The hunt was now over, and Gale's lambs were all scattered abroad; he
threw off his coat and tried to gather them, but he soon found that,
without the assistance of Trimmy, it was impossible; so he was obliged
to go home and endeavour to persuade her again out to the hill, by
telling her that Mooly and Scratch had both left it. Trimmy then came
joyfully, and performed in half an hour what her master could not have
effected before night.
When he had gotten them all collected, and settled at their food, he
went away in the evening to seek for his friend Croudy, to have some
amusement with him. He found him lying in a little hollow, conversing
with himself, and occasionally with Mumps, who paid very little
attention to what he said. He now and then testified his sense of the
honour intended to him, by giving two or three soft indolent strokes
with his tail upon the ground, but withall neither lifted his head nor
opened his eyes. Gale addressed his friend Croudy in a jocund and
rallying manner, who took no notice of it, but continued to converse
with Mumps.
"Ye're nae great gallaunt, after a' now, Mumps. Gin I had been you, man,
an' had seen sic twa fine beasts as Mooly an' Scratch come to our hills,
I wad hae run away to them, an' fiddled about them, an' smelt their
noses, an' kissed them, an' cockit up my tail on my rigging wi' the best
o' them; but instead o' that, to tak the pet an' rin away far outbye,
an' there sit turnin up your nose an' bow-wowing as ye war a
burial-boding!--hoo, man, it is very bairnly like o' ye! Humph! fools do
ay as they are bidden! Ye're nae fool, Mumps, for ye seldom do as ye're
bidden."
"Tell me, Croudy," said Gale, "does Mumps really run away in a panic
when he perceives the king's hounds?"
"_Panic when he perceives the king's hounds!_ Are ye gaun to keep on at
bletherin' English? Tell me, ye see--for if ye be, I'm gaun to clatter
nane to ye."
"Dear Croudy, I have often told you that there is not such a thing as
English and Scotch languages; the one is merely a modification of the
other, a refinement as it were"----
"Ay, an _exaltation_ like--ation! ation! I'm sure nae Scot that isna a
fool wad ever let that sound, _ation_, come out o' his mouth. Mumps,
what say ye tilt?"
"But, Croudy, I have news to tell you that will delight you very much;
only, ere I begin, tell me seriously, Does your dog really run off when
he sees or hears the king's two white hounds?"
"Really he does--Is that ony wonder? D'ye think Mumps sic a fool as no
to ken a witch by a brute beast?"
"What do you mean to insinuate, Croudy?"
"_Sinuate_--What's that?"
"I mean, What would you infer when you talk of witches? I have some
strange doubts about these dogs myself."
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes, if it is worth keeping."
"At ony rate, swear that if ever you do tell it, it is not to be in
English. Nane o' your _awlis's_ an' _ations_ in it. Gale, I hae the
maist wonderfu' story to tell ye that ever happened sin' Nimrod first
gaed out to the hunting wi' a bull-dog an' a pouch-fu' stanes. Ye see,
yesterday at morn, when the hunt began, I clamb up into the Eildon tree,
an' haid mysel' amang the very thickest o' its leaves, where I could see
every thing, but naething could see me. I saw the twa white hounds a'
the gate, but nae appearance of a deer; an' aye they came nearer an'
nearer to me, till at last I saw a bonny, braw, young lady, a' clad i'
white, about a hunder paces frae me, an' she was aye looking back an'
rinning as gin she wantit to be at the Eildon tree. When she saw the
hounds comin on hard behind her, she cried out; but they soon o'ertook
her, threw her down, an' tore her, an' worried her; an' I heard her
makin' a noise as gin she had been laughin' ae while an' singin'
another, an' O I thought her sang was sweet; it was something about the
fairies. Weel, this scene, sae contrair to a' nature, didna end here,
for I heard the tae dog sayin' to the tither, in plain language,--'Wha's
this has been the deer to-day?' An it answered again an' said, 'Lady
Marrion of Coomsley, ye may see by her goud rings; she is the
twenty-third, and our task will soon be dune.'
'Sister, read me my riddle,' said the first.
'I ate my love an' I drank my love,
An' my love she gae me light;
An' the heart o' the deer may lie right near
Where it lay yesternight.'
'Ha! that's nae riddle!' said the other; 'little does some wat what
they're to eat an' what they're to drink the night! Can ye tell me,
sister, if the wicked deed will be done?--Will the king die to-night?
'The poison's distill'd, and the monk is won,
And to-night I fear it will be done.
Hush!--hush!--we are heard an' seen;
Wae be to the ears, and wae be to the een!'
"An wi' that, they rowed themsels on the bonny corpse; and when I lookit
again, there was a fine, plump, bausined roe-deer lying, an' the blude
streamin' frae her side; an' down comes the king an' his men, an' took
her away hame to their supper."
