Sir Arthur Wardour--I ken naebody but himsell wad come here at this time
at e’en wi’ that German blackguard;--ane wad think he’s bewitched him--he
gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese. Let’s see what they can be
doing.”
This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur spoke, made
Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s answer to the adept, excepting the last
three emphatic words, “Very great expense;” to which Dousterswivel at
once replied--“Expenses!--to be sure--dere must be de great expenses.
You do not expect to reap before you do sow de seed: de expense is de
seed--de riches and de mine of goot metal, and now de great big chests
of plate, they are de crop--vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, Sir
Arthur, you have sowed this night one little seed of ten guineas
like one pinch of snuff, or so big; and if you do not reap de great
harvest--dat is, de great harvest for de little pinch of seed, for it
must be proportions, you must know--then never call one honest man,
Herman Dousterswivel. Now you see, mine patron--for I will not conceal
mine secret from you at all--you see this little plate of silver; you
know de moon measureth de whole zodiack in de space of twenty-eight
day--every shild knows dat. Well, I take a silver plate when she is
in her fifteenth mansion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and I
engrave upon one side de worts, [Shedbarschemoth Schartachan]--dat is,
de Emblems of de Intelligence of de moon--and I make this picture like a
flying serpent with a turkey-cock’s head--vary well. Then upon this side
I make de table of de moon, which is a square of nine, multiplied into
itself, with eighty-one numbers on every side, and diameter nine--dere it
is done very proper. Now I will make dis avail me at de change of every
quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same proportions of expenses I lay
out in de suffumigations, as nine, to de product of nine multiplied
into itself--But I shall find no more to-night as maybe two or dree times
nine, because dere is a thwarting power in de house of ascendency.”
“But, Dousterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “does not this look like
magic?--I am a true though unworthy son of the Episcopal church, and I
will have nothing to do with the foul fiend.”
“Bah! bah!--not a bit magic in it at all--not a bit--It is all founded on
de planetary influence, and de sympathy and force of numbers. I will
show you much finer dan dis. I do not say dere is not de spirit in it,
because of de suffumigation; but, if you are not afraid, he shall not be
invisible.”
“I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Baronet, whose courage
seemed, from a certain quaver in his accent, to have taken a fit of the
ague.
“Dat is great pity,” said Dousterswivel; “I should have liked to show
you de spirit dat guard dis treasure like one fierce watchdog--but I know
how to manage him;--you would not care to see him?”
“Not at all,” answered the Baronet, in a tone of feigned indifference;
“I think we have but little time.”
“You shall pardon me, my patron; it is not yet twelve, and twelve
precise is just our planetary hours; and I could show you de spirit
vary well, in de meanwhile, just for pleasure. You see I would draw
a pentagon within a circle, which is no trouble at all, and make my
suffumigation within it, and dere we would be like in one strong castle,
and you would hold de sword while I did say de needful worts. Den you
should see de solid wall open like de gate of ane city, and den--let me
see--ay, you should see first one stag pursued by three black greyhounds,
and they should pull him down as they do at de elector’s great
hunting-match; and den one ugly, little, nasty black negro should appear
and take de stag from them--and paf--all should be gone; den you should
hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring--mine wort, they should
play fine hunting piece, as goot as him you call’d Fischer with his
oboi; vary well--den comes one herald, as we call Ernhold, winding his
horn--and den come de great Peolphan, called de mighty Hunter of de
North, mounted on hims black steed. But you would not care to see all
this?” *
* Note F. Witchcraft.
“Why, I am not afraid,” answered the poor Baronet,--“if--that is--does
anything--any great mischiefs, happen on such occasions?”
“Bah! mischiefs? no!--sometimes if de circle be no quite just, or
de beholder be de frightened coward, and not hold de sword firm and
straight towards him, de Great Hunter will take his advantage, and drag
him exorcist out of de circle and throttle him. Dat does happens.”
“Well then, Dousterswivel, with every confidence in my courage and your
skill, we will dispense with this apparition, and go on to the business
of the night.”
“With all mine heart--it is just one thing to me--and now it is de
time--hold you de sword till I kindle de little what you call chip.”
Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of chips, touched
and prepared with some bituminous substance to make them burn fiercely;
and when the flame was at the highest, and lightened, with its
shortlived glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a handful of
perfumes which produced a strong and pungent odour. The exorcist and his
pupil both were so much affected as to cough and sneeze heartily; and,
as the vapour floated around the pillars of the building, and penetrated
every crevice, it produced the same effect on the beggar and Lovel.
