some use in having two attorneys in one firm. Their movements resemble
those of the man and woman in a Dutch baby-house. When it is fair
weather with the client, out comes the gentleman partner to fawn like a
spaniel; when it is foul, forth bolts the operative brother to pin like
a bull-dog. Well, I thank God that my man of business still wears an
equilateral cocked hat, has a house in the Old Town, is as much afraid
of a horse as I am myself, plays at golf of a Saturday, goes to the kirk
of a Sunday, and, in respect he has no partner, hath only his own folly
to apologize for.”
“There are some writers very honest fellows,” said Hector; “I should
like to hear any one say that my cousin, Donald M’Intyre, Strathtudlem’s
seventh son (the other six are in the army), is not as honest a fellow”--
“No doubt, no doubt, Hector, all the M’Intyres are so; they have it by
patent, man--But I was going to say, that in a profession where unbounded
trust is necessarily reposed, there is nothing surprising that fools
should neglect it in their idleness, and tricksters abuse it in their
knavery. But it is the more to the honour of those (and I will vouch for
many) who unite integrity with skill and attention, and walk honourably
upright where there are so many pitfalls and stumbling-blocks for those
of a different character. To such men their fellow citizens may safely
entrust the care of protecting their patrimonial rights, and their
country the more sacred charge of her laws and privileges.”
“They are best aff, however, that hae least to do with them,” said
Ochiltree, who had stretched his neck into the parlour door; for the
general confusion of the family not having yet subsided, the domestics,
like waves after the fall of a hurricane, had not yet exactly regained
their due limits, but were roaming wildly through the house.
“Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there?” said the Antiquary. “Sir Arthur,
let me bring in the messenger of good luck, though he is but a lame one.
You talked of the raven that scented out the slaughter from afar; but
here’s a blue pigeon (somewhat of the oldest and toughest, I grant)
who smelled the good news six or seven miles off, flew thither in the
taxed-cart, and returned with the olive branch.”
“Ye owe it o’ to puir Robie that drave me;--puir fallow,” said the
beggar, “he doubts he’s in disgrace wi’ my leddy and Sir Arthur.”
Robert’s repentant and bashful face was seen over the mendicant’s
shoulder.
“In disgrace with me?” said Sir Arthur--“how so?”--for the irritation
into which he had worked himself on occasion of the toast had been long
forgotten. “O, I recollect--Robert, I was angry, and you were wrong;--go
about your work, and never answer a master that speaks to you in a
passion.”
“Nor any one else,” said the Antiquary; “for a soft answer turneth away
wrath.”
“And tell your mother, who is so ill with the rheumatism, to come down
to the housekeeper to-morrow,” said Miss Wardour, “and we will see what
can be of service to her.”
“God bless your leddyship,” said poor Robert, “and his honour Sir
Arthur, and the young laird, and the house of Knockwinnock in a’ its
branches, far and near!--it’s been a kind and gude house to the puir this
mony hundred years.”
“There”--said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur--“we won’t dispute--but there
you see the gratitude of the poor people naturally turns to the
civil virtues of your family. You don’t hear them talk of Redhand, or
Hell-in-Harness. For me, I must say, Odi accipitrem qui semper vivit in
armis--so let us eat and drink in peace, and be joyful, Sir Knight.”
A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the party sat joyously
down to some refreshment. At the request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was
permitted to sit by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was
placed in some measure behind a screen.
“I accede to this the more readily,” said Sir Arthur, “because I
remember in my fathers days that chair was occupied by Ailshie Gourlay,
who, for aught I know, was the last privileged fool, or jester,
maintained by any family of distinction in Scotland.”
“Aweel, Sir Arthur,” replied the beggar, who never hesitated an instant
between his friend and his jest, “mony a wise man sits in a fule’s seat,
and mony a fule in a wise man’s, especially in families o’ distinction.”
Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (however worthy of
Ailsbie Gourlay, or any other privileged jester) upon the nerves of
her father, hastened to inquire whether ale and beef should not be
distributed to the servants and people whom the news had assembled round
the Castle.
“Surely, my love,” said her father; “when was it ever otherwise in our
families when a siege had been raised?”
“Ay, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, and raised by Edie
Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nobile fratrum,” said Oldbuck, “and well
pitted against each other in respectability. But never mind, Sir Arthur--
these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day admits of--and
our escape is not less worth commemorating in a glass of this excellent
wine--Upon my credit, it is Burgundy, I think.”
