocked him down; but the rest of them got together so fast, that we were forced to run for it, leaving our tubs behind. I kept hold, however, of my bale of silk, and Jack and I scrambled up one of the winding paths in the cliff, and got clear off."

"Oh! James," said Mary, "how many risks do you run since you've taken to this free-trading, as you call it."

"Nonsense," replied Waldron, "a seaman's wife must never talk of danger."

"I feel," replied Mary, "as if I could almost consent to your braving any danger in a good cause; but the cause that you are now engaged in is not a good one."

"Not a good one! Why where's the harm, I should like to know, in buying in France a little brandy, or a few silks, or cambric, or laces, or what not, and selling them cheap in England, without going through all the trouble and expense of the custom-house?"

"There must be harm," said Mary, "in constant opposition to the laws of the land; there must be harm in living with such wicked men, as you now keep company with."

"Why, to be sure," replied Waldron, "the consciences of some of our free-traders are not over-scrupulous, but there are indifferent characters in all professions; and as for breaking the laws, I don't see much harm in that – I'm sure the laws do me no good."

"And what else but the laws," said Mary, "protect your house from plunder, and your wife and children from violence, when you are far away? But I don't pretend to argue the matter, nor is it necessary that I should; you know the word of God."

"Come, come," retorted James, with a good deal of quickness and ill humour, "don't be trying to come over me with your lecturing and cant."

"Oh! my dear, dear James," said Mary, with much earnestness, "if you love me, do not let me again hear you call the mention of the word of God by the name of cant. You used formerly to keep your church, and you still sometimes read your Bible; surely the evil men with whom you have associated lately have not taught you to deny the authority of the Scriptures?"

"Why no," said James, "it's not quite so bad as that; but what do the Scriptures say about the laws, or about smuggling?"

"Why, in one place the Scriptures tell us to submit to the powers that be, that is, to the laws and constitution of the country, not only from fear of punishment, but for conscience sake, and from a sense of the advantage derived from them by society. In another place they bid us to submit to every ordinance of man for the Lord's sake. And with respect to smuggling, they command us to render tribute to whom tribute is due, custom to whom custom. Therefore, whenever you smuggle goods into the country without paying duty at the custom-house, you directly fly in the face of this injunction of the Scriptures. And at the same time that the smuggler thus breaks the laws of God and the laws of his country, he also injures the regular trader by underselling him; for, of course, the man, who conscientiously pays duty, cannot sell so cheap as he who pays no duty at all."

"And that puts me in mind," said Waldron, who wished to put an end to the conversation, "that I shall want a couple of pounds before night. Do, Mary, just step up to Mrs. Hawker's, and ask her to let me have them on account of the silk." Mary was always ready to comply with the wishes of her husband, and putting on her cloak, went to Mrs. Hawker's house.

She found her in her back parlour, shewing the silks to two smartly dressed young ladies. The eldest appeared to be about nineteen, the other two or three years younger. The countenances of both were expressive of good humour and liveliness, without much indication of thought or reflection. Each had selected a sufficient quantity of silk for a gown, and they were in the act of cheapening their purchases, when Mary came in. "No, indeed now, Mrs. Hawker, you must take off a shilling a yard. We really could get it as cheap in London, and, after all, the English silk they make now is quite as good." "That may be true," said Mrs. Hawker, "but you must consider, my dear young ladies, the difficulty I have in getting it, and the risk the poor fellows run." "Yes, indeed," said Mary, with a sigh, "it is the blood of men that you are buying."

The young ladies, who had not before seen Mary, as she was waiting near the door, turned round, and were just going to ask her what she meant, when one or two loud authoritative raps were heard at the outer door. At the same moment the maid servant came running in with every symptom of alarm, saying, in a suppressed voice, "Mistress, Mistress, make haste, the custom-house officers are here." Mrs. Hawker's countenance changed, but she was too much used to such occurrences to lose her presence of mind. "There, ladies, pop the silks under your pelisses – there – quick." The knocking was repeated more loudly than before. "Who's there," said Mrs. Hawker, in a shrill tone. A man's voice replied, "Let us in, we must come in directly." "Coming, sir, coming immediately." then in the same breath turning to the young ladies, "Stay, that will not do. If they find you here, they, perhaps, will search you. There, run into that back pantry, and keep the door tight." Molly, meanwhile, had run off with the bale of silk to a hiding-place prepared for such occasions, and Mrs. Hawker hastened to the door.

Before the officers had time to express their anger at being kept waiting, she put on one of her best smiles, and addressed them with, "Mr. Scroggins, is it you? Well now, I'm so sorry that you've had to wait; but the girl was down at the farther end of the garden, and I happened to be busy with my needle up stairs, and did not come down the first moment, as I did not know but that she was in the house. But pray come in – I'm so sorry that I made you wait."

This speech gave their wrath a little time to cool: but Scroggins answered gravely, "Mrs. Hawker, we are come upon rather an unpleasant piece of business. We have had information that a suspicious looking parcel was brought to your house this morning."

"What, to my house!" said Mrs. Hawker; "well! what will people say next. I'm sure I should never have thought of such a thing; but pray satisfy yourselves – search wherever you please."

The officers looked about the shop and the back parlour, and went up stairs. The place where the silk was concealed was, however, so well contrived, as to escape their observation; and Mrs. Hawker put on the appearance of innocence so completely, that the men began to think that they really had been misinformed. The young ladies trembled with apprehension when they heard them come into the kitchen, and still more, when, as they passed the pantry, one of the men called out, "What door is that?" "O," said Mrs. Hawker, "that is a sort of out building, but it let in so much cold wind to the kitchen, that we had it nailed up before Michaelmas; – but, I dare say, we can get it open, if you wish to see it; – I'm sure I want no concealment; – run, Molly, run down to Mr. Bellows, the blacksmith – you know where he lives – near the pier." – "Why, I believe, we need not give you that trouble," said Scroggins; "I must say that you have been very ready to let us search every where: and, to tell you the truth, we are just now rather in a hurry, and it would be some time before Bellows with his lame leg could hobble here."