“Was that an echo?” said the Baronet, astonished at the sternutation
which resounded from above; “or”--drawing close to the adept, “can it
be the spirit you talked of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden
treasures?”
“N--n--no,” muttered the German, who began to partake of his pupil’s
terrors, “I hope not.”
Here a violent of sneezing, which the mendicant was unable to suppress,
and which could not be considered by any means as the dying fall of an
echo, accompanied by a grunting half-smothered cough, confounded the two
treasure-seekers. “Lord have mercy on us!” said the Baronet.
“Alle guten Geistern loben den Herrn!” ejaculated the terrified adept.
“I was begun to think,” he continued, after a moment’s silence, “that
this would be de bestermost done in de day-light--we was bestermost to go
away just now.”
“You juggling villain!” said the Baronet, in whom these expressions
awakened a suspicion that overcame his terrors, connected as it was
with the sense of desperation arising from the apprehension of impending
ruin--“you juggling mountebank! this is some legerdemain trick of yours
to get off from the performance of your promise, as you have so often
done before. But, before Heaven! I will this night know what I have
trusted to when I suffered you to fool me on to my ruin! Go on,
then--come fairy, come fiend, you shall show me that treasure, or confess
yourself a knave and an impostor, or, by the faith of a desperate and
ruined man, I’ll send you where you shall see spirits enough.”
The treasure-finder, trembling between his terror for the supernatural
beings by whom he supposed himself to be surrounded, and for his life,
which seemed to be at the mercy of a desperate man, could only bring
out, “Mine patron, this is not the allerbestmost usage. Consider, mine
honoured sir, that de spirits”--
Here Edie, who began to enter into the humour of the scene, uttered an
extraordinary howl, being an exaltation and a prolongation of the most
deplorable whine in which he was accustomed to solicit charity.
Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees--“Dear Sir Arthurs, let us go,
or let me go!”
“No, you cheating scoundrel!” said the knight, unsheathing the sword
which he had brought for the purposes of the exorcism, “that shift shall
not serve you--Monkbarns warned me long since of your juggling pranks--I
will see this treasure before you leave this place, or I will have you
confess yourself an impostor, or, by Heaven, I’ll run this sword through
you, though all the spirits of the dead should rise around us!”
“For de lofe of Heaven be patient, mine honoured patron, and you shall
hafe all de treasure as I knows of--yes, you shall indeed--But do not
speak about de spirits--it makes dem angry.”
Edie Ochiltree here prepared himself to throw in another groan, but was
restrained by Lovel, who began to take a more serious interest, as
he observed the earnest and almost desperate demeanour of Sir Arthur.
Dousterswivel, having at once before his eyes the fear of the foul
fiend, and the violence of Sir Arthur, played his part of a conjuror
extremely ill, hesitating to assume the degree of confidence necessary
to deceive the latter, lest it should give offence to the invisible
cause of his alarm. However, after rolling his eyes, muttering and
sputtering German exorcisms, with contortions of his face and person,
rather flowing from the impulse of terror than of meditated fraud, he at
length proceeded to a corner of the building where a flat stone lay upon
the ground, bearing upon its surface the effigy of an armed warrior in a
recumbent posture carved in bas-relief. He muttered to Sir Arthur, “Mine
patrons, it is here--Got save us all!”
Sir Arthur, who, after the first moment of his superstitious fear
was over, seemed to have bent up all his faculties to the pitch of
resolution necessary to carry on the adventure, lent the adept his
assistance to turn over the stone, which, by means of a lever that
the adept had provided, their joint force with difficulty effected. No
supernatural light burst forth from below to indicate the subterranean
treasury, nor was there any apparition of spirits, earthly or infernal.
But when Dousterswivel had, with great trepidation, struck a few strokes
with a mattock, and as hastily thrown out a shovelful or two of earth
(for they came provided with the tools necessary for digging), something
was heard to ring like the sound of a falling piece of metal, and
Dousterswivel, hastily catching up the substance which produced it, and
which his shovel had thrown out along with the earth, exclaimed, “On
mine dear wort, mine patrons, dis is all--it is indeed; I mean all we can
do to-night;”--and he gazed round him with a cowering and fearful glance,
as if to see from what corner the avenger of his imposture was to start
forth.
