# Memorials of Capt. Hedley Vicars, Ninety-seventh Regiment by Marsh, Catherine, 1818-1912/Chapter 2

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II.— THE AWAKENING.
The 97th was ordered to Jamaica in 1848. From Maroon Town he thus writes to his mother:—
"I see it all now. It is I that have caused your illness, my darling mother. Ever since the receipt of your last letter, I have been in a dreadful state of mind. I feel that I deserve God's severest punishment for my undutiful conduct towards the fondest of mothers, but the excruciating thought had never before occurred to me that he might think fit to remove her from me. Oh, what agony I have endured! what sleepless nights I have passed since the perusal of that letter! The review of my past life, especially the retrospect of the last two years, has at last quite startled me, and at the same time disgusted me; You will now see the surest sign of repentance in my future conduct; and believe me, that never, as far as in me lies, shall another moment's anxiety be caused you by your dutiful and now repentant son."
The remorse which he thus affectingly expresses, was caused by his having incurred debt, to no great amount, but such as he knew would become a burden to a widowed mother. During his residence in one of the Mediterranean isles, he had become acquainted ​with a family who showed him great hospitality, and in maintaining social intercourse with them, and sharing their pleasures, he had involved himself beyond his means. It was the first and the last time that his unselfish nature thus transgressed.
In the depth of his penitence for his errors towards an earthly parent — called forth by the patient bearing of her forgiving love — do we not see the foreshadowing of that prostration of soul with which he humbled himself, when once the kindness and long-suffering of his God and Saviour were manifested to him in the fulness of redeeming love? And thus it was first through the raising of his moral nature by means of the holiest affections of man's heart, that he was eventually, after many a fall and rising again, to be drawn up into the higher life of fellowship with the Father and with his son Jesus Christ.
The depth and tenderness of his feelings at this time are well spoken again in the following letter to his mother:—
"What a difference there is between the crowded sea of the Mediterranean and the broad and dreary expanse of the Atlantic! On the former sea we passed hundreds of vessels, but from the day we left Giblaltar to enter into the Western Ocean, to the time we sailed up the Carribean sea, not more than two vessels hove in sight, and they were nearly hull down with their top-spars alone visible. On, on we went through the monster ocean of the western hemisphere, with the glorious sky above, and the rolling restless waves beneath. A huge whale kept us company for one day — no one on board had ever seen one like it. Porpoises and dolphins enliven us also by their presence every day, affording great delight, by their clumsy gambols, to the seamen and soldiers.
"Our watches were kept day and night. I had my vigil to keep for four hours every night, and often have ​I, when on the middle or morning watch, clambered aloft to the tops, and sat down and watched, on many a wild and stormy night, the flying scud as it rolled restlessly across the lace of the moon, entirely wrapped up in thoughts of you and home, of past times and past events. I have imagined myself coming home, the surprise it would give you, and how happy we should be. In the midst of such delicious reveries, the retrospect of the last few months has struck me as it were with a blight. I have said to myself, 'Oh, that I had the last two years allotted to me to live over again!' Alas, regrets are now unavailing: let my future aim be to atone for the lapse of time which can never be recalled.
"We anchored on the morning of the 5th in Montego Bay; and landed the same evening. By the time we had formed on the beach it was quite dark; that most pleasing part of the day, twilight, being very short in these latitudes. As soon as the guides were ready, our company marched off to Falmouth, twenty miles distant, while I gave the word of command to No. 5 company, 'Right form, four deep, march, quick march,' and we began our night march to Maroon Town. We were accompanied by crowds of blacks, many of whom carried torches of resinous wood; and the light glaring on the men's bayonets and appointments, through the pitch dark night, produced a very good effect. I wish the moon had given us her friendly light, for then I should have been able to give you some account of the country: as it was, I could only distinguish that we were marching on a road, with a deep ravine on each side, through a richly-wooded country. The chirping made by insects was both loud and incessant, and the fireflies flitting in the bushes, and across our path by myriads, now and then showed us by their light a yawning abyss, as we marched, skirting its edge. The air was hot and sultry; yet, in spite of this, and the badness of ​the roads, the first six miles were speedily got over; but, as we advanced higher up, the country became more wild, and the roads extremely dangerous, so that, commanding the company for the time being, I had to keep the men well in hand, files locked up. Even in spite of this precaution, one very fine young fellow was nearly killed by a fall over a precipice, but was providentially saved by some bushes. It was half an hour before we got him out. We had to make repeated halts, as the men began to show symptoms of fatigue; and when we arrived at the half-way house (eleven miles over), we halted to serve out to each man some bread and a ration of spirits. After this slight refreshment, the men fell in, the advance sounded, and onward we trudged.
