Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily bend the stile-a,
A merry heart goes all the day,
A sad one tires in a mile-a.
--Winter's Tale.
Let the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November morning, the
scene an open heath, having for the background that huge chain of
mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are preeminent; let him look
along that BLIND ROAD, by which I mean the track so slightly marked by
the passengers' footsteps that it can but be traced by a slight shade
of verdure from the darker heath around it, and, being only visible to
the eye when at some distance, ceases to be distinguished while the
foot is actually treading it; along this faintly-traced path advances
the object of our present narrative. His firm step, his erect and free
carriage, have a military air which corresponds well with his
well-proportioned limbs and stature of six feet high. His dress is so
plain and simple that it indicates nothing as to rank; it may be that
of a gentleman who travels in this manner for his pleasure, or of an
inferior person of whom it is the proper and usual garb. Nothing can be
on a more reduced scale than his travelling equipment. A volume of
Shakspeare in each pocket, a small bundle with a change of linen slung
across his shoulders, an oaken cudgel in his hand, complete our
pedestrian's accommodations, and in this equipage we present him to our
readers.
Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, and begun his
solitary walk towards Scotland.
The first two or three miles were rather melancholy, from want of the
society to which he had of late been accustomed. But this unusual mood
of mind soon gave way to the influence of his natural good spirits,
excited by the exercise and the bracing effects of the frosty air. He
whistled as he went along, not 'from want of thought,' but to give vent
to those buoyant feelings which he had no other mode of expressing. For
each peasant whom he chanced to meet he had a kind greeting or a
good-humoured jest; the hardy Cumbrians grinned as they passed, and
said, 'That's a kind heart, God bless un!' and the market-girl looked
more than once over her shoulder at the athletic form, which
corresponded so well with the frank and blythe address of the stranger.
A rough terrier dog, his constant companion, who rivalled his master in
glee, scampered at large in a thousand wheels round the heath, and came
back to jump up on him and assure him that he participated in the
pleasure of the journey. Dr. Johnson thought life had few things better
than the excitation produced by being whirled rapidly along in a
post-chaise; but he who has in youth experienced the confident and
independent feeling of a stout pedestrian in an interesting country,
and during fine weather, will hold the taste of the great moralist
cheap in comparison.
Part of Brown's view in choosing that unusual track which leads through
the eastern wilds of Cumberland into Scotland, had been a desire to
view the remains of the celebrated Roman Wall, which are more visible
in that direction than in any other part of its extent. His education
had been imperfect and desultory; but neither the busy scenes in which
he had been engaged, nor the pleasures of youth, nor the precarious
state of his own circumstances, had diverted him from the task of
mental improvement. 'And this then is the Roman Wall,' he said,
scrambling up to a height which commanded the course of that celebrated
work of antiquity. 'What a people! whose labours, even at this
extremity of their empire, comprehended such space, and were executed
upon a scale of such grandeur! In future ages, when the science of war
shall have changed, how few traces will exist of the labours of Vauban
and Coehorn, while this wonderful people's remains will even then
continue to interest and astonish posterity! Their fortifications,
their aqueducts, their theatres, their fountains, all their public
works, bear the grave, solid, and majestic character of their language;
while our modern labours, like our modern tongues, seem but constructed
out of their fragments.' Having thus moralised, he remembered that he
was hungry, and pursued his walk to a small public-house, at which he
proposed to get some refreshment.
The alehouse, for it was no better, was situated in the bottom of a
little dell, through which trilled a small rivulet. It was shaded by a
large ash tree, against which the clay-built shed that served the
purpose of a stable was erected, and upon which it seemed partly to
recline. In this shed stood a saddled horse, employed in eating his
corn. The cottages in this part of Cumberland partake of the rudeness
which characterises those of Scotland. The outside of the house
promised little for the interior, notwithstanding the vaunt of a sign,
where a tankard of ale voluntarily decanted itself into a tumbler, and
a hieroglyphical scrawl below attempted to express a promise of 'good
entertainment for man and horse.' Brown was no fastidious traveller: he
stopped and entered the cabaret. [Footnote: See Note 2.]
The first object which caught his eye in the kitchen was a tall, stout,
country-looking man in a large jockey great-coat, the owner of the
horse which stood in the shed, who was busy discussing huge slices of
cold boiled beef, and casting from time to time an eye through the
window to see how his steed sped with his provender. A large tankard of
ale flanked his plate of victuals, to which he applied himself by
intervals. The good woman of the house was employed in baking. The
fire, as is usual in that country, was on a stone hearth, in the midst
of an immensely large chimney, which had two seats extended beneath the
vent. On one of these sat a remarkably tall woman, in a red cloak and
slouched bonnet, having the appearance of a tinker or beggar. She was
busily engaged with a short black tobacco-pipe.
