Confessions of a Justified Sinner

by James Hogg

  Certainly, in the assured state I was in, I had as little reason to be alarmed at mention being made of the Devil as any person on earth: of late, however, I felt that the reverse was the case, and that any allusion to my great enemy moved me exceedingly. The weaver’s speech had such an effect on me that both he and his wife were alarmed at my looks. The latter thought I was angry, and chided her husband gently for his rudeness; but the weaver himself rather seemed to be confirmed in his opinion that I was the Devil, for he looked round like a startled roe-buck, and immediately betook him to the family Bible.

  I know not whether it was on purpose to prove my identity or not, but I think he was going to desire me either to read a certain portion of Scripture that he had sought out, or to make family worship, had not the conversation at that instant taken another turn; for the weaver, not knowing how to address me, abruptly asked my name, as he was about to put the Bible into my hands. Never having considered myself in the light of a malefactor, but rather as a champion in the cause of truth, and finding myself perfectly safe under my disguise, I had never once thought of the utility of changing my name, and, when the man asked me, I hesitated; but, being compelled to say something, I said my name was Cowan. The man stared at me, and then at his wife, with a look that spoke a knowledge of something alarming or mysterious.

  ‘Ha! Cowan?’ said he. ‘That’s most extraordinar! Not Colwan, I hope?’

  ‘No: Cowan is my sirname,’ said I. ‘But why not Colwan, there being so little difference in the sound?’

  ‘I was feared ye might be that waratch that the Deil has taen the possession o’, an’ eggit him on to kill baith his father an’ his mother, his only brother, an’ his sweetheart,’ said he; ‘an’, to say the truth, I’m no that sure about you yet, for I see you’re gaun wi’ arms on ye.’

  ‘Not I, honest man,’ said I. ‘I carry no arms; a man conscious of his innocence and uprightness of heart needs not to carry arms in his defence now.’

  ‘Aye, aye, maister,’ said he; ‘an’ pray what div ye ca’ this bit windlestrae that’s appearing here?’ With that he pointed to something on the inside of the breast of my frock-coat. I looked at it, and there certainly was the gilded haft of a poniard, the same weapon I had seen and handled before, and which I knew my illustrious companion carried about with him; but till that moment I knew not that I was in possession of it. I drew it out: a more dangerous or insidious-looking weapon could not be conceived. The weaver and his wife were both frightened, the latter in particular; and she being my friend, and I dependent on their hospitality for that night, I said: ‘I declare I knew not that I carried this small rapier, which has been in my coat by chance, and not by any design of mine. But, lest you should think that I meditate any mischief to any under this roof, I give it into your hands, requesting of you to lock it by till tomorrow, or when I shall next want it.’

  The woman seemed rather glad to get hold of it; and taking it from me, she went into a kind of pantry out of my sight, and locked the weapon up; and then the discourse went on.

  ‘There cannot be such a thing in reality,’ said I, ‘as the story you were mentioning just now, of a man whose name resembles mine.’

  ‘It’s likely that you ken a wee better about the story than I do, maister,’ said he, ‘suppose you do leave the L out of your name. An’ yet I think sic a waratch, an’ a murderer, wad hae taen a name wi’ some gritter difference in the sound. But the story is just that true that there were twa o’ the Queen’s officers here nae mair than an hour ago, in pursuit o’ the vagabond, for they gat some intelligence that he had fled this gate; yet they said he had been last seen wi’ black claes on, an’ they supposed he was clad in black. His ain servant is wi’ them, for the purpose o’ kennin the scoundrel, an’ they’re galloping through the country like madmen. I hope in God they’ll get him, an’ rack his neck for him!’

  I could not say Amen to the weaver’s prayer, and therefore tried to compose myself as well as I could, and made some religious comment on the causes of the nation’s depravity. But suspecting that my potent friend had betrayed my flight and disguise, to save his life, I was very uneasy, and gave myself up for lost. I said prayers in the family, with the tenor of which the wife was delighted, but the weaver still dissatisfied; and, after a supper of the most homely fare, he tried to start an argument with me, proving that everything for which I had interceded in my prayer was irrelevant to man’s present state. But I, being weary and distressed in mind, shunned the contest, and requested a couch whereon to repose.

