prisoner at any time between the hours of nine in the morning and seven
at night, offered no hindrance to her approaching the door and rapping
for admittance. This she now did; and the "Who's there?" of the captive
was replied to in a powerfully Celtic accent by John M'Kay, with--"My
Letty Rae, my lort." The door instantly flew open, and its inmate came
forth, with a smiling and delighted countenance, to receive his
beautiful and faithful wife.
In the meantime, John M'Kay took his station on the outside of the
door--a more friendly guard over the inmates of the apartment to which
it conducted than those who stood on either side of him. Here the same
feeling which had dictated John's significant hint to the turnkey below,
suggested his general bearing and particular manner to the two soldiers
now beside him.
Maintaining a profound and contemptuous silence, he strutted up and down
the passage--without going, however, more than two or three yards either
way--in front of the door of his lordship's apartment, keeping his huge
form proudly erect, as he thus paced the short walk to which he had
limited himself, and casting, every now and then, a look of fierce
defiance on the appalled soldiers, who looked with fear and dread on the
chafed lion with whom they found themselves thus unpleasantly caged, and
who seemed every moment as if he would spring upon and tear them to
pieces; and, in truth, little provocation would it have taken to have
brought John M'Kay's huge fists into play about their heads. There can
be no doubt that there was nothing at that moment which would have given
John more satisfaction than their affording him an excuse for attacking
them. This, however, the soldiers carefully avoided; and, not content
with refraining from giving the slightest offence, either in word, look,
or deed, endeavoured to conciliate John by an attempt to lead him into
friendly conversation. But the attempt was in vain. Their advances were
all repelled, either with silent contempt or with a gruff uncourteous
response. A specimen of the conversation which did take place between
M'Kay and the guards may be given:--
"Delightful day, friend!" said one of the soldiers.
"S'pose it is!" replied John sternly, and continuing his walk.
A pause.
"Anything new in the town to-day?" at length said the other soldier.
"S'pose something new every tay!" replied John gruffly.
"Ay, ay, I dare say; but have _you_ anything new to tell us?"
"Maype I have," said John, with a grim smile.
"What is it?"
"Tat I'll knock your tam thick head against tat wall if you'll pe botter
me wi' any more o' your tam nonsense. Tat's news for you!" and John gave
one of those peculiar Celtic grunts which no combination of letters can
express. "And you, you scarecrow-looking rascal," he continued,
addressing the other sentinel, "if you'll spoke anoder word, I'll cram
my sporran doon your dam troat."
Having delivered himself of these friendly addresses, John resumed his
march, with additional pride of step and bearing. In a minute after, he
was summoned into Lord Rae's apartment, where he remained until Lady Rae
left the prison, which she did in a short time afterwards.
It was with a beating heart and anxious mind that Lady Rae wended her
way, on the following day--attended, as usual, by her gigantic
serving-man--to the lodgings of Oliver Cromwell. On reaching the house,
M'Kay took his station, as on a former occasion, on the outside, while
her ladyship advanced towards the door, within which she speedily
disappeared, her admittance having been more prompt on the present visit
than the former.
In an instant after, Lady Rae was again in the presence of Oliver
Cromwell. As on the former occasion, he was employed in writing when she
entered, and as on that occasion, so also he threw down his pen, and
rose to receive her.
"Anent this matter of yours, my lady," began Cromwell abruptly, and
without any previous salutation, although he looked all civility and
kindness, "I really hardly know what to say; truly do I not; but the
Lord directs all, and He will guide us in this thing also."
"I trust so!" interrupted Lady Rae, meekly.
"Yes," resumed the future Protector of England; "for we are but weak
creatures, short-sighted and erring. But indeed, as I told you before,
my lady, your husband is a State prisoner; truly is he, and therefore
may I not interfere with him. I cannot; I have not the power. Yet would
I serve thee if I could; truly would I with great pleasure. But these,
you see, are strange times, in which all men must walk warily; for we
are beset with enemies, with traitors--deceivers on all sides, men who
fear not the Lord. Yet, for this matter of yours, my Lady Rae, I will
tell you: I cannot take your husband from prison; it would be unseemly
in the sight of all God-fearing men; but truly, if you could in any ways
manage to get his lordship once without the prison walls, I would take
upon me to prevent his being further troubled. He should have a
protection under my hand; truly he should, although it might bring me to
some odium with my friends. But he should have it, nevertheless, out of
my respect for you, my lady. Now go, go, my lady; I may say no more on
the subject. Go, try and fall on some means of getting thy husband
without the walls of his prison; this done, come instantly to me, and
thou shalt have a protection for him under my hand; indeed thou shalt."
To Lady Rae, this proposal was a grievous disappointment. It contained
an arrangement which she had never contemplated, and which seemed as
impracticable as it was strange; yet she saw it was all she had to
expect, and that whatever might be the result, she must be content with
the extent of interference on her husband's behalf, which was included
in the singular measures suggested by Cromwell.
Impressed with this conviction, Lady Rae thanked him for his kindness,
said she would endeavour to get her husband without the prison gates by
some means or other, and would then again wait upon him for the
protection he was so generous as to offer.
