• Home
  • Catalog
  • Contacts




    sentiments, was in a strange quandary. The other
    servants quaked for they knew not well what. Cuddie alone, with the look
    of supreme indifference and stupidity which a Scottish peasant can at
    times assume as a mask for considerable shrewdness and craft, continued
    to swallow large spoonfuls of his broth, to command which he had drawn
    within his sphere the large vessel that contained it, and helped himself,
    amid the confusion, to a sevenfold portion.

    "What is your pleasure here, gentlemen?" said Milnwood, humbling himself
    before the satellites of power.

    "We come in behalf of the king," answered Bothwell; "why the devil did
    you keep us so long standing at the door?"

    "We were at dinner," answered Milnwood, "and the door was locked, as is
    usual in landward towns [Note: The Scots retain the use of the word town
    in its comprehensive Saxon meaning, as a place of habitation. A mansion
    or a farm house, though solitary, is called the town. A landward town is
    a dwelling situated in the country.] in this country. I am sure,
    gentlemen, if I had kend ony servants of our gude king had stood at the
    door--But wad ye please to drink some ale--or some brandy--or a cup of
    canary sack, or claret wine?" making a pause between each offer as long
    as a stingy bidder at an auction, who is loath to advance his offer for a
    favourite lot.

    "Claret for me," said one fellow.

    "I like ale better," said another, "provided it is right juice of John
    Barleycorn."

    "Better never was malted," said Milnwood; "I can hardly say sae muckle
    for the claret. It's thin and cauld, gentlemen."

    "Brandy will cure that," said a third fellow; "a glass of brandy to three
    glasses of wine prevents the curmurring in the stomach."

    "Brandy, ale, sack, and claret?--we'll try them all," said Bothwell, "and
    stick to that which is best. There's good sense in that, if the damn'dest
    whig in Scotland had said it."

    Hastily, yet with a reluctant quiver of his muscles, Milnwood lugged out
    two ponderous keys, and delivered them to the governante.

    "The housekeeper," said Bothwell, taking a seat, and throwing himself
    upon it, "is neither so young nor so handsome as to tempt a man to follow
    her to the gauntrees, and devil a one here is there worth sending in her
    place.--What's this?--meat?" (searching with a fork among the broth, and
    fishing up a cutlet of mutton)--"I think I could eat a bit--why, it's as
    tough as if the devil's dam had hatched it."

    "If there is any thing better in the house, sir," said Milnwood, alarmed
    at these symptoms of disapprobation--"No, no," said Bothwell, "it's not
    worth while, I must proceed to business.--You attend Poundtext, the
    presbyterian parson, I understand, Mr Morton?"

    Mr Morton hastened to slide in a confession and apology.

    "By the indulgence of his gracious majesty and the government, for I wad
    do nothing out of law--I hae nae objection whatever to the establishment
    of a moderate episcopacy, but only that I am a country-bred man, and the
    ministers are a hamelier kind of folk, and I can follow their doctrine
    better; and, with reverence, sir, it's a mair frugal establishment for
    the country."

    "Well, I care nothing about that," said Bothwell; "they are indulged, and
    there's an end of it; but, for my part, if I were to give the law, never
    a crop-ear'd cur of the whole pack should bark in a Scotch pulpit.
    However, I am to obey commands.--There comes the liquor; put it down, my
    good old lady."

    He decanted about one-half of a quart bottle of claret into a wooden
    quaigh or bicker, and took it off at a draught.

    "You did your good wine injustice, my friend;--it's better than your
    brandy, though that's good too. Will you pledge me to the king's health?"

    "With pleasure," said Milnwood, "in ale,--but I never drink claret, and
    keep only a very little for some honoured friends."

    "Like me, I suppose," said Bothwell; and then, pushing the bottle to
    Henry, he said, "Here, young man, pledge you the king's health."

    Henry filled a moderate glass in silence, regardless of the hints and
    pushes of his uncle, which seemed to indicate that he ought to have
    followed his example, in preferring beer to wine.

    "Well," said Bothwell, "have ye all drank the toast?--What is that old
    wife about? Give her a glass of brandy, she shall drink the king's
    health, by"--"If your honour pleases," said Cuddie, with great stolidity
    of aspect, "this is my mither, stir; and she's as deaf as Corra-linn; we
    canna mak her hear day nor door; but if your honour pleases, I am ready
    to drink the king's health for her in as mony glasses of brandy as ye
    think neshessary."

    "I dare swear you are," answered Bothwell; "you look like a fellow that
    would stick to brandy--help thyself, man; all's free where'er I come.--
    Tom, help the maid to a comfortable cup, though she's but a dirty jilt
    neither. Fill round once more--Here's to our noble commander, Colonel
    Graham of Claverhouse!--What the devil is the old woman groaning for? She
    looks as very a whig as ever sate on a hill-side--Do you renounce the
    Covenant, good woman?"