"It now became all up hill work, and very wearisome: yet I kept my station at the head of the column. About a mile from the half-way house I went ahead of the column, and soon met the advanced guard of the 38th. They cheered, and told us as we passed, that their comrades were close at hand. In another ten minutes we encountered them. They cheered us loudly, and shook hands with a number of our men, wishing us all good luck, and good health at Maroon Town.
"This place is merely a cantonment consisting of the Barracks, distant from our quarters about 200 yards, and numerous pretty thatched cottages, with neat little gardens attached. It is situated in a dell, about 2,500 feet above the level of the sea, surrounded on every side by hills, which are thickly covered by stately trees. The foliage is very luxuriant, and the air is richly loaded with the aroma of numerous plants. Altogether the scene, is delightful to one who can enjoy the country: and as if nothing should be wanted to heighten the beauty of the scene, through the opening between two hills is visible the boundless expanse of the ocean.
​"Often do I wander into the forest to enjoy the cool refreshing shade of the trees, and undisturbed, to think of home—a sweeter contemplation to me now than all the beauties of nature.
"I have two very nice rooms, and a pretty garden attached, with arbours of trellis-work. I have built a nice place, myself, for poultry, and bought eight hens and two cocks, by which I intend soon to make money! They have aleady laid thirty-two eggs, which sell here at the rate of three half-pence each. One of my hens is hatching twelve eggs, and long before this letter reaches you, I hope to have a flourishing brood. There is a fine large tank close by our quarters, where I bathe twice every day and enjoy the luxurious size of my bath."
Five months later, he thus writes:
"My Darling Mother — I do love you, and that fondly, although I have often (and may God Almighty forgive me!) rebelled against your wishes.
"Mother, I ask your forgiveness for what has passed. You know not what real anguish some of your letters have caused me; and although I have tried to drown the voice of conscience, after reading them, a still small voice has always been whispering in my ear, and kept me from committing many a sin."
In writing, at the same time, to his sister, he alludes to forebodings of an early death occasionally coming across him, and wishes he were "prepared:"
"I am no coward, but the thought of death is solemn, and the idea of dying far away from home, with no fond mother or sister to give me comfort in my last moments, is sad enough. Yet I hope the effect of these reflections is wholesome, and will make me consider seriously whether I am fit to die."
He thus writes from Newcastle, on the 5th of June, 1849:
​"My Dearest Mother — I have just received your truly fond and affectionate letter. I assure you it made me shed tears. I feel that my conduct has been undutiful in not having written to you oftener. Eut do not imagine for a moment that my neglect in so doing ever arose from forgetfulness. Far worse were I than a brute could I ever cease to remember the fondest and most devoted of mothers. My dislike to writing in general shall not prevent me from writing to you or Mary by every mail for the future, without fail, so I trust you will not have cause again to upbraid me for having allowed such long intervals of time to elapse between each of my letters to you. That part of your letter in which you mention your fainting on the terrace made my blood curdle in my veins, and alarmed me dreadfully. That night I knelt by my bedside and prayed most fervently that the Lord Almighty would spare your life for the sake of your orphan children.
"A son's affection for his mother can only really be known when he feels that her life is in danger. I know not what I should do, or what would become of me, were you, my precious darling mother, to be taken from me. I should go on through life with a void that I know could never be filled up. My chief pleasure during the past year has been in looking forward to our meeting once again in dear old England; and oh, what delight this anticipation afforded me! But, mother, you must and will get well again. I shall yet, at some not far distant day, have the joy of seeing you, and kissing your fondly-remembered face. You shall be caused no more pain or anxiety by me. Oh, that my past actions could be obliterated from my recollection, and that my conscience could acquit me of ever having done anything to cause you grief and uneasiness. * * In my last letter I mentioned a wish to get a transfer to a regiment in India: but, of course, now that the war ​is over, it would be foolish to do so. Besides, I have heard lately that there is every probability of great promotion in the 97th; so I think I will still stand by the Sky-blue. My mind is now relieved from its chief pressure by the kindness of dearest Clara and her generous husband.
