damped by dull company, Glenallan House is at all times open to you. On
two days of the week, Friday and Saturday, I keep my apartment, which
will be rather a relief to you, as you will be left to enjoy the society
of my almoner, Mr. Gladsmoor, who is a scholar and a man of the world.”
Hector, his heart exulting at the thoughts of ranging through the
preserves of Glenallan House, and over the well-protected moors of
Clochnaben--nay, joy of joys! the deer-forest of Strath-Bonnel--made many
acknowledgements of the honour and gratitude he felt. Mr. Oldbuck
was sensible of the Earl’s attention to his nephew; Miss M’Intyre was
pleased because her brother was gratified; and Miss Griselda Oldbuck
looked forward with glee to the potting of whole bags of moorfowl and
black-game, of which Mr. Blattergowl was a professed admirer. Thus,--
which is always the case when a man of rank leaves a private family
where he has studied to appear obliging,--all were ready to open in
praise of the Earl as soon as he had taken his leave, and was wheeled
off in his chariot by the four admired bays. But the panegyric was cut
short, for Oldbuck and his nephew deposited themselves in the Fairport
hack, which, with one horse trotting, and the other urged to a canter,
creaked, jingled, and hobbled towards that celebrated seaport, in a
manner that formed a strong contrast to the rapidity and smoothness with
which Lord Glenallan’s equipage had seemed to vanish from their eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
Yes! I love justice well--as well as you do--
But since the good dame’s blind, she shall excuse me
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb;--
The breath I utter now shall be no means
To take away from me my breath in future.
Old Play.
By dint of charity from the town’s-people in aid of the load of
provisions he had brought with him into durance, Edie Ochiltree had
passed a day or two’s confinement without much impatience, regretting
his want of freedom the less, as the weather proved broken and rainy.
“The prison,” he said, “wasna sae dooms bad a place as it was ca’d. Ye
had aye a good roof ower your head to fend aff the weather, and, if the
windows werena glazed, it was the mair airy and pleasant for the summer
season. And there were folk enow to crack wi’, and he had bread eneugh
to eat, and what need he fash himsell about the rest o’t?”
The courage of our philosophical mendicant began, however, to abate,
when the sunbeams shone fair on the rusty bars of his grated dungeon,
and a miserable linnet, whose cage some poor debtor had obtained
permission to attach to the window, began to greet them with his
whistle.
“Ye’re in better spirits than I am,” said Edie, addressing the bird,
“for I can neither whistle nor sing for thinking o’ the bonny burnsides
and green shaws that I should hae been dandering beside in weather like
this. But hae--there’s some crumbs t’ye, an ye are sae merry; and troth
ye hae some reason to sing an ye kent it, for your cage comes by nae
faut o’ your ain, and I may thank mysell that I am closed up in this
weary place.”
Ochiltree’s soliloquy was disturbed by a peace-officer, who came to
summon him to attend the magistrate. So he set forth in awful procession
between two poor creatures, neither of them so stout as he was himself,
to be conducted into the presence of inquisitorial justice. The people,
as the aged prisoner was led along by his decrepit guards, exclaimed to
each other, “Eh! see sic a grey-haired man as that is, to have
committed a highway robbery, wi’ ae fit in the grave!”--And the children
congratulated the officers, objects of their alternate dread and
sport, Puggie Orrock and Jock Ormston, on having a prisoner as old as
themselves.
Thus marshalled forward, Edie was presented (by no means for the first
time) before the worshipful Bailie Littlejohn, who, contrary to what his
name expressed, was a tall portly magistrate, on whom corporation
crusts had not been conferred in vain. He was a zealous loyalist of that
zealous time, somewhat rigorous and peremptory in the execution of
his duty, and a good deal inflated with the sense of his own power and
importance;--otherwise an honest, well-meaning, and useful citizen.
“Bring him in! bring him in!” he exclaimed. “Upon my word these are
awful and unnatural times! the very bedesmen and retainers of his
Majesty are the first to break his laws. Here has been an old Blue-Gown
committing robbery--I suppose the next will reward the royal charity
which supplies him with his garb, pension, and begging license, by
engaging in high-treason, or sedition at least--But bring him in.”
Edie made his obeisance, and then stood, as usual, firm and erect, with
the side of his face turned a little upward, as if to catch every
word which the magistrate might address to him. To the first general
questions, which respected only his name and calling, the mendicant
answered with readiness and accuracy; but when the magistrate, having
caused his clerk to take down these particulars, began to inquire
whereabout the mendicant was on the night when Dousterswivel met with
his misfortune, Edie demurred to the motion. “Can ye tell me now,
Bailie, you that understands the law, what gude will it do me to answer
ony o’ your questions?”