    "Whilk Covenant is your honour meaning? Is it the Covenant of Works, or
    the Covenant of Grace?" said Cuddie, interposing.

    "Any covenant; all covenants that ever were hatched," answered the
    trooper.

    "Mither," cried Cuddie, affecting to speak as to a deaf person, "the
    gentleman wants to ken if ye will renunce the Covenant of Works?"

    "With all my heart, Cuddie," said Mause, "and pray that my feet may be
    delivered from the snare thereof."

    "Come," said Bothwell, "the old dame has come more frankly off than I
    expected. Another cup round, and then we'll proceed to business.--You
    have all heard, I suppose, of the horrid and barbarous murder committed
    upon the person of the Archbishop of St Andrews, by ten or eleven armed
    fanatics?"

    All started and looked at each other; at length Milnwood himself
    answered, "They had heard of some such misfortune, but were in hopes it
    had not been true."

    "There is the relation published by government, old gentleman; what do
    you think of it?"

    "Think, sir? Wh--wh--whatever the council please to think of it,"
    stammered Milnwood.

    "I desire to have your opinion more explicitly, my friend," said the
    dragoon, authoritatively.

    Milnwood's eyes hastily glanced through the paper to pick out the
    strongest expressions of censure with which it abounded, in gleaning
    which he was greatly aided by their being printed in italics.

    "I think it a--bloody and execrable--murder and parricide--devised by
    hellish and implacable cruelty--utterly abominable, and a scandal to the
    land."

    "Well said, old gentleman!" said the querist--"Here's to thee, and I wish
    you joy of your good principles. You owe me a cup of thanks for having
    taught you them; nay, thou shalt pledge me in thine own sack--sour ale
    sits ill upon a loyal stomach.--Now comes your turn, young man; what
    think you of the matter in hand?"

    "I should have little objection to answer you," said Henry, "if I knew
    what right you had to put the question."

    "The Lord preserve us!" said the old housekeeper, "to ask the like o'
    that at a trooper, when a' folk ken they do whatever they like through
    the haill country wi' man and woman, beast and body."

    The old gentleman exclaimed, in the same horror at his nephew's audacity,
    "Hold your peace, sir, or answer the gentleman discreetly. Do you mean to
    affront the king's authority in the person of a sergeant of the
    Life-Guards?"

    "Silence, all of you!" exclaimed Bothwell, striking his hand fiercely on
    the table--"Silence, every one of you, and hear me!--You ask me for my
    right to examine you, sir (to Henry); my cockade and my broadsword are my
    commission, and a better one than ever Old Nol gave to his roundheads;
    and if you want to know more about it, you may look at the act of council
    empowering his majesty's officers and soldiers to search for, examine,
    and apprehend suspicious persons; and, therefore, once more, I ask you
    your opinion of the death of Archbishop Sharpe--it's a new touch-stone we
    have got for trying people's metal."

    Henry had, by this time, reflected upon the useless risk to which he
    would expose the family by resisting the tyrannical power which was
    delegated to such rude hands; he therefore read the narrative over, and
    replied, composedly, "I have no hesitation to say, that the perpetrators
    of this assassination have committed, in my opinion, a rash and wicked
    action, which I regret the more, as I foresee it will be made the cause
    of proceedings against many who are both innocent of the deed, and as far
    from approving it as myself."

    While Henry thus expressed himself, Bothwell, who bent his eyes keenly
    upon him, seemed suddenly to recollect his features.

    "Aha! my friend Captain Popinjay, I think I have seen you before, and in
    very suspicious company."

    "I saw you once," answered Henry, "in the public-house of the town of--."

    "And with whom did you leave that public-house, youngster?--Was it not
    with John Balfour of Burley, one of the murderers of the Archbishop?"

    "I did leave the house with the person you have named," answered Henry,
    "I scorn to deny it; but, so far from knowing him to be a murderer of the
    primate, I did not even know at the time that such a crime had been
    committed."

    "Lord have mercy on me, I am ruined!--utterly ruined and undone!"
    exclaimed Milnwood. "That callant's tongue will rin the head aff his ain
    shoulders, and waste my gudes to the very grey cloak on my back!"

    "But you knew Burley," continued Bothwell, still addressing Henry, and
    regardless of his uncle's interruption, "to be an intercommuned rebel and
    traitor, and you knew the prohibition to deal with such persons. You
    knew, that, as a loyal subject, you were prohibited to reset, supply, or
    intercommune with this attainted traitor, to correspond with him by word,
    writ, or message, or to supply him with meat, drink, house, harbour, or
    victual, under the highest pains--you knew all this, and yet you broke
    the law." (Henry was silent.) "Where did you part from him?" continued
    Bothwell; "was it in the highway, or did you give him harbourage in this
    very house?"