“Were there anything better in the cellar,” said Miss Wardour, “it would
be all too little to regale you after your friendly exertions.”
“Say you so?” said the Antiquary: “why, then, a cup of thanks to you, my
fair enemy, and soon may you be besieged as ladies love best to be, and
sign terms of capitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox!”
Miss Wardour blushed--Hector coloured, and then grew pale.
Sir Arthur answered, “My daughter is much obliged to you, Monkbarns; but
unless you’ll accept of her yourself, I really do not know where a poor
knight’s daughter is to seek for an alliance in these mercenary times.”
“Me, mean ye, Sir Arthur? No, not I! I will claim privilege of the
duello, and, as being unable to encounter my fair enemy myself, I will
appear by my champion--But of this matter hereafter. What do you find in
the papers there, Hector, that you hold your head down over them as if
your nose were bleeding?”
“Nothing particular, sir; but only that, as my arm is now almost quite
well, I think I shall relieve you of my company in a day or two, and go
to Edinburgh. I see Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see
him.”
“Major whom?” said his uncle.
“Major Neville, sir,” answered the young soldier.
“And who the devil is Major Neville?” demanded the Antiquary.
“O, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “you must remember his name
frequently in the newspapers--a very distinguished young officer indeed.
But I am happy to say that Mr. M’Intyre need not leave Monkbarns to
see him, for my son writes that the Major is to come with him to
Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I shall be to make the young
gentlemen acquainted,--unless, indeed, they are known to each other
already.”
“No, not personally,” answered Hector, “but I have had occasion to hear
a good deal of him, and we have several mutual friends--your son being
one of them. But I must go to Edinburgh; for I see my uncle is beginning
to grow tired of me, and I am afraid”--
“That you will grow tired of him?” interrupted Oldbuck,--“I fear that’s
past praying for. But you have forgotten that the ecstatic twelfth
of August approaches, and that you are engaged to meet one of Lord
Glenallan’s gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peaceful
feathered creation.”
“True, true, uncle--I had forgot that,” exclaimed the volatile Hector;
“but you said something just now that put everything out of my head.”
“An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his white head from
behind the screen, where he had been plentifully regaling himself with
ale and cold meat--“an it like your honours, I can tell ye something that
will keep the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pouting--Hear ye na
the French are coming?”
“The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck--“Bah!”
“I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “to look over my
lieutenancy correspondence for the week--indeed, I generally make a
rule to read it only on Wednesdays, except in pressing cases,--for I
do everything by method; but from the glance I took of my letters, I
observed some alarm was entertained.”
“Alarm?” said Edie, “troth there’s alarm, for the provost’s gar’d the
beacon light on the Halket-head be sorted up (that suld hae been sorted
half a year syne) in an unco hurry, and the council hae named nae less
a man than auld Caxon himsell to watch the light. Some say it was out o’
compliment to Lieutenant Taffril,--for it’s neist to certain that he’ll
marry Jenny Caxon,--some say it’s to please your honour and Monkbarns
that wear wigs--and some say there’s some auld story about a periwig that
ane o’ the bailies got and neer paid for--Onyway, there he is, sitting
cockit up like a skart upon the tap o’ the craig, to skirl when foul
weather comes.”
“On mine honour, a pretty warder,” said Monkbarns; “and what’s my wig to
do all the while?”
“I asked Caxon that very question,” answered Ochiltree, “and he said he
could look in ilka morning, and gie’t a touch afore he gaed to his bed,
for there’s another man to watch in the day-time, and Caxon says he’ll
friz your honour’s wig as weel sleeping as wauking.”
This news gave a different turn to the conversation, which ran upon
national defence, and the duty of fighting for the land we live in,
until it was time to part. The Antiquary and his nephew resumed
their walk homeward, after parting from Knockwinnock with the warmest
expressions of mutual regard, and an agreement to meet again as soon as
possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.
Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her:
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms
Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others
Not I, by Heaven!--I hold my peace too dear,
To let it, like the plume upon her cap,
Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate.
Old Play.
“Hector,” said his uncle to Captain M’Intyre, in the course of their
walk homeward, “I am sometimes inclined to suspect that, in one respect,
you are a fool.”
“If you only think me so in one respect, sir, I am sure you do me more
grace than I expected or deserve.”
“I mean in one particular par excellence,” answered the Antiquary. “I
have sometimes thought that you have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour.”