“Let me see it,” said Sir Arthur; and then repeated, still more sternly,
“I will be satisfied--I will judge by mine own eyes.” He accordingly
held the object to the light of the lantern. It was a small case, or
casket,--for Lovel could not at the distance exactly discern its shape,
which, from the Baronet’s exclamation as he opened it, he concluded was
filled with coin. “Ay,” said the Baronet, “this is being indeed in good
luck! and if it omens proportional success upon a larger venture, the
venture shall be made. That six hundred of Goldieword’s, added to the
other incumbent claims, must have been ruin indeed. If you think we
can parry it by repeating this experiment--suppose when the moon next
changes,--I will hazard the necessary advance, come by it how I may.”
“Oh, mine good patrons, do not speak about all dat,” said Dousterswivel,
“as just now, but help me to put de shtone to de rights, and let
us begone our own ways.” And accordingly, so soon as the stone was
replaced, he hurried Sir Arthur, who was now resigned once more to his
guidance, away from a spot, where the German’s guilty conscience and
superstitious fears represented goblins as lurking behind each pillar
with the purpose of punishing his treachery.
“Saw onybody e’er the like o’ that!” said Edie, when they had
disappeared like shadows through the gate by which they had entered--“saw
ony creature living e’er the like o’ that!--But what can we do for that
puir doited deevil of a knight-baronet? Od, he showed muckle mair spunk,
too, than I thought had been in him--I thought he wad hae sent cauld iron
through the vagabond--Sir Arthur wasna half sae bauld at Bessie’s-apron
yon night--but then, his blood was up even now, and that makes an unco
difference. I hae seen mony a man wad hae felled another an anger him,
that wadna muckle hae liked a clink against Crummies-horn yon time. But
what’s to be done?”
“I suppose,” said Lovel, “his faith in this fellow is entirely restored
by this deception, which, unquestionably, he had arranged beforehand.”
“What! the siller?--Ay, ay--trust him for that--they that hide ken best
where to find. He wants to wile him out o’ his last guinea, and then
escape to his ain country, the land-louper. I wad likeit weel just
to hae come in at the clipping-time, and gien him a lounder wi’ my
pike-staff; he wad hae taen it for a bennison frae some o’ the auld dead
abbots. But it’s best no to be rash; sticking disna gang by strength,
but by the guiding o’ the gally. I’se be upsides wi’ him ae day.”
“What if you should inform Mr. Oldbuck?” said Lovel.
“Ou, I dinna ken--Monkbarns and Sir Arthur are like, and yet they’re no
like neither. Monkbarns has whiles influence wi’ him, and whiles Sir
Arthur cares as little about him as about the like o’ me. Monkbarns is
no that ower wise himsell, in some things;--he wad believe a bodle to
be an auld Roman coin, as he ca’s it, or a ditch to be a camp, upon ony
leasing that idle folk made about it. I hae garr’d him trow mony a
queer tale mysell, gude forgie me. But wi’ a’ that, he has unco little
sympathy wi’ ither folks; and he’s snell and dure eneugh in casting up
their nonsense to them, as if he had nane o’ his ain. He’ll listen the
hale day, an yell tell him about tales o’ Wallace, and Blind Harry, and
Davie Lindsay; but ye maunna speak to him about ghaists or fairies, or
spirits walking the earth, or the like o’ that;--he had amaist flung auld
Caxon out o’ the window (and he might just as weel hae flung awa
his best wig after him), for threeping he had seen a ghaist at the
humlock-knowe. Now, if he was taking it up in this way, he wad set up
the tother’s birse, and maybe do mair ill nor gude--he’s done that
twice or thrice about thae mine-warks; ye wad thought Sir Arthur had a
pleasure in gaun on wi’ them the deeper, the mair he was warned against
it by Monkbarns.”
“What say you then,” said Lovel, “to letting Miss Wardour know the
circumstance?”
