"Doon wi' the man o' sin!" shouted another.
"Pu' Papery frae its throne o'iniquity!" exclaimed a third.
"Strike your spurs into your horse's sides, and let us shew them clean
heels for it," said the leader of the party, addressing his unhappy
charge, by whose side he was now riding, and speaking in a low but firm
and earnest tone.
"But, man," began the latter, who appeared to be in great trepidation.
"You'll be murdered else," said the former, interrupting him sharply,
and, at the same moment, striking the spurs into his horse's sides--a
proceeding which instantly carried him clear of the crowd, and, shortly
after, out of sight and out of danger.
The prudent example of their leader was quickly followed by the other
two men, who, also, clapping spurs to their horses, soon found
themselves out of the tumultuous throng by which they were surrounded,
to whose tender mercies they left their unhappy charge, who being, as he
said himself, no horseman, was unable to extricate himself from the now
fast-thickening crowd.
Despairing of being able to effect his escape by any effort of
horsemanship, the poor innkeeper, though with little hope of being
believed, determined on divulging the facts of his case to the
mob--always, however, of course, reserving to himself the original
purpose for which he had assumed the unfortunate dress he now wore, the
cause of all his trouble.
Having come to this resolution, he began to address the mob, some of
whom had already laid hands on him, for the purpose of dragging him from
his horse.
"Guid folks," began David, "I'm nae mair a munk than ony o' ye. I'm"----
At this moment, a well-aimed brick-bat took the unfortunate speaker on
the right temple, and tumbled him senseless from his horse.
The mob, somewhat appalled by the suddenness of this catastrophe, and
imagining that the unhappy man was killed outright, stood aloof for a
few seconds, when David, almost instantly recovering from the stunning
effect of the blow, which had unhorsed him, started to his feet, and,
finding the press around him not very dense, pushed his way through it,
and took to his heels.
This proceeding was the signal for a general chace, and it instantly
took place. Relieved from the apprehension of having a murder to answer
for, the mob, with shouts of exultation, started after the fugitive at
full speed. Down Leith Wynd went David, instinct taking him in the
direction of home; and down after him, like an avalanche, or raging
torrent, went the mob, whooping and yelling as they rushed along.
Maddened and distracted with terror, David's progress was splendid, and,
had nothing occurred to interrupt it, would soon have carried him out of
the reach of his enemies; but the steepness of the street, which had
aided his velocity, also increased its perils. For a long while he kept
his feet on the abrupt declivity, like a winged Mercury; but a
treacherous inequality in the pavement brought him suddenly, and with
dreadful violence, down on his face, while, partly over and partly on
him, went half-a-dozen of the foremost of the pursuers, tripped up by
his abrupt and unlooked-for prostration.
Those who fell on the unhappy victim of popular fury, now instantly,
and, as they lay, betook themselves to avenging their fall by tearing
and worrying at the unlucky cause of their accident; while others coming
up, added to his punishment by an unmerciful infliction of kicks and
buffets, that quickly deprived him of all consciousness.
It was at this critical moment that a person, apparently of
consideration, approached the crowd, and asked some of those who were
hovering around it, what was the meaning of the uproar.
"They're bastin a Papist--a fat priest o' Baal, they hae gotten hand
o'," said a burly fellow who, from the leathern apron he wore, appeared
to be a shoemaker. "Giein him a taste o' Purgatory before they send him
to ----, just by way o' seasonin."
"What, is this more of the accursed doings of the spoilers and
persecutors of the church," exclaimed the stranger, in a tone of deep
indignation. "Are they about to add murder to robbery;" and, drawing his
sword, he rushed into the crowd, calling out--"Stand aside, ye caitiffs!
shame on ye; would ye murder a defenceless man? Would ye bring Heaven's
wrath upon your heads by so foul a deed?"
The crowd, either awed by the bold bearing of the stranger, or taken by
surprise by the suddenness of his assault, readily opened a way for him,
so that, in an instant, he stood by the bruised, battered, and senseless
body of our unhappy brother of St. Anthony.
Seeing that the latter was in a state of utter unconsciousness, though
still living, the stranger, after clearing a circle around the prostrate
man, addressing those near him, said--
"Ten crowns will I give to any three or four amongst ye who will bear
this unfortunate person whither I shall conduct them. It is not far:
only to the southern side of the city."