“Well, sir,” said M’Intyre, with much composure.
“Well, sir,” echoed his uncle--“Deuce take the fellow! he answers me as
if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, that he, a captain
in the army, and nothing at all besides, should marry the daughter of a
baronet.”
“I presume to think, sir,” said the young Highlander, “there would be no
degradation on Miss Wardour’s part in point of family.”
“O, Heaven forbid we should come on that topic!--No, no, equal both--both
on the table-land of gentility, and qualified to look down on every
roturier in Scotland.”
“And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since neither of us have
got any,” continued Hector. “There may be an error, but I cannot plead
guilty to presumption.”
“But here lies the error, then, if you call it so,” replied his uncle:
“she won’t have you, Hector.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“It is very sure, Hector; and to make it double sure, I must inform you
that she likes another man. She misunderstood some words I once said to
her, and I have since been able to guess at the interpretation she put
on them. At the time I was unable to account for her hesitation and
blushing; but, my poor Hector, I now understand them as a death-signal
to your hopes and pretensions. So I advise you to beat your retreat
and draw off your forces as well as you can, for the fort is too well
garrisoned for you to storm it.”
“I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle,” said Hector, holding
himself very upright, and marching with a sort of dogged and offended
solemnity; “no man needs to retreat that has never advanced. There are
women in Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family”--
“And better taste,” said his uncle; “doubtless there are, Hector; and
though I cannot say but that she is one of the most accomplished as well
as sensible girls I have seen, yet I doubt, much of her merit would be
cast away on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers above
her noddle--one green, one blue; who would wear a riding-habit of the
regimental complexion, drive a gig one day, and the next review the
regiment on the grey trotting pony which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat
in votis;--these are the qualities that would subdue you, especially if
she had a taste for natural history, and loved a specimen of a phoca.”
“It’s a little hard, sir,” said Hector, “I must have that cursed seal
thrown into my face on all occasions--but I care little about it--and I
shall not break my heart for Miss Wardour. She is free to choose for
herself, and I wish her all happiness.”
“Magnanimously resolved, thou prop of Troy! Why, Hector, I was afraid
of a scene. Your sister told me you were desperately in love with Miss
Wardour.”
“Sir,” answered the young man, “you would not have me desperately in
love with a woman that does not care about me?”
“Well, nephew,” said the Antiquary, more seriously, “there is doubtless
much sense in what you say; yet I would have given a great deal, some
twenty or twenty-five years since, to have been able to think as you
do.”
“Anybody, I suppose, may think as they please on such subjects,” said
Hector.
“Not according to the old school,” said Oldbuck; “but, as I said before,
the practice of the modern seems in this case the most prudential,
though, I think, scarcely the most interesting. But tell me your ideas
now on this prevailing subject of an invasion. The cry is still, They
come.”
Hector, swallowing his mortification, which he was peculiarly anxious to
conceal from his uncle’s satirical observation, readily entered into
a conversation which was to turn the Antiquary’s thoughts from Miss
Wardour and the seal. When they reached Monkbarns, the communicating
to the ladies the events which had taken place at the castle, with the
counter-information of how long dinner had waited before the womankind
had ventured to eat it in the Antiquary’s absence, averted these
delicate topics of discussion.
The next morning the Antiquary arose early, and, as Caxon had not yet
made his appearance, he began mentally to feel the absence of the petty
news and small talk of which the ex-peruquier was a faithful reporter,
and which habit had made as necessary to the Antiquary as his occasional
pinch of snuff, although he held, or affected to hold, both to be of
the same intrinsic value. The feeling of vacuity peculiar to such
a deprivation, was alleviated by the appearance of old Ochiltree,
sauntering beside the clipped yew and holly hedges, with the air of a
person quite at home. Indeed, so familiar had he been of late, that even
Juno did not bark at him, but contented herself with watching him with a
close and vigilant eye. Our Antiquary stepped out in his night-gown, and
instantly received and returned his greeting.
“They are coming now, in good earnest, Monkbarns. I just cam frae
Fairport to bring ye the news, and then I’ll step away back again. The
Search has just come into the bay, and they say she’s been chased by a
French fleet.
“The Search?” said Oldbuck, reflecting a moment. “Oho!”
“Ay, ay, Captain Taffril’s gun-brig, the Search.”
