Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 234: what you’re looking at

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re eae ene me v a TE i ce JOSEPH WILMOT; direct rrom Inch Mcthglin, or whether I had been elsewhere—nor why I entered by the opposite side of the village—nor whither I was going when I should leave. He however pressingly renewed his invitation for me to visit him in Edinburgh if I took that city in my way on my presumed return to England; and his chaise being ordered, we separated. On the following morning I mounted my horse, and set out on my return to Inch Methglin,— which I reached at about noon. I inquired where the Chief was; and was informed that some guests having arrived, there was a boating-party on the lake. Having put off my plain clothes and re- sumed my livery, I bent my way in the direction of the jetty,—on reaching which, I observed two boats at a little distance upon the loch. The Chief, Mr. Lennox, and half-a-dozen ladies and gentlemen were in one: Miss Emmeline, the two boys (Ivor and Lochiel), and four or five more guests were in the other. The gentlemen were rowing in both boats,—it being entirely a pleasure-trip, and the Chief’s bargemen being accordingly dis- pensed with. Dominie Clackmannan, who did not much admire water-parties, was basking upon a bench at a little distance from the jetty—and probably endeavouring to recollect the conclusion of the last anecdote which he had left unfinished. As I stood near the jetty, contemplating the gay scene,—the sun shining brightly upon the bosom of the lake, and the boats shooting rapidly along in a race with each other,—I was joined by Mr. Stuart, who said to me in his usual kind manner, “ My young pupils are taking a holiday ; and I am therefore idle. You have been absent, have you not P—for I missed you yesterday and the day before.” “1 have been, sir,’ I answered, “on a little business for the Chief:”’—but I did not choose to say what it was; for I naturally concluded that Inch Methglin had intended my mission to be altogether a private one. Besides, I knew quite enough of Mr. Stuart to be well aware that his own nature would revolt at the idea of the mis- fortunes of Carrondale being made the object of espial and prying inquisitiveness, as well as of selfish views, on my master’s part. “My young pupils ply their oars vigorously,” observed Donald Stuart: for the two boys were both rowing. “They are fine fellows for their age. Ivoris but little past twelve, and Lochiel but a few months more than ten.” “You take pride in them, sir,’ I remarked. “ They are intelligent—and they are attached to me,’ said Mr. Stuart. “ But see! the race is ended ! The boat in which my young pupils are, has won it !—and now they will be returning to the jetty.” This was the case: the boats were putting about—and that which contained the Chief being nearest to the shore, reached the jetty first. The other came more slowly along: for the rowers, having beaten their antagonists, were now taking their ease. The Chief, Mr. Lennox, and the ladies and gentlemen who were with then, re- mained on the jetty to await the coming of the occupants of the other boat. This latter was near the end of the jetty, when Ivor and Lochiel, in boyish play, each gave three or four such sudden and vigorous pulls, that the impulse sent the boat violently against one of the piles. The ladies, OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. 221 FS NS | — ———.. me ~~ +e %) affrighted by the shock, screamed out and started up ;—and the next instant the boat upsct. Emmeline, the Chief’s two sons, and the ladies and gentlemen who were in that boat, were in a moment immersed in the deep water. Cries of horror and alarm burst from the lips of all who beheld this scene; and quick as lightning Donald Stuart sprang from my side and plunged into the lake. The next instant I followed his example: for I was a good swimmer. Lennox and another gentleman leaped down from the jetty—while the Chief was crying out in tones of wild anguish, “My sons! my boys! my dearest boys! My niece Save them! save them!” It would be impossible for words to convey an idea of the terrific excitement which prevailed at that spot. Upon the jetty, Inch Methglin was raving for those who were dear to him: the ladies who were with him, were screaming in affright,— the gentlemen doing their best to tranquillize them. Under and around the jetty, which pro- jected about thirty yards into the loch, and where the water was exceedingly deep, there were splash- ings and strugglings, as if so many enormous fish were rolling and disporting there :—but there were cries and screams too, that thrilled up from the water, mingling with those that rang forth from the platform of the pier itself. Lennox quickly bore one of the immersed ladies to the bank: the next instant he was followed by Donald Stuart, sustaining the inanimate form of his own well-beloved Emmeline ;—while I was fortunate enough to rescue Ivor from a watery grave. In quick succession the gentlemen who had been upset, drew forth the ladies. It was all the work of comparatively a few instants: but as the Chief, from the platform of the jetty, glanced his quick anxious eye over the rescued ones as they were borne upon the bank, he beheld not his younger son; and the rending cry of anguish went forth from his lips—“ Lochiel, my darling Lochiel! where is he ?”—then the next instant the maddened father himself plunged into the loch. But the Chief could not swim: this his son Lennox knew—and he dashed in to the rescue of his father. Another also dashed in: this was Donald Stuart—and in every direction did he dive down for the missing boy. The father was borne to the bank in an almost exhausted, state by Lennox: but instantaneously recovering ‘himself, he would have plunged in again, had not his son held him back. “Let me go, Lennox—let me go—I command you!” cried the Chief, in accents of wildest afflic- tion. “My darling Lochiel—my last-born is lost tome! Oh, save him! save him! I take God to witness there is no boon his deliverer could ask, that I would not bestow !”—and the proud, strong man wrung his hands in bitterest anguish, as Lennox, with his arms thrown around his waist, forcibly detained him on the bank. “He is saved!” cried forth several voices from the platform of the jetty: and the next instant the gallant Donald Stuart was seen swimming round the extremity of the piles, sustaining Lochiel’s head above the water. “He is dead! he is no more!” cried Inch Methglin, a fresh terror swiftly succeeding the former one. ———————$—$—— ES a te ompenggeiiansssie . = eect —_— ~~ —_—_— eee ElO@QO) Ss C@ AA de