“Good?--no good certainly, my friend, except that giving a true account
of yourself, if you are innocent, may entitle me to set you at liberty.”
“But it seems mair reasonable to me now, that you, Bailie, or anybody
that has anything to say against me, should prove my guilt, and no to be
bidding me prove my innocence.”
“I don’t sit here,” answered the magistrate, “to dispute points of law
with you. I ask you, if you choose to answer my question, whether you
were at Ringan Aikwood, the forester’s, upon the day I have specified?”
“Really, sir, I dinna feel myself called on to remember,” replied the
cautious bedesman.
“Or whether, in the course of that day or night,” continued the
magistrate, “you saw Steven, or Steenie, Mucklebackit?--you knew him, I
suppose?”
“O, brawlie did I ken Steenie, puir fallow,” replied the prisoner;--“but
I canna condeshend on ony particular time I have seen him lately.”
“Were you at the ruins of St. Ruth any time in the course of that
evening?”
“Bailie Littlejohn,” said the mendicant, “if it be your honour’s
pleasure, we’ll cut a lang tale short, and I’ll just tell ye, I am no
minded to answer ony o’ thae questions--I’m ower auld a traveller to let
my tongue bring me into trouble.”
“Write down,” said the magistrate, “that he declines to answer all
interrogatories, in respect that by telling the truth he might be
brought to trouble.”
“Na, na,” said Ochiltree, “I’ll no hae that set down as ony part o’ my
answer--but I just meant to say, that in a’ my memory and practice, I
never saw ony gude come o’ answering idle questions.”
“Write down,” said the Bailie, “that, being acquainted with judicial
interrogatories by long practice, and having sustained injury by
answering questions put to him on such occasions, the declarant refuses.”
“Na, na, Bailie,” reiterated Edie, “ye are no to come in on me that gait
neither.”
“Dictate the answer yourself then, friend,” said the magistrate, “and
the clerk will take it down from your own mouth.”
“Ay, ay,” said Edie--“that’s what I ca’ fair play; I’se do that without
loss o’ time. Sae, neighbour, ye may just write down, that Edie
Ochiltree, the declarant, stands up for the liberty--na, I maunna say
that neither--I am nae liberty-boy--I hae fought again’ them in the riots
in Dublin--besides, I have ate the King’s bread mony a day. Stay, let
me see. Ay--write that Edie Ochiltree, the Blue-Gown, stands up for the
prerogative--(see that ye spell that word right--it’s a lang ane)--for the
prerogative of the subjects of the land, and winna answer a single word
that sall be asked at him this day, unless he sees a reason fort. Put
down that, young man.”
“Then, Edie,” said the magistrate, “since you will give no information
on the subject, I must send you back to prison till you shall be
delivered in due course of law.”
“Aweel, sir, if it’s Heaven’s will and man’s will, nae doubt I maun
submit,” replied the mendicant. “I hae nae great objection to the
prison, only that a body canna win out o’t; and if it wad please you
as weel, Bailie, I wad gie you my word to appear afore the Lords at the
Circuit, or in ony other coart ye like, on ony day ye are pleased to
appoint.”
“I rather think, my good friend,” answered Bailie Littlejohn, “your word
might be a slender security where your neck may be in some danger. I am
apt to think you would suffer the pledge to be forfeited. If you could
give me sufficient security, indeed”--
At this moment the Antiquary and Captain M’Intyre entered the
apartment.--“Good morning to you, gentlemen,” said the magistrate; “you
find me toiling in my usual vocation--looking after the iniquities of the
people--labouring for the respublica, Mr. Oldbuck--serving the King our
master, Captain M’Intyre,--for I suppose you know I have taken up the
sword?”
“It is one of the emblems of justice, doubtless,” answered the
Antiquary;--“but I should have thought the scales would have suited you
better, Bailie, especially as you have them ready in the warehouse.”
“Very good, Monkbarns--excellent! But I do not take the sword up as
justice, but as a soldier--indeed I should rather say the musket and
bayonet--there they stand at the elbow of my gouty chair, for I am scarce
fit for drill yet--a slight touch of our old acquaintance podagra; I can
keep my feet, however, while our sergeant puts me through the manual.