“What? any relation to Search, No. II.?” said Oldbuck, catching at the
light which the name of the vessel seemed to throw on the mysterious
chest of treasure.
The mendicant, like a man detected in a frolic, put his bonnet before
his face, yet could not help laughing heartily.--“The deil’s in you,
Monkbarns, for garring odds and evens meet. Wha thought ye wad hae laid
that and that thegither? Od, I am clean catch’d now.”
“I see it all,” said Oldbuck, “as plain as the legend on a medal of high
preservation--the box in which the’ bullion was found belonged to the
gun-brig, and the treasure to my phoenix?”--(Edie nodded assent),--“and
was buried there that Sir Arthur might receive relief in his
difficulties?”
“By me,” said Edie, “and twa o’ the brig’s men--but they didna ken its
contents, and thought it some bit smuggling concern o’ the Captain’s.
I watched day and night till I saw it in the right hand; and then, when
that German deevil was glowering at the lid o’ the kist (they liked
mutton weel that licked where the yowe lay), I think some Scottish
deevil put it into my head to play him yon ither cantrip. Now, ye see,
if I had said mair or less to Bailie Littlejohn, I behoved till hae come
out wi’ a’ this story; and vexed would Mr. Lovel hae been to have it
brought to light--sae I thought I would stand to onything rather than
that.”
“I must say he has chosen his confidant well,” said Oldbuck, “though
somewhat strangely.”
“I’ll say this for mysell, Monkbarns,” answered the mendicant, “that
I am the fittest man in the haill country to trust wi’ siller, for I
neither want it, nor wish for it, nor could use it if I had it. But the
lad hadna muckle choice in the matter, for he thought he was leaving the
country for ever (I trust he’s mistaen in that though); and the night
was set in when we learned, by a strange chance, Sir Arthur’s sair
distress, and Lovel was obliged to be on board as the day dawned. But
five nights afterwards the brig stood into the bay, and I met the boat
by appointment, and we buried the treasure where ye fand it.”
“This was a very romantic, foolish exploit,” said Oldbuck: “why not
trust me, or any other friend?”
“The blood o’ your sister’s son,” replied Edie, “was on his hands, and
him maybe dead outright--what time had he to take counsel?--or how could
he ask it of you, by onybody?”
“You are right. But what if Dousterswivel had come before you?”
“There was little fear o’ his coming there without Sir Arthur: he had
gotten a sair gliff the night afore, and never intended to look near the
place again, unless he had been brought there sting and ling. He ken’d
weel the first pose was o’ his ain hiding, and how could he expect a
second? He just havered on about it to make the mair o’ Sir Arthur.”
“Then how,” said Oldbuck, “should Sir Arthur have come there unless the
German had brought him?”
“Umph!” answered Edie drily. “I had a story about Misticot wad hae
brought him forty miles, or you either. Besides, it was to be thought he
would be for visiting the place he fand the first siller in--he ken’d na
the secret o’ that job. In short, the siller being in this shape, Sir
Arthur in utter difficulties, and Lovel determined he should never ken
the hand that helped him,--for that was what he insisted maist upon,--we
couldna think o’ a better way to fling the gear in his gate, though we
simmered it and wintered it e’er sae lang. And if by ony queer mischance
Doustercivil had got his claws on’t, I was instantly to hae informed you
or the Sheriff o’ the haill story.”
“Well, notwithstanding all these wise precautions, I think your
contrivance succeeded better than such a clumsy one deserved, Edie. But
how the deuce came Lovel by such a mass of silver ingots?”
“That’s just what I canna tell ye--But they were put on board wi’ his
things at Fairport, it’s like, and we stowed them into ane o’ the
ammunition-boxes o’ the brig, baith for concealment and convenience of
carriage.”
“Lord!” said Oldbuck, his recollection recurring to the earlier part
of his acquaintance with Lovel; “and this young fellow, who was putting
hundreds on so strange a hazard, I must be recommending a subscription
to him, and paying his bill at the Ferry! I never will pay any person’s
bill again, that’s certain.--And you kept up a constant correspondence
with Lovel, I suppose?”
“I just gat ae bit scrape o’ a pen frae him, to say there wad, as
yesterday fell, be a packet at Tannonburgh, wi’ letters o’ great
consequence to the Knockwinnock folk; for they jaloused the opening of
our letters at Fairport--And that’s a’s true; I hear Mrs. Mailsetter
is to lose her office for looking after other folk’s business and
neglecting her ain.”