  I was conducted into the other end of the house, among looms, treadles, pirns, and confusion without end; and there, in a sort of box, was I shut up for my night’s repose, for the weaver, as he left me, cautiously turned the key of my apartment, and left me to shift for myself among the looms, determined that I should escape from the house with nothing. After he and his wife and children were crowded into their den, I heard the two mates contending furiously about me in suppressed voices, the one maintaining the probability that I was the murderer, and the other proving the impossibility of it. The husband, however, said as much as let me understand that he had locked me up on purpose to bring the military, or officers of justice, to seize me. I was in the utmost perplexity, yet for all that, and the imminent danger I was in, I fell asleep, and a more troubled and tormenting sleep never enchained a mortal frame. I had such dreams that they will not bear repetition, and early in the morning I awaked, feverish, and parched with thirst.

  I went to call mine host, that he might let me out to the open air, but, before doing so, I thought it necessary to put on some clothes. In attempting to do this, a circumstance arrested my attention (for which I could in nowise account, which to this day I cannot unriddle, nor shall I ever be able to comprehend it while I live): the frock and turban, which had furnished my disguise on the preceding day, were both removed, and my own black coat and cocked hat laid down in their place. At first I thought I was in a dream, and felt the weaver’s beam, web, and treadle-strings with my hands, to convince myself that I was awake. I was certainly awake; and there was the door locked firm and fast as it was the evening before. I carried my own black coat to the small window and examined it. It was my own in verity; and the sums of money that I had concealed in case of any emergency, remained untouched. I trembled with astonishment; and on my return from the small window went doiting in amongst the weaver’s looms, till I entangled myself, and could not get out again without working great deray amongst the coarse linen threads that stood in warp from one end of the apartment unto the other. I had no knife whereby to cut the cords of this wicked man, and therefore was obliged to call out lustily for assistance. The weaver came half naked, unlocked the door, and, setting in his head and long neck, accosted me thus:

  ‘What now, Mr. Satan? What for are ye roaring that gate? Are you fawn inna little hell, instead o’ the big muckil ane? Deil be in your reistit trams! What for have ye abscondit yoursel into ma leddy’s wab for?’

  ‘Friend, I beg your pardon,’ said I. ‘I wanted to be at the light, and have somehow unfortunately involved myself in the intricacies of your web, from which I cannot get clear without doing you a great injury. Pray do, lend your experienced hand to extricate me.’

  ‘May aw the pearls o’ damnation light on your silly snout, an I dinna estricat ye weel enough! Ye ditit donnart, deil’s burd that ye be! What made ye gang howkin in there to be a poor man’s ruin? Come out, ye vile rag-of-a-muffin, or I gar ye come out wi’ mair shame and disgrace, an’ fewer haill banes in your body.’

  My feet had slipped down through the double warpings of a web, and not being able to reach the ground with them (there being a small pit below) I rode upon a number of yielding threads, and, there being nothing else that I could reach, to extricate myself was impossible. I was utterly powerless; and, besides, the yarn and cords hurt me very much. For all that, the destructive weaver seized a loom-spoke, and began a-beating me most unmercifully, while, entangled as I was,
I could do nothing but shout aloud for mercy, or assistance, whichever chanced to be within hearing. The latter at length made its appearance in the form of the weaver’s wife, in the same state of dishabille with himself, who instantly interfered, and that most strenuously, on my behalf. Before her arrival, however, I had made a desperate effort to throw myself out of the entanglement I was in; for the weaver continued repeating his blows and cursing me so that I determined to get out of his meshes at any risk. This effort made my case worse; for, my feet being wrapt among the nether threads, as I threw myself from my saddle on the upper ones, my feet brought the others up through these, and I hung with my head down and my feet as firm as they had been in a vice. The predicament of the web being thereby increased, the weaver’s wrath was doubled in proportion, and he laid on without mercy.