For a few minutes there was no answer to this invitation; but it was
heard with a silence which shewed that it had made an impression--that
religious zeal and hatred were giving way to cupidity.
At length, a brawny-armed smith, with shirt rolled up to his shoulders,
stepping out of the crowd, said--
"Well, I'm your man for one. I say, Bob, and you Archy," he continued,
turning round, and selecting two persons from the mob, "will ye no join
us in giein a lift to the carrion? Ten croons are no to be fand at every
dike-side."
Without making any reply in words to this appeal, the two persons named
came forward, although with a somewhat dogged and sullen air, and were
about to seize limbs a-piece of the still unconscious victim of popular
hatred, with the view of thus transporting him, as if he had been a dead
dog, to the destination proposed for him, when the person who had now
taken the unfortunate man in charge, objected to the unseemly and
inhuman proceeding, and offered an additional crown for a bier or litter
on which to place him.
The activity of the smith, stimulated by the increased reward, quickly
produced the conveniency wanted. It was but a coarse and clumsy article;
being nothing more than a few rough boards hastily put together; but it
answered its purpose indifferently well.
On this latter, then, the body of our unlucky brother was now
placed--his face dreadfully swollen and disfigured; and the procession
moved off, with a shouting and laughing mob at its heels.
Leaving David thus disposed of, we will return to Leith for a space, to
see how Drinkhooly came on, denuded as he was of his shovel hat and his
gown.
On awaking from his nap, the worthy churchman, not well pleased that
David had not come to rouse him as he promised, started up in great
uneasiness, lest the gates of the preceptory should be shut, and his
character as a regular living man be thereby injured.
What was the surprise of the good man, however, to find that he had been
stripped of his gown while he slept, and left in his shirt sleeves.
Alarmed at the circumstance, brother Drinkhooly began searching the
apartment for the missing garment, and also for his hat, which he now
found had likewise gone astray.
Being able to discover no trace of the missing articles, he commenced
rapping on the door to bring some one to his assistance, although very
unwilling to expose himself in his present predicament to any but his
well-beloved crony, David Wemyss. He could not help himself, however.
His gown and hat he must have. He could not leave the house without
them, and without assistance they could not be got.
The worthy brother's rapping on the door being unattended to, he
commenced with his heel on the floor, a proceeding which he had often
found, as it has been facetiously termed, an "_effectual calling_."
In the present instance, it brought mine host's wife into his presence.
On her entering--
"Good woman, good Mrs. Wemyss, I would say, know ye anything of mine
outer garment? My gown, know ye where it has been deposited? I likewise
lack my hat, good Mrs. Weymss; know ye what has become of it?"
"Truly, your reverence, I dinna ken," replied Mrs. Weymss, beginning to
bustle about the apartment in search of the desiderated articles; "but
they canna be far aff, surely. Does your reverence no mind whar ye laid
them?"
"My hat, I recollect perfectly--there being no reason why I should not
recollect it--I laid on this chair by the bedside here. Now it is gone.
My gown I laid nowhere, but kept on me. So, of that garment I must have
been denuded even while I slept. It is strange. Is my good friend David
not in the way? He would, doubtless, explain all, and help me to mine
outer covering and head-gear?"
"Indeed, no, your reverence, David's no in the way; and I canna tell
whar he is. He's been missing oot o' the house thae three hours; and
gaed aff without telling ony o' us whar he was gaun, or what he was gaun
aboot. Indeed, nane o' us kent when he gaed. Sae he maun hae slippit aff
unco cannily."
In the meantime, the search for the missing articles of dress went on
vigorously, but without any good result. They were nowhere to be found.
"What's to be done?" said the good father in a despairing tone, as he
threw himself into a chair. "I cannot go through the streets in this
indecent condition, and, if I remain longer, I will be deemed a
disregarder of canonical hours. What is to be done?"
"Deed it's an awkward thing, your reverence, and how ye are to gae hame
in your sark sleeves, and your bald head to the win, I dinna see."
"I'll tell you what you'll do for me, my good Mrs. Weymss," said the
worthy father, after thinking a moment: "You'll send up your little girl
to the preceptory, and I'll give her a message to Brother Christie. I
think he'll oblige me in a strait. He'll send me down a gown and hat
wherewith I may hie me home, and your good husband, and my good friend,
David, will, doubtless, find me mine own garments when he returns."