I should like to know, Captain M’Intyre, if he follows the regulations
correctly--he brings us but awkwardly to the present.” And he hobbled
towards his weapon to illustrate his doubts and display his proficiency.
“I rejoice we have such zealous defenders, Bailie,” replied Mr. Oldbuck;
“and I dare say Hector will gratify you by communicating his opinion
on your progress in this new calling. Why, you rival the Hecate’ of
the ancients, my good sir--a merchant on the Mart, a magistrate in the
Townhouse, a soldier on the Links--quid non pro patria? But my business
is with the justice; so let commerce and war go slumber.”
“Well, my good sir,” said the Bailie, “and what commands have you for
me?”
“Why, here’s an old acquaintance of mine, called Edie Ochiltree, whom
some of your myrmidons have mewed up in jail on account of an alleged
assault on that fellow Dousterswivel, of whose accusation I do not
believe one word.”
The magistrate here assumed a very grave countenance. “You ought to have
been informed that he is accused of robbery, as well as assault--a very
serious matter indeed; it is not often such criminals come under my
cognizance.”
“And,” replied Oldbuck, “you are tenacious of the opportunity of making
the very most of such as occur. But is this poor old man’s case really
so very bad?”
“It is rather out of rule,” said the Bailie--“but as you are in the
commission, Monkbarns, I have no hesitation to show you Dousterswivel’s
declaration, and the rest of the precognition.” And he put the papers
into the Antiquary’s hands, who assumed his spectacles, and sat down in
a corner to peruse them.
The officers, in the meantime, had directions to remove their prisoner
into another apartment; but before they could do so, M’Intyre took an
opportunity to greet old Edie, and to slip a guinea into his hand.
“Lord bless your honour!” said the old man; “it’s a young soldier’s
gift, and it should surely thrive wi’ an auld ane. I’se no refuse it,
though it’s beyond my rules; for if they steek me up here, my friends
are like eneugh to forget me--out o’sight out o’mind, is a true proverb;
and it wadna be creditable for me, that am the king’s bedesman, and
entitled to beg by word of mouth, to be fishing for bawbees out at the
jail window wi’ the fit o’ a stocking, and a string.” As he made this
observation he was conducted out of the apartment.
Mr. Dousterswivel’s declaration contained an exaggerated account of the
violence he had sustained, and also of his loss.
“But what I should have liked to have asked him,” said Monkbarns, “would
have been his purpose in frequenting the ruins of St. Ruth, so lonely
a place, at such an hour, and with such a companion as Edie Ochiltree.
There is no road lies that way, and I do not conceive a mere passion for
the picturesque would carry the German thither in such a night of storm
and wind. Depend upon it, he has been about some roguery, and in all
probability hath been caught in a trap of his own setting--Nec lex
justitior ulla.”
The magistrate allowed there was something mysterious in that
circumstance, and apologized for not pressing Dousterswivel, as his
declaration was voluntarily emitted. But for the support of the main
charge, he showed the declaration of the Aikwoods concerning the state
in which Dousterswivel was found, and establishing the important fact
that the mendicant had left the barn in which he was quartered, and did
not return to it again. Two people belonging to the Fairport undertaker,
who had that night been employed in attending the funeral of Lady
Glenallan, had also given declarations, that, being sent to pursue
two suspicious persons who left the ruins of St. Ruth as the funeral
approached, and who, it was supposed, might have been pillaging some
of the ornaments prepared for the ceremony, they had lost and regained
sight of them more than once, owing to the nature of the ground, which
was unfavourable for riding, but had at length fairly lodged them both
in Mucklebackit’s cottage. And one of the men added, that “he, the
declarant, having dismounted from his horse, and gone close up to
the window of the hut, he saw the old Blue-Gown and young Steenie
Mucklebackit, with others, eating and drinking in the inside, and
also observed the said Steenie Mucklebackit show a pocket-book to
the others;--and declarant has no doubt that Ochiltree and Steenie
Mucklebackit were the persons whom he and his comrade had pursued, as
above mentioned.” And being interrogated why he did not enter the said
cottage, declares, “he had no warrant so to do; and that as Mucklebackit
and his family were understood to be rough-handed folk, he, the
declarant, had no desire to meddle or make with their affairs, Causa
scientiae patet. All which he declares to be truth,” etc.
“What do you say to that body of evidence against your friend?” said the
magistrate, when he had observed the Antiquary had turned the last leaf.