"Now, Croudy, of all the tales I ever heard that is the most improbable
and unnatural! But it is too singular and out of the common course of
nature for you to have framed it; and besides, I never knew you to tell
a manifest lie--Are you certain that you did not dream it?"
"How could I dream on the top of a tree? Ye may either believe it or no
as ye like--it's a' true."
"I was sure there was something more than ordinary about these dogs; but
what to make of your story I know not. Saint Waldave be our shield! Do
you think the king and his nobles have been feasting upon changed human
creatures all this while? There is something in the whole business so
revolting to human nature, a man cannot think of it! It seems, too, that
there is a plot against the life of the king--What shall we do in
this?--The fairies have again been seen at the Eildon Tree, that is
certain; and it is said some more young people are missing."
"They'll soon hae us a' thegither--I like that way o' turnin' fock into
deers an' raes, and worrying them, warst ava--Mumps, lad, how wad ye
like to be turned into a deer, an' worried an' eaten?--Aigh, man! ye
_wad_ like it ill! I think I see how ye wad lay yoursel out for
fear--Ha, ha! I wad like to see ye get a bit hunt, man, if I thought ye
wad win away wi' the life--I wad like to see ye streek yoursel for
aince."
"I wonder, Croudy, after seeing such a sight as you have just now
described, that you can descend from that to speak such nonsense."
"Tongues maun wag--an' when they gang it's no for naething--It's a queer
thing speaking!--Mumps, ye can speak nane, man--It's no for want of a
tongue, I'm sure."
"Let us consider what's to be done--The king should be warned."
"I dinna see what's to hinder you to speak, Mumps, as weel as ony white
beagle i' the country."
"I have it--I will go home directly and tell pretty Pery--she will
apprize the abbot, and we shall have the two hounds, Mooly and Scratch,
burnt at the stake to-morrow."
"You tell Pery? No; that will never do; for you will speak English--That
tale winna tell in English; for the twa witches, or fairies, or changed
fock, or whatever they may be, didna speak that language themsels--sin'
the thing is to be tauld, I'll rather tell Pery mysel, if it is the same
thing to you."
This Pery was a young volatile maiden at Eildon Hall, who was over head
and ears in love with Gale. She would have given the whole world for
him; and in order to tease him somewhat, she had taken a whim of
pretending to be in love with Croudy. Croudy hated all the women, and
more particularly Pery, who had been the plague of his life; but of late
he had heard some exaggerated accounts of the kind sentiments of her
heart respecting him, which had wonderfully altered Croudy, although he
still kept up as well as he could the pretence of disliking the sex. He
went to Pery that evening as she was gathering in some clothes from the
bushes, and desired her, with a most important face, to meet him at the
Moss Thorn in half an hour, for he had something to tell her that would
surprise her.
"Indeed and that I will with all my heart, Croudy," said she; "how glad
I am that I have got you this length! I can guess what your secret will
be."
"Ye can do nae sic thing," said Croudy, "nor nae woman that ever was
born."
"I'll wager three kisses with you, Croudy, at the Old Moss Thorn, that I
do," returned she.
Croudy hung his head to one side, and chuckled, and crowed, and laid on
the ground with his staff; and always now and then cast a sly look-out
at the wick of his eye to Pery.
"It's a queer creature a woman," said Croudy--"very bonny creature
though!"
"Well, Croudy, I'll meet you at the Moss Thorn," said Pery, "and pay
you your wager too, provided you have either spirit to ask, or accept of
it when offered."
Croudy went away laughing till his eyes blinded with tears, and laying
on the ground with his stick.--"I watna what I'll do now," said he to
himself, "little impudent thing that she is!--She's eneugh to pit a body
mad!--Mumps--O, man, ye're an unfarrant beast!--Three kisses at the Moss
Thorn!--I wish I had this meeting by!--Mumps, I never saw sic an
unfeasible creature as you, man, when ane thinks about a bonny woman--A
woman!--What is a woman?--Let me see!--'Tis no easy to ken!--But I ken
this--that a ewe lamb is a far nicer, bonnier, sweeter, innocenter,
little creature than a toop lamb. Oh! I wish it war night, for I'm no
weel ava!--Mumps, ye're a perfect blockhead, man!"
Precisely while this was going on at Eildon-Hall, there were two ladies
met hurriedly on the Abbey Walk. No one knew who they were, or whence
they came, but they were lovely beyond expression, although their eyes
manifested a kind of wild instability. Their robes were white as snow,
and they had that light, elegant, sylph-like appearance, that when they
leaned forward to the evening air, one could hardly help suspecting that
they would skim away in it like twin doves.