    "In this house!" said his uncle; "he dared not for his neck bring ony
    traitor into a house of mine."

    "Dare he deny that he did so?" said Bothwell.

    "As you charge it to me as a crime," said Henry, "you will excuse my
    saying any thing that will criminate myself."

    "O, the lands of Milnwood!--the bonny lands of Milnwood, that have been
    in the name of Morton twa hundred years!" exclaimed his uncle; "they are
    barking and fleeing, outfield and infield, haugh and holme!"

    "No, sir," said Henry, "you shall not suffer on my account.--I own," he
    continued, addressing Bothwell, "I did give this man a night's lodging,
    as to an old military comrade of my father. But it was not only without
    my uncle's knowledge, but contrary to his express general orders. I
    trust, if my evidence is considered as good against myself, it will have
    some weight in proving my uncle's innocence."

    "Come, young man," said the soldier, in a somewhat milder tone, "you're a
    smart spark enough, and I am sorry for you; and your uncle here is a fine
    old Trojan, kinder, I see, to his guests than himself, for he gives us
    wine and drinks his own thin ale--tell me all you know about this Burley,
    what he said when you parted from him, where he went, and where he is
    likely now to be found; and, d--n it, I'll wink as hard on your share of
    the business as my duty will permit. There's a thousand merks on the
    murdering whigamore's head, an I could but light on it--Come, out with
    it--where did you part with him?"

    "You will excuse my answering that question, sir," said Morton; "the same
    cogent reasons which induced me to afford him hospitality at considerable
    risk to myself and my friends, would command me to respect his secret,
    if, indeed, he had trusted me with any."

    "So you refuse to give me an answer?" said Bothwell.

    "I have none to give," returned Henry.

    "Perhaps I could teach you to find one, by tying a piece of lighted match
    betwixt your fingers," answered Bothwell.

    "O, for pity's sake, sir," said old Alison apart to her master, "gie them
    siller--it's siller they're seeking--they'll murder Mr Henry, and
    yoursell next!"

    Milnwood groaned in perplexity and bitterness of spirit, and, with a tone
    as if he was giving up the ghost, exclaimed, "If twenty p--p--punds would
    make up this unhappy matter"--"My master," insinuated Alison to the
    sergeant, "would gie twenty punds sterling"--"Punds Scotch, ye b--h!"
    interrupted Milnwood; for the agony of his avarice overcame alike his
    puritanic precision and the habitual respect he entertained for his
    housekeeper.

    "Punds sterling," insisted the housekeeper, "if ye wad hae the gudeness
    to look ower the lad's misconduct; he's that dour ye might tear him to
    pieces, and ye wad ne'er get a word out o' him; and it wad do ye little
    gude, I'm sure, to burn his bonny fingerends."

    "Why," said Bothwell, hesitating, "I don't know--most of my cloth would
    have the money, and take off the prisoner too; but I bear a conscience,
    and if your master will stand to your offer, and enter into a bond to
    produce his nephew, and if all in the house will take the test-oath, I do
    not know but"--"O ay, ay, sir," cried Mrs Wilson, "ony test, ony oaths ye
    please!" And then aside to her master, "Haste ye away, sir, and get the
    siller, or they will burn the house about our lugs."

    Old Milnwood cast a rueful look upon his adviser, and moved off, like a
    piece of Dutch clockwork, to set at liberty his imprisoned angels in this
    dire emergency. Meanwhile, Sergeant Bothwell began to put the test-oath
    with such a degree of solemn reverence as might have been expected, being
    just about the same which is used to this day in his majesty's
    custom-house.

    "You--what's your name, woman?"

    "Alison Wilson, sir."

    "You, Alison Wilson, solemnly swear, certify, and declare, that you judge
    it unlawful for subjects, under pretext of reformation, or any other
    pretext whatsoever, to enter into Leagues and Covenants"--Here the
    ceremony was interrupted by a strife between Cuddie and his mother,
    which, long conducted in whispers, now became audible.

    "Oh, whisht, mither, whisht! they're upon a communing--Oh! whisht, and
    they'll agree weel eneuch e'enow."

    "I will not whisht, Cuddie," replied his mother, "I will uplift my voice
    and spare not--I will confound the man of sin, even the scarlet man, and
    through my voice shall Mr Henry be freed from the net of the fowler."

    "She has her leg ower the harrows now," said Cuddie, "stop her wha can--I
    see her cocked up behint a dragoon on her way to the Tolbooth--I find my
    ain legs tied below a horse's belly--Ay--she has just mustered

    [Prev][1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28][29][30][31][32][33][34][35][36][37][38][39][40][41][42][43][44][45][46][47][48][49][50][51][52][53][54][55][56][57][58][59][60][61][62][63][64][65][66][67][68][69][70][71][Next]