"Surely, your reverence, surely; Jessy'll be but owre prood to do your
reverence's biddin," replied Mrs. Weymss, and she hastened to call her
daughter.
On the girl making her appearance, the worthy brother gave her her
instructions.
He desired her to go to the preceptory; to ask a private word of Brother
Christie; and to say to him that he, Drinkhooly, had got into
tribulation. That, having some matters of private concernment to talk
over with mine host of "The Ship," he had called on him, and that, while
there, overcome with exhaustion, in consequence of his late fatiguing
duties, he had fallen asleep, and that, while he slept, some one had
removed his gown and hat, and that he could nowhere find the same, and
could not therefore return to the preceptory unless his good brother,
Christie, would furnish him with the loan of these two articles, the
which, he had no doubt, he would readily do.
Charged with this rather long-winded message, the girl departed on her
mission. In less than a quarter of an hour she returned, but brought
neither hat nor gown.
"Has he refused them?" inquired the worthy brother, with a look of
grievous discomfiture, when he saw the girl enter without the
much-desired articles. "What did he say?"
"He said, sir," replied the girl, who was both too young and too
single-minded to think of saving any one's feelings at the expense of
truth, "that, if ye had drank less o' David Wemyss' claret, ye wad hae
kenned better what had become o' your gown and hat."
"_O scandalum magnatum!_" exclaimed the indignant priest. "Doth he--doth
Brother Christie accuse me of vinous indulgences? Him whom I have, a
hundred times, helped to his dormitory, when incapacitated therefrom by
the excess of his potations. And he would not give thee the garments?"
"No, please you, sir; he said ye micht gang without the breeks for him.
He wadna send ye a stitch."
It became now matter for serious consideration what was to be done. It
was true that the good father might easily have been arrayed for the
nonce in a coat and hat of his friend, David Wemyss', and might, so
attired, pass unheeded through the streets. But how was he to account
for his appearance in such an unseemly garb at the preceptory. It might
lead to some awkward inquiries as to how the good brother had spent the
evening.
There was no other way for it, however. So, equipped in the deficient
articles from mine host of "The Ship's" wardrobe, Brother Drinkhooly
stole out of the house, slunk along the streets, gained the gate of the
preceptory, knocked thereat, whispered two or three words of explanation
to the porter, with whom he was fortunately in good terms, and, finally,
got snugly to his own dormitory without detection.
To return to mine host of "The Ship." It was not for nearly twelve hours
after the occurrence of the tragical affair of Leith Wynd, that David
Wemyss was restored to a consciousness of existence. When he was,
conceive, if you can, reader, his surprise and amazement to find himself
in a superb bed, hung round with rich crimson velvet curtains, and whose
coverlets were of satin fringed with gold. The room, which was also
gorgeously furnished, was so darkened when David awoke from the
refreshing sleep which had restored him to the possession of his senses,
that it was some time before he discovered all the splendours with which
he was surrounded.
When these, however, had at length begun to take his eye, he started up
on his elbow, and, with a mingled look of perplexity, consternation, and
bewilderment, commenced a survey of the magnificent chamber of which he
thus so strangely and inexplicably found himself an occupant.
How or when he had been brought there, he could not conceive; neither,
for a good while, had he any recollection whatever of the pummelling
with which he had been favoured in Leith Wynd. The operation, however,
of certain physical effects of that incident--namely, a painful aching
of the bones, and an almost total inability to move either leg or arm,
gradually unfolded to him, although only in a dim and confused manner,
the occurrence of the preceding night.
In the meantime, David went on with his survey of the apartment, during
which he perceived two objects that convinced him that he was in the
house of a Roman Catholic--of one of those who still clung to the
ancient religion of the kingdom, and who held in detestation and
abhorrence the doctrines of the new faith.
These objects were a large painting, over the fire-place, of the Saviour
on the Cross, and a small silver crucifix which stood on a table close
by the side of the bed; there was also lying on the floor, opposite the
crucifix, and near to it, a crimson velvet cushion with gold tassels on
which were such indentations as intimated its having been recently knelt
upon.