"Sister," said the one, "haste and tell me what we are to do?"
"There is much to do to-night," said the other. "That clown who saw us,
and heard us speak, will blab the news; and then, think what the
consequences may be! He must be silenced, and that instantly."
"And tell me," said the first, "is the plot against the king's life to
be put in execution to-night?"
"I fear it is," answered the other; "and the abbot, his own kinsman, is
in it."
"Alas, sister, what shall we do! Give me Philamy's rod, and trust the
clown to me. But do you make all possible haste, and find your way into
the banquet hall, and be sure to remain there in spite of all
opposition."
The two sisters parted; and she that got the wand from the other
repaired straight to the Moss Thorn, where honest Croudy, and his dog
Mumps, were lying at a little distance from each other; the one very
busy biting for fleas, that he supposed had made a lodgment among his
rough matted hair, and the other conversing with himself about the
properties of women, fairies, and witches. All of a sudden he beheld
this beautiful angelic creature coming towards him, which made his heart
thrill within him.
"Saint Mary be my guide!" exclaimed Croudy to himself; "saw ever ony
body the like o' yon? I declare Pery has dressed hersel like a princess
to come an' speak to me!--An' to think o' me kissing a creature like
yon! I maun do it, too, or else I'll never hear the end o't.--Och! what
will I do!--I'll lie down an' pretend to be sleepin."
Croudy drew his plaid up over his face, stretched out his limbs, and
snored as in a profound sleep. The fair lady came up, gave him three
strokes with her wand, and uttered certain words at every stroke; and,
lo! the whole mortal frame of Croudy was in five seconds changed into
that of a huge bristly boar! The transformation was brought about so
suddenly, and Mumps was so much engaged, that he never once noticed, in
the slightest degree, till all was over, and the lady had withdrawn. Let
any man judge of the honest colley's astonishment, when, instead of his
master, he beheld the boar standing hanging his ears, and shaking his
head at him. He betook himself to immediate flight, and ran towards the
house faster than ever he ran in his life, yelping all the way for
perfect fright. Croudy was very little better himself. At first he
supposed that he was in a dream, and stood a long time considering of
it, in hopes the fantasy would go off; but on seeing the consternation
of Mumps, he looked first to the one side, and then to the other, and
perceiving his great bristly sides and limbs, he was seized with
indescribable terror, and fled at full speed. It is well known what a
ridiculous figure a hog makes at any time when frightened, and exerting
itself to escape from the supposed danger--there is not any thing so
calculated to make one laugh--his stupid apprehension of some
approaching mischief--the way that he fixes his head and listens--gives
a grunt like the crack of a musket, and breaks away again. Every one who
has witnessed such a scene, will acknowledge, that it is a masterpiece
of the ludicrous. Consider, then, what it would be to see one in such a
fright as this poor beast was, and trying to escape from himself;
running grunting over hill and dale, hanging out his tongue with
fatigue, and always carrying the object of his terror along with him. It
was an ineffectual exertion of mind to escape from matter; for, though
Croudy's form and nature were changed, he still retained the small and
crude particles of the reasoning principle which he had before. All
feelings else were, however, for the present swallowed up in utter
dismay, and he ran on without any definitive aim, farther than a kind of
propensity to run to the end of the world. He did not run a great way
for all that; for he lost his breath in a very short time; but even in
that short time, he run himself into a most imminent danger.
Squire Fisher of Dernaway Tower had a large herd of cows--they were all
standing in the loan, as the milking green is called in that country,
and the maidens were engaged in milking them, singing the while in full
chorus, (and a sweet and enlivening chorus it was, for the evening was
mild and serene), when down comes this unearthly boar into the loan, all
fatigued as he was, gaping and running on without stop or stay. The kine
soon perceived that there was something super-human about the creature,
for even the most dull of animals have much quicker perceptions than
mankind in these matters; and in one moment they broke all to the gate
as they had been mad, overturning the milk, maidens, and altogether. The
boar ran on; so did the kine, cocking their heads and roaring in terror,
as if every one of them had been bewitched, or possessed by some evil
spirit. It was a most dismal scene!--The girls went home with the rueful
tidings, that a mad boar had come into the loan, and bitten the whole
herd, which was all run off mad, along with the furious and dreadful
animal. The dogs were instantly closed in for fear of further danger to
the country; and all the men of the village armed themselves, and
sallied out to surround and destroy this outrageous monster.
It chanced, however, that the boar in his progress ran into a large
field of strong standing corn, which so impeded his course that he fell
down breathless, and quite exhausted; and thus he lay stretched at full
length, panting in a furrow, while all the men of the country were
running round and round him, every one with a sword, spear, or fork,
ready to run into his body.