“Why, were it in the case of any other person, I own I should say it
looked, prima facie, a little ugly; but I cannot allow anybody to be in
the wrong for beating Dousterswivel--Had I been an hour younger, or had
but one single flash of your warlike genius, Bailie, I should have done
it myself long ago. He is nebulo nebulonum, an impudent, fraudulent,
mendacious quack, that has cost me a hundred pounds by his roguery, and
my neighbour Sir Arthur, God knows how much. And besides, Bailie, I do
not hold him to be a sound friend to Government.”
“Indeed?” said Bailie Littlejohn; “if I thought that, it would alter the
question considerably.”
“Right--for, in beating him,” observed Oldbuck, “the bedesman must have
shown his gratitude to the king by thumping his enemy; and in robbing
him, he would only have plundered an Egyptian, whose wealth it is lawful
to spoil. Now, suppose this interview in the ruins of St. Ruth had
relation to politics,--and this story of hidden treasure, and so forth,
was a bribe from the other side of the water for some great man, or the
funds destined to maintain a seditious club?”
“My dear sir,” said the magistrate, catching at the idea, “you hit my
very thoughts! How fortunate should I be if I could become the humble
means of sifting such a matter to the bottom!--Don’t you think we had
better call out the volunteers, and put them on duty?”
“Not just yet, while podagra deprives them of an essential member of
their body. But will you let me examine Ochiltree?”
“Certainly; but you’ll make nothing of him. He gave me distinctly to
understand he knew the danger of a judicial declaration on the part of
an accused person, which, to say the truth, has hanged many an honester
man than he is.”
“Well, but, Bailie,” continued Oldbuck, “you have no objection to let me
try him?”
“None in the world, Monkbarns. I hear the sergeant below--I’ll rehearse
the manual in the meanwhile. Baby, carry my gun and bayonet down to the
room below--it makes less noise there when we ground arms.” And so exit
the martial magistrate, with his maid behind him bearing his weapons.
“A good squire that wench for a gouty champion,” observed Oldbuck.--
“Hector, my lad, hook on, hook on--Go with him, boy--keep him employed,
man, for half-an-hour or so--butter him with some warlike terms--praise
his dress and address.”
Captain M’Intyre, who, like many of his profession, looked down with
infinite scorn on those citizen soldiers who had assumed arms without
any professional title to bear them, rose with great reluctance,
observing that he should not know what to say to Mr. Littlejohn; and
that to see an old gouty shop-keeper attempting the exercise and duties
of a private soldier, was really too ridiculous.
“It may be so, Hector,” said the Antiquary, who seldom agreed with any
person in the immediate proposition which was laid down--“it may possibly
be so in this and some other instances; but at present the country
resembles the suitors in a small-debt court, where parties plead in
person, for lack of cash to retain the professed heroes of the bar. I
am sure in the one case we never regret the want of the acuteness and
eloquence of the lawyers; and so, I hope, in the other, we may manage to
make shift with our hearts and muskets, though we shall lack some of the
discipline of you martinets.”
“I have no objection, I am sure, sir, that the whole world should fight
if they please, if they will but allow me to be quiet,” said Hector,
rising with dogged reluctance.
“Yes, you are a very quiet personage indeed,” said his uncle, “whose
ardour for quarrelling cannot pass so much as a poor phoca sleeping upon
the beach!”
But Hector, who saw which way the conversation was tending, and hated
all allusions to the foil he had sustained from the fish, made his
escape before the Antiquary concluded the sentence.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
Well, well, at worst, ‘tis neither theft nor coinage,
Granting I knew all that you charge me with.
What though the tomb hath borne a second birth,
And given the wealth to one that knew not on’t,
Yet fair exchange was never robbery,
Far less pure bounty--
Old Play.
The Antiquary, in order to avail himself of the permission given him to
question the accused party, chose rather to go to the apartment in which
Ochiltree was detained, than to make the examination appear formal by
bringing him again into the magistrate’s office. He found the old man
seated by a window which looked out on the sea; and as he gazed on that
prospect, large tears found their way, as if unconsciously, to his eye,
and from thence trickled down his cheeks and white beard. His features
were, nevertheless, calm and composed, and his whole posture and mien
indicated patience and resignation. Oldbuck had approached him without
being observed, and roused him out of his musing by saying kindly, “I
am sorry, Edie, to see you so much cast down about this matter.”