At the request of Brown for some food, the landlady wiped with her
mealy apron one corner of the deal table, placed a wooden trencher and
knife and fork before the traveller, pointed to the round of beef,
recommended Mr. Dinmont's good example, and finally filled a brown
pitcher with her home-brewed. Brown lost no time in doing ample credit
to both. For a while his opposite neighbour and he were too busy to
take much notice of each other, except by a good-humoured nod as each
in turn raised the tankard to his head. At length, when our pedestrian
began to supply the wants of little Wasp, the Scotch store-farmer, for
such was Mr. Dinmont, found himself at leisure to enter into
conversation.
'A bonny terrier that, sir, and a fell chield at the vermin, I warrant
him; that is, if he's been weel entered, for it a' lies in that.'
'Really, sir,' said Brown, 'his education has been somewhat neglected,
and his chief property is being a pleasant companion.'
'Ay, sir? that's a pity, begging your pardon, it's a great pity that;
beast or body, education should aye be minded. I have six terriers at
hame, forbye twa couple of slow-hunds, five grews, and a wheen other
dogs. There's auld Pepper and auld Mustard, and young Pepper and young
Mustard, and little Pepper and little Mustard. I had them a' regularly
entered, first wi' rottens, then wi' stots or weasels, and then wi' the
tods and brocks, and now they fear naething that ever cam wi' a hairy
skin on't.'
'I have no doubt, sir, they are thoroughbred; but, to have so many
dogs, you seem to have a very limited variety of names for them?'
'O, that's a fancy of my ain to mark the breed, sir. The Deuke himsell
has sent as far as Charlie's Hope to get ane o' Dandy Dinmont's Pepper
and Mustard terriers. Lord, man, he sent Tam Hudson [Footnote: The real
name of this veteran sportsman is now restored.] the keeper, and sicken
a day as we had wi' the foumarts and the tods, and sicken a blythe
gae-down as we had again e'en! Faith, that was a night!'
'I suppose game is very plenty with you?'
'Plenty, man! I believe there's mair hares than sheep on my farm; and
for the moor-fowl or the grey-fowl, they lie as thick as doos in a
dookit. Did ye ever shoot a blackcock, man?'
'Really I had never even the pleasure to see one, except in the museum
at Keswick.'
'There now! I could guess that by your Southland tongue. It's very odd
of these English folk that come here, how few of them has seen a
blackcock! I'll tell you what--ye seem to be an honest lad, and if
you'll call on me, on Dandy Dinmont, at Charlie's Hope, ye shall see a
blackcock, and shoot a blackcock, and eat a blackcock too, man.'
'Why, the proof of the matter is the eating, to be sure, sir; and I
shall be happy if I can find time to accept your invitation.'
'Time, man? what ails ye to gae hame wi' me the now? How d' ye travel?'
'On foot, sir; and if that handsome pony be yours, I should find it
impossible to keep up with you.'
'No, unless ye can walk up to fourteen mile an hour. But ye can come
ower the night as far as Riccarton, where there is a public; or if ye
like to stop at Jockey Grieve's at the Heuch, they would be blythe to
see ye, and I am just gaun to stop and drink a dram at the door wi'
him, and I would tell him you're coming up. Or stay--gudewife, could ye
lend this gentleman the gudeman's galloway, and I'll send it ower the
Waste in the morning wi' the callant?'
The galloway was turned out upon the fell, and was swear to
catch.--'Aweel, aweel, there's nae help for't, but come up the morn at
ony rate. And now, gudewife, I maun ride, to get to the Liddel or it be
dark, for your Waste has but a kittle character, ye ken yoursell.'
'Hout fie, Mr. Dinmont, that's no like you, to gie the country an ill
name. I wot, there has been nane stirred in the Waste since Sawney
Culloch, the travelling-merchant, that Rowley Overdees and Jock Penny
suffered for at Carlisle twa years since. There's no ane in Bewcastle
would do the like o' that now; we be a' true folk now.'
'Ay, Tib, that will be when the deil's blind; and his een's no sair
yet. But hear ye, gudewife, I have been through maist feck o' Galloway
and Dumfries-shire, and I have been round by Carlisle, and I was at the
Staneshiebank Fair the day, and I would like ill to be rubbit sae near
hame, so I'll take the gate.'