Croudy, or the Boar, as it is now more proper to designate him, got here
some time to reflect. He found that he was transformed by witchcraft or
enchantment, and as he had never looked up from under his plaid during
the moments of his transformation, he conceived it to have been the
beautiful and wicked Pery that had wrought this woful change upon him;
therefore he had no hopes of regaining his former shape, save in her
returning pity and compassion; and he had strong hopes that she would
ere long relent, as he had never wilfully done her any ill. Pery knew
nothing about the matter; but actually went up with a heart as light as
a feather to have some sport with Croudy at the Old Thorn; and when she
found that he was not there, she laughed and went home again, saying to
herself, that she knew he durst not stand such an encounter.
The poor boar arose from his furrow in the midst of the field of corn,
as soon as it was day-light next morning, and with a heavy and forlorn
heart went away back to the Old Moss Thorn, in hopes that the cruel Pery
would seek him there, and undo the enchantment. When he came, he
discovered honest Mumps lying on the very spot where he had last seen
his master in his natural shape. He had sought it again over night,
notwithstanding the horrible fright that he had got, for he knew not
where else to find his master; and stupid as he was, yet, like all the
rest of his species, he lived only in his master's eye. He was somewhat
alarmed when he saw the boar coming slowly toward him, and began first
to look over the one shoulder, and then over the other, as if meditating
an escape; but, seeing that it came grunting in such a peaceable and
friendly manner, Mumps ventured to await the issue, and by the time the
monster approached within twenty paces of him, this faithful animal went
cowring away to meet him, prostrated himself at the boar's feet, and
showed every symptom of obedience and affection. The boar, in return,
patted him with his cloven hoof, and stroaked him with his bristly
cheek. Matters were soon made up--thenceforward they were inseparable.
The boar lay all that day about the Moss Thorn, and Mumps lay in his
bosom, but no pitying damsel, witch, or fairy, came near him. He grew
extremely hungry in the evening, and was deeply distressed what to do
for food, for he pitied Mumps more than himself. At length he tried to
plow up the earth with his nose, as he remembered of having seen swine
do before, but at that he made small progress, doing it very awkwardly,
and with great pain to his face. Moreover, for all his exertion, he
found nothing to eat, save one or two moss-corns, and a ground walnut,
with which he was obliged to content himself; and, for his canine
friend, there was nothing at all.
Next morning he saw his neighbour servants seeking for him, and calling
his name, but he could make them no answer, save by long and mournful
sounds between a grunt and groan. He drew near to several of them, but
they regarded him in no other light than as a boar belonging to some one
in the neighbourhood, straying in the fields. His case was most
deplorable; but as he still conceived there was one who knew his
situation well, he determined to seek her. He went down to Eildon-Hall,
with the faithful Mumps walking close by his side--tried to work his way
into the laundry, but being repulsed, he waited with patience about the
doors for an opportunity to present himself before Pery. She came out at
length, and went away singing to the well. The boar followed, uttering
the most melancholy sounds that ever issued from the chest of distressed
animal. Pery could not help noticing him a little. "What strange animal
can this be?" said she to herself; but perceiving that Mumps too was
following her, her attention was soon directed solely to him.
"Alas, poor Mumps," said she, "you are famishing. What can be become of
your master?"
The boar laid his ungraceful foot softly on that of Pery, looked
ruefully in her face, and uttered a most melancholly sound; as much as
to say, "You know well what is become of him! Have you no pity nor
remorse in your heart?"
It was impossible Pery could comprehend this. She judged, like others,
that the animal had strayed from home, and was complaining to her for
food. She looked at him, and thought him a very docile and valuable
swine, and one that would soon be ready for the knife. He was astonished
at her apparent indifference, as well as moved with grief and vengeance,
seeing the abject state to which she had reduced him; and in his heart
he cursed the whole sex, deeming them all imps of Satan, witches, and
enchantresses, each one. He followed her back to the house.
"Come in, Mumps," said she, "and you shall have your breakfast for the
sake of him you belonged to, whatever is become of him, poor fellow!"
The boar ran forward, and kneeled at her feet moaning, on which she
kicked him, and drove him away, saying, "What does the vile beast want
with me? Mumps, come you in and get some meat, honest brute."
Mumps would not come in, but when the boar was expelled, turned back
with him, looking very sullen. She brought him out a bicker of cold
parritch mixed with milk, but he would not taste them until the boar had
first taken his share; after which they went and lay down in the yard
together, the dog in the boar's bosom. Thus did they continue for many
days. At length the master of Eildon had the boar cried at the
church-door, and at the cross of Melrose, and as no one appeared to
claim him, he put him up for slaughter.