"I must now tell you of the death of a brother officer. Lieutenant Bindon. He died on the 13th of May at about five o-clock in the morning. Poor fellow! his was a short but painful illness. I remember when I went into his room the sun was shining brightly through the windows, the birds were singing cheerily, and the merry laugh of the light-hearted soldiers (plainly audible from their barracks) grated harshly on my ear. He was dead! Looking at his meek and placid face, calm and unruffled, I could hardly believe that I was not gazing on the living man. But, alas! his soul had fled. He was a robust and stalwart-looking man, about twenty-four years of age. With God's help, I trust I have learnt a lesson and a warning from his sudden death. He was buried the same evening in the small graveyard at the foot of the hill as you enter the cantonment. I, as senior subaltern, had command of the firing party. When we arrived, the twilight was fast verging into darkness, and the funeral service was read by the light of a candle. This is soon over, and then all retire from the grave except myself and armed party of forty men. We then give three volleys — the rolling echoes are still reverberating when the earth is thrown in — and all is over. Such has been the melancholy end of my poor friend and mess-mate. I was deeply affected, and could not restrain my tears all the time. I felt my voice choked when I gave the command, 'Fire three volleys in the air.'
"I am now in the quarters he once occupied. It is a pretty cottage with two rooms, and a verandah in front. When 1 first went into it the passion-flower, ​jessamine, and honeysuckle, completely covered the windows; but it made the room so dark, and, combined with the associations of poor Bindon's death, rendered the cottage so gloomy that I pulled it all down. I have a pretty little flower-garden, and a summer-house formed of a large overhanging bamboo. Would that I could transport myself and cottage to Essex! The weather has been lovely for the last month. I enjoy the cool fresh air in the morning very much. I am never in bed after half-past five in the morning, which is the best time to inhale the bracing mountain-breeze. * * * I have got command of a very nice company. The men are mostly well-behaved. My endeavour has always been to be kind as well as strict; the consequence is (although I am my own trumpeter), the men, I believe, would do anything for me. * * * Now, dearest mother, good by. Take care of your health, at least (if not for your own sake) for the sake of your ever fond and affectionate son,
"Hedley."
About this time, in a letter to one of his sisters, he says:
"You did not mean to give me pain, dearest Mary, but in the same letter in which you tell me of my mother's illness, why did you remind me of those strange huffs in which I used to indulge, which may well make a son ashamed as he remembers them?"
This allusion refers to such domestic traditions of his childish perversity as have already been recorded. It touchingly reminds those who knew him best of the sensitive tenderness of his heart and conscience.
"Give my tender love," he adds, "to my darling mother, and tell her I received a lock of her hair and another of yours, and am going to get a small locket for each of them, and shall wear them round my neck ​as a talisman. Darling Mary, I think more of those two locks of hair than of anything else in my possession."
In July, 1849, we Find him intrusted with the management of a sort of regimental carnival — an entertainment which lasted two days, having been given by the 97th to the neighbouring families who had shown them hospitality and attention. At the close he expresses a sense of dissatisfaction, without any definite reason for it, but "is glad it is over."
About this time he writes with his usual frank simplicity, "I have given up my cottage for the last fortnight to some invalids from Kingston and their doctor, and have domiciled myself in my kitchen. They are very grateful to me for my kindness." His cottage and garden were his playthings, and his refined taste displayed itself in their decoration, although this was now exercised with strict economy; for he writes that he is "saving every fraction he can, to pay off his few remaining debts;" and winds up this information with the pleasant announcement, "In a short time, dear mother, your son will be entirely out of debt; hurrah!"