“Ou, puir thing, how could she stop her father doing his pleasure?--and,
besides, what wad it help? There’s a sough in the country about that
six hundred pounds, and there’s a writer chield in Edinburgh has been
driving the spur-rowels o’ the law up to the head into Sir Arthur’s
sides to gar him pay it, and if he canna, he maun gang to jail or flee
the country. He’s like a desperate man, and just catches at this chance
as a’ he has left, to escape utter perdition; so what signifies plaguing
the puir lassie about what canna be helped? And besides, to say
the truth, I wadna like to tell the secret o’ this place. It’s unco
convenient, ye see yoursell, to hae a hiding-hole o’ ane’s ain; and
though I be out o’ the line o’ needing ane e’en now, and trust in the
power o’ grace that I’ll neer do onything to need ane again, yet naebody
kens what temptation ane may be gien ower to--and, to be brief, I downa
bide the thought of anybody kennin about the place;--they say, keep a
thing seven year, an’ yell aye find a use for’t--and maybe I may need the
cove, either for mysell, or for some ither body.”
This argument, in which Edie Ochiltree, notwithstanding his scraps of
morality and of divinity, seemed to take, perhaps from old habit, a
personal interest, could not be handsomely controverted by Lovel, who
was at that moment reaping the benefit of the secret of which the old
man appeared to be so jealous.
This incident, however, was of great service to Lovel, as diverting
his mind from the unhappy occurrence of the evening, and considerably
rousing the energies which had been stupefied by the first view of his
calamity. He reflected that it by no means necessarily followed that a
dangerous wound must be a fatal one--that he had been hurried from
the spot even before the surgeon had expressed any opinion of Captain
M’Intyre’s situation--and that he had duties on earth to perform, even
should the very worst be true, which, if they could not restore his
peace of mind or sense of innocence, would furnish a motive for
enduring existence, and at the same time render it a course of active
benevolence.--Such were Lovel’s feelings, when the hour arrived when,
according to Edie’s calculation--who, by some train or process of his own
in observing the heavenly bodies, stood independent of the assistance
of a watch or time-keeper--it was fitting they should leave their
hiding-place, and betake themselves to the seashore, in order to meet
Lieutenant Taffril’s boat according to appointment.
They retreated by the same passage which had admitted them to the
prior’s secret seat of observation, and when they issued from the
grotto into the wood, the birds which began to chirp, and even to sing,
announced that the dawn was advanced. This was confirmed by the light
and amber clouds that appeared over the sea, as soon as their exit
from the copse permitted them to view the horizon.--Morning, said to be
friendly to the muses, has probably obtained this character from its
effect upon the fancy and feelings of mankind. Even to those who, like
Lovel, have spent a sleepless and anxious night, the breeze of the dawn
brings strength and quickening both of mind and body. It was, therefore,
with renewed health and vigour that Lovel, guided by the trusty
mendicant, brushed away the dew as he traversed the downs which divided
the Den of St. Ruth, as the woods surrounding the ruins were popularly
called, from the sea-shore.
The first level beam of the sun, as his brilliant disk began to emerge
from the ocean, shot full upon the little gun-brig which was lying-to
in the offing--close to the shore the boat was already waiting, Taffril
himself, with his naval cloak wrapped about him, seated in the stern. He
jumped ashore when he saw the mendicant and Lovel approach, and,
shaking the latter heartily by the hand, begged him not to be cast down.
“M’Intyre’s wound,” he said, “was doubtful, but far from desperate.”
His attention had got Lovel’s baggage privately sent on board the
brig; “and,” he said, “he trusted that, if Lovel chose to stay with the
vessel, the penalty of a short cruise would be the only disagreeable
consequence of his rencontre. As for himself, his time and motions
were a good deal at his own disposal, he said, excepting the necessary
obligation of remaining on his station.”
“We will talk of our farther motions,” said Lovel, “as we go on board.”
Then turning to Edie, he endeavoured to put money into his hand. “I
think,” said Edie, as he tendered it back again, “the hale folk here
have either gane daft, or they hae made a vow to rain my trade, as they
say ower muckle water drowns the miller. I hae had mair gowd offered me
within this twa or three weeks than I ever saw in my life afore. Keep
the siller, lad--yell hae need o’t, I’se warrant ye, and I hae nane my
claes is nae great things, and I get a blue gown every year, and as mony
siller groats as the king, God bless him, is years auld--you and I serve
the same master, ye ken, Captain Taffril; there’s rigging provided
for--and my meat and drink I get for the asking in my rounds, or, at an
orra time, I can gang a day without it, for I make it a rule never to
pay for nane;--so that a’ the siller I need is just to buy tobacco and
sneeshin, and maybe a dram at a time in a cauld day, though I am nae
dram-drinker to be a gaberlunzie;--sae take back your gowd, and just gie
me a lily-white shilling.”