'Hae ye been in Dumfries and Galloway?' said the old dame who sate
smoking by the fireside, and who had not yet spoken a word.
'Troth have I, gudewife, and a weary round I've had o't.'
'Then ye'll maybe ken a place they ca' Ellangowan?'
'Ellangowan, that was Mr. Bertram's? I ken the place weel eneugh. The
Laird died about a fortnight since, as I heard.'
'Died!' said the old woman, dropping her pipe, and rising and coming
forward upon the floor--'died? are you sure of that?'
'Troth, am I,' said Dinmont, 'for it made nae sma' noise in the
country-side. He died just at the roup of the stocking and furniture;
it stoppit the roup, and mony folk were disappointed. They said he was
the last of an auld family too, and mony were sorry; for gude blude's
scarcer in Scotland than it has been.'
'Dead!' replied the old woman, whom our readers have already recognised
as their acquaintance Meg Merrilies--'dead! that quits a' scores. And
did ye say he died without an heir?'
'Ay did he, gudewife, and the estate's sell'd by the same token; for
they said they couldna have sell'd it if there had been an heir-male.'
'Sell'd!' echoed the gipsy, with something like a scream; 'and wha
durst buy Ellangowan that was not of Bertram's blude? and wha could
tell whether the bonny knave-bairn may not come back to claim his ain?
wha durst buy the estate and the castle of Ellangowan?'
'Troth, gudewife, just ane o' thae writer chields that buys a' thing;
they ca' him Glossin, I think.'
'Glossin! Gibbie Glossin! that I have carried in my creels a hundred
times, for his mother wasna muckle better than mysell--he to presume to
buy the barony of Ellangowan! Gude be wi' us; it is an awfu' warld! I
wished him ill; but no sic a downfa' as a' that neither. Wae's me!
wae's me to think o't!' She remained a moment silent but still opposing
with her hand the farmer's retreat, who betwixt every question was
about to turn his back, but good-humouredly stopped on observing the
deep interest his answers appeared to excite.
'It will be seen and heard of--earth and sea will not hold their peace
langer! Can ye say if the same man be now the sheriff of the county
that has been sae for some years past?'
'Na, he's got some other birth in Edinburgh, they say; but gude day,
gudewife, I maun ride.' She followed him to his horse, and, while he
drew the girths of his saddle, adjusted the walise, and put on the
bridle, still plied him with questions concerning Mr. Bertram's death
and the fate of his daughter; on which, however, she could obtain
little information from the honest farmer.
'Did ye ever see a place they ca' Derncleugh, about a mile frae the
Place of Ellangowan?'
'I wot weel have I, gudewife. A wild-looking den it is, wi' a whin auld
wa's o' shealings yonder; I saw it when I gaed ower the ground wi' ane
that wanted to take the farm.'
'It was a blythe bit ance!' said Meg, speaking to herself. 'Did ye
notice if there was an auld saugh tree that's maist blawn down, but yet
its roots are in the earth, and it hangs ower the bit burn? Mony a day
hae I wrought my stocking and sat on my sunkie under that saugh.'
'Hout, deil's i' the wife, wi' her saughs, and her sunkies, and
Ellangowans. Godsake, woman, let me away; there's saxpence t' ye to buy
half a mutchkin, instead o' clavering about thae auld-warld stories.'
'Thanks to ye, gudeman; and now ye hae answered a' my questions, and
never speired wherefore I asked them, I'll gie you a bit canny advice,
and ye maunna speir what for neither. Tib Mumps will be out wi' the
stirrup-dram in a gliffing. She'll ask ye whether ye gang ower Willie's
Brae or through Conscowthart Moss; tell her ony ane ye like, but be
sure (speaking low and emphatically) to tak the ane ye dinna tell her.'
The farmer laughed and promised, and the gipsy retreated.
'Will you take her advice?' said Brown, who had been an attentive
listener to this conversation.
'That will I no, the randy quean! Na, I had far rather Tib Mumps kenn'd
which way I was gaun than her, though Tib's no muckle to lippen to
neither, and I would advise ye on no account to stay in the house a'
night.'
In a moment after Tib, the landlady, appeared with her stirrup-cup,
which was taken off. She then, as Meg had predicted, inquired whether
he went the hill or the moss road. He answered, the latter; and, having
bid Brown good-bye, and again told him, 'he depended on seeing him at
Charlie's Hope, the morn at latest,' he rode off at a round pace.