“And what do you expect now, Edie, for being the adviser, and messenger,
and guard, and confidential person in all these matters?”
“Deil haet do I expect--excepting that a’ the gentles will come to the
gaberlunzie’s burial; and maybe ye’ll carry the head yoursell, as ye
did puir Steenie Mucklebackit’s.--What trouble was’t to me? I was ganging
about at ony rate--Oh, but I was blythe when I got out of Prison, though;
for I thought, what if that weary letter should come when I am closed up
here like an oyster, and a’ should gang wrang for want o’t? and whiles
I thought I maun mak a clean breast and tell you a’ about it; but then
I couldna weel do that without contravening Mr. Lovel’s positive orders;
and I reckon he had to see somebody at Edinburgh afore he could do what
he wussed to do for Sir Arthur and his family.”
“Well, and to your public news, Edie--So they are still coming are they?”
“Troth they say sae, sir; and there’s come down strict orders for the
forces and volunteers to be alert; and there’s a clever young officer to
come here forthwith, to look at our means o’ defence--I saw the Bailies
lass cleaning his belts and white breeks--I gae her a hand, for ye maun
think she wasna ower clever at it, and sae I gat a’ the news for my
pains.”
“And what think you, as an old soldier?”
“Troth I kenna--an they come so mony as they speak o’, they’ll be odds
against us. But there’s mony yauld chields amang thae volunteers; and I
mauna say muckle about them that’s no weel and no very able, because I
am something that gate mysell--But we’se do our best.”
“What! so your martial spirit is rising again, Edie?
Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires!
I would not have thought you, Edie, had so much to fight for?”
“Me no muckle to fight for, sir?--isna there the country to fight for,
and the burnsides that I gang daundering beside, and the hearths o’the
gudewives that gie me my bit bread, and the bits o’ weans that come
toddling to play wi’ me when I come about a landward town?--Deil!” he
continued, grasping his pike-staff with great emphasis, “an I had as
gude pith as I hae gude-will, and a gude cause, I should gie some o’
them a day’s kemping.”
“Bravo, bravo, Edie! The country’s in little ultimate danger, when the
beggar’s as ready to fight for his dish as the laird for his land.”
Their further conversation reverted to the particulars of the night
passed by the mendicant and Lovel in the ruins of St. Ruth; by the
details of which the Antiquary was highly amused.
“I would have given a guinea,” he said, “to have seen the scoundrelly
German under the agonies of those terrors, which it is part of his own
quackery to inspire into others; and trembling alternately for the fury
of his patron, and the apparition of some hobgoblin.”
“Troth,” said the beggar, “there was time for him to be cowed; for ye
wad hae thought the very spirit of Hell-in-Harness had taken possession
o’ the body o’ Sir Arthur. But what will come o’ the land-louper?”
“I have had a letter this morning, from which I understand he has
acquitted you of the charge he brought against you, and offers to make
such discoveries as will render the settlement of Sir Arthur’s affairs a
more easy task than we apprehended--So writes the Sheriff; and adds, that
he has given some private information of importance to Government, in
consideration of which, I understand he will be sent back to play the
knave in his own country.”
“And a’ the bonny engines, and wheels, and the coves, and sheughs, doun
at Glenwithershins yonder, what’s to come o’ them?” said Edie.
“I hope the men, before they are dispersed, will make a bonfire of their
gimcracks, as an army destroy their artillery when forced to raise a
siege. And as for the holes, Edie, I abandon them as rat-traps, for the
benefit of the next wise men who may choose to drop the substance to
snatch at a shadow.”
“Hech, sirs! guide us a’! to burn the engines? that’s a great waste--Had
ye na better try to get back part o’ your hundred pounds wi’ the sale o’
the materials?” he continued, with a tone of affected condolence.
“Not a farthing,” said the Antiquary, peevishly, taking a turn from him,
and making a step or two away. Then returning, half-smiling at his own
pettishness, he said, “Get thee into the house, Edie, and remember my
counsel, never speak to me about a mine, nor to my nephew Hector about a
phoca, that is a sealgh, as you call it.”
“I maun be ganging my ways back to Fairport,” said the wanderer; “I want
to see what they’re saying there about the invasion;--but I’ll mind what
your honour says, no to speak to you about a sealgh, or to the Captain
about the hundred pounds that you gied to Douster”--
“Confound thee!--I desired thee not to mention that to me.”