  At this critical juncture the wife arrived, and without hesitation rushed before her offended lord, withholding his hand from injuring me further, although then it was uplifted along with the loom-spoke in overbearing ire. ‘Dear Johnny! I think ye be gaen dementit this morning. Be quiet, my dear, an’ dinna begin a Boddel Brigg business in your ain house. What for ir ye per-secutin’ a servant o’ the Lord’s that gate, an’ pitting the life out o’ him wi’ his head down an’ his heels up?’

  ‘Had ye said a servant o’ the Deil’s, Nans, ye wad hae been nearer the nail, for gin he binna the Auld Ane himsel, he’s gay an sib till him. There, didna I lock him in on purpose to bring the military on him; an’ in the place o’ that, hasna he keepit me in a sleep a’ this while as deep as death? An’ here do I find him abscondit like a speeder i’ the mids o’ my leddy’s wab, an’ me dreamin’ a’ the night that I had the Deil i’ my house, an’ that he was clapper-clawin me ayont the loom. Have at you, ye brunstane thief!’ and, in spite of the good woman’s struggles, he lent me another severe blow.

  ‘Now, Johnny Dods, my man! Oh, Johnny Dods, think if that be like a Christian, and ane o’ the heroes o’ Boddel Brigg, to entertain a stranger, an’ then bind him in a web wi’ his head down, an’ mell him to death! Oh, Johnny Dods, think what you are about! Slack a pin, an’ let the good honest religious lad out.’

  The weaver was rather overcome, but still stood to his point that I was the Deil, though in better temper; and, as he slackened the web to release me, he remarked, half laughing: ‘Wha wad hae thought that John Dods should hae escapit a’ the snares an’ dangers that circumfauldit him, an’ at last should hae weaved a net to catch the Deil.’

  The wife released me soon, and carefully whispered me, at the same time, that it would be as well for me to dress and be going. I was not long in obeying, and dressed myself in my black clothes, hardly knowing what I did, what to think, or whither to betake myself. I was sore hurt by the blows of the desperate ruffian; and, what was worse, my ankle was so much strained that I could hardly set my foot to the ground. I was obliged to apply to the weaver once more, to see if I could learn anything about my clothes, or how the change was effected. ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘how comes it that you have robbed me of my clothes, and put these down in their place over night?’

  ‘Ha! thae claes? Me pit down the claes!’ said he, gaping with astonishment, and touching the clothes with the point of his forefinger. ‘I never saw them afore, as I have death to meet wi’: so help me God!’

  He strode into the work-house where I slept, to satisfy himself that my clothes were not there, and returned perfectly aghast with consternation. ‘The doors were baith fast lockit,’ said he. ‘I could hae defied a rat either to hae gotten out or in. My dream has been true! My dream has been true! The Lord judge between thee and me; but in His name, I charge you to depart out o’ this house; an’, gin it be your will, dinna tak the braidside o’t w’ye, but gang quietly out at the door wi’ your face foremost. Wife, let naught o’ this enchanter’s remain i’ the house, to be a curse, an’ a snare to us; gang an’ bring him his gildit weapon, an’ may the Lord protect a’ his ain against its hellish an’ deadly point!’

  The wife went to seek my poniard, trembling so excessively that she could hardly walk, and, shortly after, we heard a feeble scream from the pantry. The weapon had disappeared with the clothes, though under double lock and key; and, the terror of the good people having now reached a disgusting extremity, I thought proper to make a sudden retreat, followed by the weaver’s anathemas.

  My state both of body and mind was now truly deplorable. I was hungry, wounded, and lame, an outcast and a vagabond in society; my life sought after with avidity, and all for doing that to which I was predestined by Him who fore-ordains whatever comes to pass. I knew not whither to betake me. I had purposed going into England and there making some use of the classical education I had received, but my lameness rendered this impracticable for the present. I was therefore obliged to turn my face towards Edinburgh, where I was little known — where concealment was more practicable than by skulking in the country, and where I might turn my mind to something that was great and good. I had a little money, both Scotch and English, now in my possession, but not one friend in the whole world on whom I could rely. One devoted friend, it is true, I had, but he was become my greatest terror. To escape from him, I now felt that I would willingly travel to the farthest corners of the world, and be subjected to every deprivation; but after the certainty of what had taken place last night, after I had travelled thirty miles by secret and by-ways, I saw not how escape from him was possible.