Having completed the examination of his new premises, David Wemyss threw
himself back on the bed, in order to take a deliberate survey in his own
mind of his present strange position, and of all the circumstances
connected therewith.
"'Od, but this is a most extraordinar affair, and a dooms awkward ane,"
thought David, to himself. "Wha wad hae dreamed o't. Wha wad hae dreamed
that sae simple a thing as me putting on Drinkhooly's goun, wad hae led
to a' this mischief.
"What'll they think's become o' me in Leith? And what'll I say for mysel
whan I gae back? And what'll Drinkhooly do for his goun? Od, they'll
excommunicat him; they'll ruin him. God help us, it's an awfu' business.
But, whar am I?--Wha's house is this, and hoo got I till't? And hoo and
whan am I to get hame again; for I fin' that I couldna keep a leg under
me enow, an it were to mak me provost o' Edinburgh."
At this moment, David's somewhat disjointed, though pertinent enough
reflections, were interrupted by the entrance of some one into the
apartment.
The intruder, whoever he was, came in on tiptoe, as if fearful of
disturbing the occupant of the apartment; and, on approaching the bed,
peered cautiously into it, to see whether he was awake.
David, without saying a word, stared at the person, who appeared to be a
serving man or cook, from his wearing a blue velvet cap on his head--the
usual head-dress of such persons in those times, and his bearing a
steaming silver posset dish in one hand.
David, as we have said, stared at the man, without saying a word--a line
of proceeding which he adopted, in order that the other, by speaking
first, might give him a sort of cue by which to guide himself in the
impending colloquy.
Seeing that the patient was awake, the man, bowing respectfully, said:--
"I trust, holy father, I find you better. Here is a posset which has
been prepared for you by the directions of our leech, worthy Dr. Whang
o' the Cowgate Head, which you will be so good as take."
"My man," said David, without either accepting or refusing the proffered
posset, "I'm misdoubtin that there's a sad mistak in this business
a'thegither. Howsomever, let that flee stick to the wa' for the present.
Can ye tell me whar I am, and hoo I cam here?"
"Most assuredly, holy father. You are just now in the house, and under
the protection and guardianship of Lady Wisherton of Wisherton Mains,
whose house is situated about two hundred yards south of the Kirk of
Field. As to the manner of your coming here, holy father, it was
this:--Her ladyship's son, Lord Boggyland, coming up Leith Wynd last
night, found you in the midst of a crowd of sacrilegious ruffians, who
were murdering you, and who had already, by their brutal treatment,
deprived you of all consciousness. Seeing this, his lordship, who, as
all his family--his good and pious mother included--are staunch
adherents of the old religion, instantly interfered in your behalf, and
had you conveyed to his mother's house, where, as I have already said,
you are at the present moment."
"Umph," muttered David. "Is that the way o't. Then, I fancy, I'm juist
oot o' the fryin-pan into the fire."
The serving-man, not perceiving the applicability of the remark,
although somewhat surprised at it, made no reply, but again pressed the
posset on the suffering martyr.
"Weel, weel, let's see't then," said David, raising himself up in the
bed. "There can be nae great harm in that, I fancy. It'll no mak things
muckle waur than they are. Is't onything tasty?"
His attendant assured him that he would find it very pleasant, being
made by her ladyship's own hands, who long enjoyed a high reputation for
manufacturing possets and comfits of all sorts.
Having raised the lid of the posset dish, and flavoured it contents,
David pronounced it "savoury;" when, taking spoon in hand, he cleared
out the vessel in a twinkling.
"A gusty mouthfu' that," said mine host of "The Ship," throwing himself
luxuriously back on his pillow, "although I think it wadna been the waur
o' a wee hair mair brandy in't."
The serving-man having done his errand, now left the room, retiring with
the same careful step and respectful manner with which he had entered,
and left David once more to his own reflections.
In these, however, he was permitted but a very short indulgence. His
attendant had not been gone five minutes, when the door of the
apartment was again gently opened, and an elderly lady, of tall and
majestic form, arrayed in a close fitting dress of black velvet, with a
gold chain round her neck, from which was suspended a large diamond
cross, entered the sick man's chamber. It was Lady Wisherton herself.
Approaching, with stately step, but with a look of tender concern, the
bed on which her patient lay--
"It rejoices me much, holy father," she said, "to learn, from our good
and faithful servitor, William Binkie, that your reverence begins to
feel some symptoms of amendment."