Upon these whims, which he imagined intimately connected with the honour
of his vagabond profession, Edie was flint and adamant, not to be moved
by rhetoric or entreaty; and therefore Lovel was under the necessity of
again pocketing his intended bounty, and taking a friendly leave of the
mendicant by shaking him by the hand, and assuring him of his cordial
gratitude for the very important services which he had rendered him,
recommending, at the same time, secrecy as to what they had that night
witnessed.--“Ye needna doubt that,” said Ochiltree; “I never tell’d tales
out o’ yon cove in my life, though mony a queer thing I hae seen in’t.”
The boat now put off. The old man remained looking after it as it made
rapidly towards the brig under the impulse of six stout rowers, and
Lovel beheld him again wave his blue bonnet as a token of farewell ere
he turned from his fixed posture, and began to move slowly along the
sands as if resuming his customary perambulations.
VOLUME TWO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER FIRST.
CHAPTER SECOND.
CHAPTER THIRD.
CHAPTER FOURTH.
CHAPTER FIFTH.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
CHAPTER NINTH
CHAPTER TENTH.
CHAPTER ELEVENTH
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
CHAPTER NINETEENTH
CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Bookcover
Spines
Titlepage
Frontispiece-2
The Funeral of the Countess
Lord Glenallen and Elspeth
The Antiquary Visits Edie in Prison
My Good Friends, ‘favete Linguis’
The Antiquary Arming
CHAPTER FIRST.
Wiser Raymondus, in his closet pent,
Laughs at such danger and adventurement
When half his lands are spent in golden smoke,
And now his second hopeful glasse is broke,
But yet, if haply his third furnace hold,
Devoteth all his pots and pans to gold.*
* The author cannot remember where these lines are to be found: perhaps
in Bishop Hall’s Satires. [They occur in Book iv. Satire iii.]
About a week after the adventures commemorated in our last CHAPTER, Mr.
Oldbuck, descending to his breakfast-parlour, found that his womankind
were not upon duty, his toast not made, and the silver jug, which was
wont to receive his libations of mum, not duly aired for its reception.
“This confounded hot-brained boy!” he said to himself; “now that he
begins to get out of danger, I can tolerate this life no longer. All
goes to sixes and sevens--an universal saturnalia seems to be proclaimed
in my peaceful and orderly family. I ask for my sister--no answer. I
call, I shout--I invoke my inmates by more names than the Romans gave
to their deities--at length Jenny, whose shrill voice I have heard this
half-hour lilting in the Tartarean regions of the kitchen, condescends
to hear me and reply, but without coming up stairs, so the conversation
must be continued at the top of my lungs. “--Here he again began to
hollow aloud--“Jenny, where’s Miss Oldbuck?”
“Miss Grizzy’s in the captain’s room.”
“Umph!--I thought so--and where’s my niece?”
“Miss Mary’s making the captain’s tea.”
“Umph! I supposed as much again--and where’s Caxon?”
“Awa to the town about the captain’s fowling-gun, and his setting-dog.”
“And who the devil’s to dress my periwig, you silly jade?--when you knew
that Miss Wardour and Sir Arthur were coming here early after breakfast,
how could you let Caxon go on such a Tomfool’s errand?”
“Me! what could I hinder him?--your honour wadna hae us contradict the
captain e’en now, and him maybe deeing?”
“Dying!” said the alarmed Antiquary,--“eh! what? has he been worse?”
“Na, he’s no nae waur that I ken of.” *
* It is, I believe, a piece of free-masonry, or a point of conscience,
among the Scottish lower orders, never to admit that a patient is doing
better. The closest approach to recovery which they can be brought to
allow, is, that the pairty inquired after is “Nae waur.”
“Then he must be better--and what good is a dog and a gun to do here, but
the one to destroy all my furniture, steal from my larder, and perhaps
worry the cat, and the other to shoot somebody through the head. He
has had gunning and pistolling enough to serve him one while, I should
think.”
Here Miss Oldbuck entered the parlour, at the door of which Oldbuck was
carrying on this conversation, he bellowing downward to Jenny, and she
again screaming upward in reply.
“Dear brother,” said the old lady, “ye’ll cry yoursell as hoarse as
a corbie--is that the way to skreigh when there’s a sick person in the
house?”