It was a year after this time, that a more serious tone began to be discernible in his letters — a longing for something higher than he had hitherto reached — a conviction of sin before God, "sin worthy of eternal punishment," with a desire to "enter on a state of preparedness for death and eternity." But his condition is that of one wandering in a labyrinth, and the clue to the way home is not yet found. He feels the force of temptation, laments the dread of his companions' ridicule, and confesses his own utter inability to turn to God, whilst entreating his mother's prayers that the Holy Spirit may be poured out upon him.
The simple pleasures of his cottage home have a stronger hold than ever upon his heart, and reawaken ​the old yearnings after those who made home to him in England:
"My garden is in first-rate order, and I shall be sorry to leave it when we are ordered away. The passion-flower, twined with honeysuckle and convolvulus, are blooming so prettily over my n porch! Oh! my darling mother, that you were here, living in one of my rooms! What pleasure it would give me to look once more on your dear face, to mingle my prayers with yours for the temporal well-being and eternal happiness of mother and son. I generally retire to my summer-house to read when I feel serious; there I have no interruption from any one, and can sit for hours, with nothing to engage my senses but the wide expanse of the distant ocean, the sweet scent of heliotrope and geranium, the voice of the tiny humming-bird, or the rustling breeze in the lofty and quivering bamboos. Even the purring of my little kittens is pleasant to me at such a time. What fitter season for prayer than when one is surrounded by the gifts of the All-powerful Creator. But, oh! dear mother, I wish I felt more what I write.
"A poor gunner of the Royal Artillery died last night. His remains are to be buried to-day. While I write I hear the Dead March, and now the funeral party are winding their way to the graveyard, the muffled drum and shrill fife calling forth the soldiers from their barracks to see their lately gay and laughing comrade borne to his last resting-place. Who amongst them can tell which shall be next? Little they care, poor fellows! The sound of their merry laughter will soon be heard again, unsubdued as ever. I hope, my dear mother, that these warnings will have a salutary effect upon me. Those have lately been carried off whom I knew, and who (like myself) thought little of death, until he knocked at their own door, and beckoned them to come away — where?"
​We have now come to the close of his life of general recklessness, chequered, and of late frequently, with strong religious impressions — convictions of sin, which resulted in vigorous though short-lived efforts at reform. Of this portion of his life, a valued friend of his, then belonging to the 97th, has lately written the following short notice:
"From the first day I saw Vicars at Zante, in 1846, I was struck with his manly air and the peculiar, open truthfulness of his eye. He was at this time quite taken up with the gaieties of the island. We quitted for Malta, whence, in 1848, we sailed for Jamaica. During the voyage he used to dress as a sailor, and delight in making himself useful to the crew. In Jamaica he had the advantages of attending an excellent ministry, and of witnessing the beauty of consistent religious character in the family of Dr. McIlree, the surgeon of the 97th, which had their effect upon him. But this all passed away on his being withdrawn from these influences, by being ordered to the Lowlands to sit on court-martial, where he was again led away by unavoidable association with ungodly companions. At this time, as I afterwards heard from his own lips, he totally neglected prayer and the reading of the Bible, and consequently lost the power of resisting temptation. A long period elapsed before a second conviction arose, and this appeared to be sudden, and lasted till he left Jamaica. He frequently came to me for prayer and the study of the Scriptures, either at my own quarters or at a brother officer's."
The 97th left Jamaica for Halifax, Nova Scotia, in June, 1851. Almost immediately after landing, he was ordered to Canada, to take charge of volunteers for a regiment there. It was in the autumn of this year that he visited the Falls of Niagara, and his journal is written with deep and enthusiastic delight, ​describing his increasing excitement from the moment when he first distinguished the distant roar of the waters to that which "filled him with sublime and awful joy when they first broke upon his sight." He expresses his belief that no one could be an atheist whilst beholding the majestic power of God as displayed in the stupendous magnificence of those Falls; and while returning day after day to refresh and solemnize his spirit there, he realizes with renewed earnestness the sinfulness of wasting life in a mere search after pleasure, and is impressed with the importance of having a fixed aim of sufficient strength to be a lever to his life. Self-interest, he has found, even when calculated upon with the reckoning of eternity, is not strong enough at all times to raise a man above the dominion of his own inclinations. He knew not yet "the expulsive power of a new affection," for he had not learnt to say, "The love of Christ constraineth me."