"Ou, thank ye, mem, thank ye," replied David, with no small trepidation;
for the dignified and stately appearance of his visiter had sadly
appalled him. "I fin' mysel a hauntle better, thanks to your leddyship's
kindness--takin' ye to be Leddy Wisherton hersel', as I hae nae doot ye
are."
"You are right in your conjecture, good father," replied Lady Wisherton,
rather taken aback by the very peculiar style of his reverence's
language, which she did not recollect ever to have met with in any other
person in holy orders before. The circumstance, however, only puzzled
her; it did not, in the smallest degree, excite in her any suspicion of
the real facts of the case. "You are right in your conjecture, good
father," she said, "I am Lady Wisherton."
"So I was jalousin, mem," said David, who, by the way, we may as well
mention here, had made up his mind to endeavour to avoid exposure, by
not saying or doing anything to undeceive Lady Wisherton as to his real
character, and to trust to some fortunate chance of getting, undetected,
out of the house.
"O father!" said Lady Wisherton, bursting out into a sudden paroxysm of
pious excitation, "what is to become of our poor persecuted church?
When will a judgment descend on this unholy land, for the monstrous sins
by which it is now daily polluted. Oh, dreadful times!--oh, unheard of
iniquity! that a priest of God--a father of our holy church--should be
attacked on the public streets of this city, and put in jeopardy of his
life by a mob of heretical blasphemers! When will these atrocities
cease? Oh, when, when, when?"
"Deed, mem, it's no easy sayin," replied the subject of this pathetic
lamentation. "They're awfu' times. Nae man leevin ever saw or heard o'
the like o' them. There, doon at Leith enow, they're murderin ane
anither by the dizzen every day, and no comin a bit nearer the point
after a'. Heaven kens whar it's to end. In the meantime, they hae gien
me a confounded lounderin; I fin' that in every bane o' my body."
"You have been sorely abused by them, indeed, father," replied Lady
Wisherton. "But a day of retribution is coming. You will be avenged,
terribly avenged."
"There was ae fallow, in particular, amang them, that I wad like to see
gettin a guid creeshin," replied David: "_that_ was a great big
scounneril o' a blacksmith, wi' his shirt sleeves rowed up to his
shouthers. He was the warst o' the lot. I got mair and heavier waps frae
him than frae a' the rest put thegither."
Again, Lady Wisherton looked surprised at the style of language in which
her reverend patient spoke, his last remarks being particularly rich in
the homely vernacular of the country, and greatly was her perplexity
increased by the discordance between his calling and his manner, which
was every moment becoming more and more marked; still she did not, nor
could suspect the truth.
"Was it not a blessing of Providence, father," resumed Lady Wisherton,
"that my son, Lord Boggyland, happened to be in Leith Wynd at the time
you were attacked by these sacrilegious ruffians?"
"Feth, my leddy, it was just that," replied David--"A Gude's mercy. They
gied me a bonny creeshin as it was; but they wad hae dished me clean oot
an it hadna been for him. Feth, yon fellows care nae mair for a man's
life than they wad do for a puddock's."
"Your reverence's face is much swelled," said Lady Wisherton, suddenly
attracted by the swollen and discoloured countenance of her patient.
"Greatly swelled. You must allow me to bathe it with my lotion."
"Nae occasion, mem, nae occasion, thank ye; I dinna find it ony way
painfu. Besides, I'll try and get up, towards the darkenin, and be
steppin doon to Leith; for they'll be wonderin there what's come o' me."
It will be seen from this that our brother of St. Anthony contemplated
an early retreat from his present quarters; and further, that he meant
to avail himself of the obscurity of night to effect that retreat. But
this was a point not to be so very easily managed as he thought.
"Leave my house this afternoon!" exclaimed Lady Wisherton, in the utmost
amazement. "That, with your reverence's leave, indeed, you shall not do.
You shall remain where you are, under my tendance, until you be
perfectly recovered, which we dare not hope for under a fortnight, at
the very least. But, in the meantime, good father, you shall have every
attendance, every comfort which you can desire, or of which your
situation will admit. My son and I are but too happy, although we
deplore the cause, of having been presented with an opportunity of
testifying our reverence and love for a minister of our holy religion.