[Illustration: The Antiquary Visits Edie in Prison]
The mendicant started, dried his eyes very hastily with the sleeve of
his gown, and endeavouring to recover his usual tone of indifference
and jocularity, answered, but with a voice more tremulous than usual,
“I might weel hae judged, Monkbarns, it was you, or the like o’ you,
was coming in to disturb me--for it’s ae great advantage o’ prisons and
courts o’ justice, that ye may greet your een out an ye like, and nane
o’ the folk that’s concerned about them will ever ask you what it’s
for.”
“Well, Edie,” replied Oldbuck, “I hope your present cause of distress is
not so bad but it may be removed.”
“And I had hoped, Monkbarns,” answered the mendicant, in a tone of
reproach, “that ye had ken’d me better than to think that this bit
trifling trouble o’ my ain wad bring tears into my auld een, that hae
seen far different kind o’ distress.--Na, na!--But here’s been the puir
lass, Caxon’s daughter, seeking comfort, and has gotten unco little--
there’s been nae speerings o’ Taffril’s gunbrig since the last gale;
and folk report on the key that a king’s ship had struck on the Reef
of Rattray, and a’ hands lost--God forbid! for as sure as you live,
Monkbarns, the puir lad Lovel, that ye liked sae weel, must have
perished.”
“God forbid indeed!” echoed the Antiquary, turning pale--“I would rather
Monkbarns House were on fire. My poor dear friend and coadjutor! I will
down to the quay instantly.”
“I’m sure yell learn naething mair than I hae tauld ye, sir,” said
Ochiltree, “for the officer-folk here were very civil (that is, for the
like o’ them), and lookit up ae their letters and authorities, and could
throw nae light on’t either ae way or another.”
“It can’t be true! it shall not be true!” said the Antiquary, “And I
won’t believe it if it were!--Taffril’s an excellent sea man, and Lovel
(my poor Lovel!) has all the qualities of a safe and pleasant companion
by land or by sea--one, Edie, whom, from the ingenuousness of his
disposition, I would choose, did I ever go a sea-voyage (which I never
do, unless across the ferry), fragilem mecum solvere phaselum, to be the
companion of my risk, as one against whom the elements could nourish no
vengeance. No, Edie, it is not, and cannot be true--it is a fiction of
the idle jade Rumour, whom I wish hanged with her trumpet about her
neck, that serves only with its screech-owl tones to fright honest folks
out of their senses.--Let me know how you got into this scrape of your
own.”
“Are ye axing me as a magistrate, Monkbarns, or is it just for your ain
satisfaction!”
“For my own satisfaction solely,” replied the Antiquary.
“Put up your pocket-book and your keelyvine pen then, for I downa
speak out an ye hae writing materials in your hands--they’re a scaur
to unlearned folk like me--Od, ane o’ the clerks in the neist room will
clink down, in black and white, as muckle as wad hang a man, before ane
kens what he’s saying.”
Monkbarns complied with the old man’s humour, and put up his
memorandum-book.
Edie then went with great frankness through the part of the story
already known to the reader, informing the Antiquary of the scene which
he had witnessed between Dousterswivel and his patron in the ruins
of St. Ruth, and frankly confessing that he could not resist the
opportunity of decoying the adept once more to visit the tomb of
Misticot, with the purpose of taking a comic revenge upon him for his
quackery. He had easily persuaded Steenie, who was a bold thoughtless
young fellow, to engage in the frolic along with him, and the jest
had been inadvertently carried a great deal farther than was designed.
Concerning the pocket-book, he explained that he had expressed his
surprise and sorrow as soon as he found it had been inadvertently
brought off: and that publicly, before all the inmates of the cottage,
Steenie had undertaken to return it the next day, and had only been
prevented by his untimely fate.
The Antiquary pondered a moment, and then said, “Your account seems very
probable, Edie, and I believe it from what I know of the parties. But I
think it likely that you know a great deal more than you have thought it
proper to tell me, about this matter of the treasure trove--I suspect you
have acted the part of the Lar Familiaris in Plautus--a sort of
Brownie, Edie, to speak to your comprehension, who watched over hidden
treasures.--I do bethink me you were the first person we met when Sir
Arthur made his successful attack upon Misticot’s grave, and also that
when the labourers began to flag, you, Edie, were again the first to
leap into the trench, and to make the discovery of the treasure. Now you
must explain all this to me, unless you would have me use you as ill as
Euclio does Staphyla in the Aulularia.”
“Lordsake, sir,” replied the mendicant, “what do I ken about your
Howlowlaria?--it’s mair like a dog’s language than a man’s.”