  Miserable, forlorn, and dreading every person that I saw, either behind or before me, I hasted on towards Edinburgh, taking all the by and unfrequented paths; and, the third night after I left the weaver’s house, I reached the West Port, without meeting with anything remarkable. Being exceedingly fatigued and lame, I took lodgings in the first house I entered, and for these I was to pay two groats a week, and to board and sleep with a young man who wanted a companion to make his rent easier. I liked this; having found from experience that the great personage who had attached himself to me, and was now become my greatest terror among many surrounding evils, generally haunted me when I was alone keeping aloof from all other society.

  My fellow lodger came home in the evening, and was glad at my coming. His name was Linton, and I changed mine to Elliot. He was a flippant unstable being, one on whom nothing appeared a difficulty, in his own estimation, but who could effect very little after all. He was what is called by some a compositor, in the Queen’s printing house, then conducted by a Mr. James Watson. In the course of our conversation that night, I told him I was a first-rate classical scholar, and would gladly turn my attention to some business wherein my education might avail me something; and that there was nothing would delight me so much as an engagement in the Queen’s printing office. Linton made no difficulty in bringing about that arrangement. His answer was: ‘Oo, gud sir, you are the very man we want. Gud bless your breast and your buttons, sir! Aye, that’s neither here nor there. That’s all very well. Ha, ha, ha. A by-word in the house, sir. But, as I was saying, you are the very man we want. You will get any money you like to ask, sir. Any money you like, sir. God bless your buttons! — That’s settled — All done — Settled, settled — I’ll do it, I’ll do it — No more about it; no more about it. Settled, settled.’

  The next day I went with him to the office, and he presented me to Mr. Watson as the most wonderful genius and scholar ever known. His recommendation had little sway with Mr. Watson, who only smiled at Linton’s extravagances, as one does at the prattle of an infant. I sauntered about the printing office for the space of two or three hours, during which time Watson bustled about with green spectacles on his nose, and took no heed of me. But, seeing that I still lingered, he addressed me at length, in a civil gentlemanly way, and inquired concerning my views. I satisfied him with all my answers, in particular those to his questions about the Latin and Greek languages; but when he came to ask testimonials of my character and acquirements, and found that I could produce none, he viewed me with a jealous eye, and said he dreaded I w
as some n’er-do-weel, run from my parents or guardians, and he did not choose to employ any such. I said my parents were both dead; and that, being thereby deprived of the means of following out my education, it behoved me to apply to some business in which my education might be of some use to me. He said he would take me into the office, and pay me according to the business I performed and the manner in which I deported myself; but he could take no man into Her Majesty’s printing office upon a regular engagement who could not produce the most respectable references with regard to morals.

  I could not but despise the man in my heart who laid such a stress upon morals, leaving grace out of the question; and viewed it as a deplorable instance of human depravity and self-conceit; but, for all that, I was obliged to accept of his terms, for I had an inward thirst and longing to distinguish myself in the great cause of religion, and I thought, if once I could print my own works, how I would astonish mankind, and confound their self-wisdom and their esteemed morality — blow up the idea of any dependence on good works, and morality, forsooth! And I weened that I might thus get me a name even higher than if I had been made a general of the Czar Peter’s troops against the infidels.

  I attended the office some hours every day, but got not much encouragement, though I was eager to learn everything, and could soon have set types considerably well. It was here that I first conceived the idea of writing this journal, and having it printed, and applied to Mr. Watson to print it for me, telling him it was a religious parable such as the Pilgrim’s Progress. He advised me to print it close, and make it a pamphlet, and then, if it did not sell, it would not cost me much; but that religious pamphlets, especially if they had a shade of allegory in them, were the very rage of the day. I put my work to the press, and wrote early and late; and encouraging my companion to work at odd hours and on Sundays, before the press-work of the second sheet was begun, we had the work all in types, corrected, and a clean copy thrown off for further revisal. The first sheet was wrought off; and I never shall forget how my heart exulted when at the printing house this day I saw what numbers of my works were to go abroad among mankind, and I determined with myself that I would not put the Border name of Elliot, which I had assumed, to the work.