"Do so, my lady, do so," said Cromwell, escorting her ladyship to the
door with an air of great gallantry; "and may the Lord have thee in his
holy keeping."
Lady Rae turned round, again thanked the general, curtseyed, and
withdrew.
On reaching the street, her ladyship was instantly joined by her
faithful attendant M'Kay, who had been waiting with the greatest anxiety
and impatience for her return; for to him his master's life and liberty
were dearer far than his own, and he well knew that both were much in
the power of the extraordinary man on whom his lady was now waiting.
On the first glance which he obtained of his mistress's countenance,
John saw, with a feeling of disappointment that lengthened his own
several inches, that the interview had not been a satisfactory one. His
native sense of politeness, however, and of the deference due to his
mistress, prevented him making any inquiries as to what had passed until
she should herself choose to communicate with him on the subject. For
such communication, however, he had longer to wait than usual; for, lost
in thought and depressed with disappointment, Lady Rae walked on a good
way without taking any notice whatever of her attendant, who was
following at a distance of several yards. At length she suddenly
stopped, but without turning round. This John knew to be the signal for
him to advance. He accordingly did so, and, touching his bonnet, waited
for the communication which it promised.
"I am afraid, John," now said Lady Rae--"I am afraid we shall be
disappointed, after all. The general has made the strangest proposal you
ever heard. He says that he cannot, without compromising himself, or to
that effect, liberate his lordship from jail; but that if he were once
out--that is, if he could be got out by any means--he would save him
from being further troubled, and would grant him a protection under his
own hand. But how on earth are we to get him out? It is impossible.
These two guards at the door, besides other difficulties, render it
altogether impracticable. I know not what is to be done."
It was some seconds before M'Kay made any reply. At length--
"I'll no think ta difficulty fery crate, after all, my letty," replied
John. "There's shust ta bodachan at ta dore, I could put in my sporran,
and ta twa soger."
"Yes, John; the first you might perhaps manage," said Lady Rae, smiling,
and glancing unconsciously at the huge figure of her attendant, which
presented so striking a contrast to that of the little, slim, crusty
turnkey; "but the two soldiers--"
"Whoich," exclaimed John contemptuously; "if's no far prettier men than
was there yesterday, it'll no trouble me much to manage them too, my
letty. A wee bit clamsheuchar wi' my Lochaper axe, or a brog wi' my
skean-dhu, will make them quate aneuch, my letty. Tat's but a small
shob."
"John, John, no violence, no violence!" exclaimed Lady Rae, in great
alarm at the sanguinary view of the process for her husband's liberation
which John had taken. "No violence. If his lordship's liberation be
attempted at all, there must be no violence; at least none to the
shedding of blood, or to the inflicting the smallest injury on any one.
The idea is horrible; and, if acted on, would only make matters worse.
Your own life, John, would be the forfeit of such an atrocious
proceeding."
"Foich, a figs for tat, my letty, beggin' your lettyship's pardon,"
replied John, a good deal disappointed at the peaceful tone of his
mistress, and at the loss of an opportunity, such as he had long
desired, of taking vengeance on his master's guards and jailers. "Foich,
a figs for tat, my letty, beggin' your lettyship's pardon," he said. "I
could teuk to the hills in a moment's notice, and see who'll catch John
M'Kay then."
"Well, well, perhaps, John, you might, but you must speak no more of
violence; I charge you, speak no more of it. We will, in the meantime,
go to his lordship and submit the matter to him, and be guided
thereafter by his advice."
Having said this, Lady Rae directed her steps to the jail, and, closely
followed by M'Kay, was soon after in the apartment of the prisoner.
Lord Rae having been apprised by his lady of the result of her interview
with Cromwell, a secret consultation between the two, which lasted
nearly an hour, ensued.
During this consultation, many different plans for effecting the
liberation of the prisoner were suggested, and, after being duly
weighed, abandoned as impracticable. One at length, however, was
adopted, and this one was proposed by M'Kay; it was characteristic of
the man, and came as close in its nature to his original one as he
durst presume upon.
This plan, which was a simple enough one, was to seize the two guards at
the outside of the door, and to hold them fast until Lord Rae should
have rushed past them and got out of the prison. The turnkey at the
outer door, who, as has been already said, was a little slender man, his
lordship was to seize and throw down, and then get over the little
half-door, which was under his guardianship, the best way he could. A
row of short, sharp pikes, however, with which it was fenced on its
upper edge, rendered this a formidable difficulty; but it was thought
that it might, to speak literally, be got over by the aid of a long form
which stood on one side of the passage of the jail, for the
accommodation of visitors.
All this trouble a touch of the key would have saved; but this the
little man always carried in his pocket, never allowing it to remain in
the lock an instant, however frequent or numerous his visitors might be.
The securing of the two guards at the prisoner's door, by far the most
serious part of the business, M'Kay took upon himself, and with a degree
of confidence that sufficiently showed how well he was aware of his own
surpassing strength.
This plan of proceedings arranged, it was resolved that it should be put
in execution that very afternoon. On that afternoon, accordingly, John
M'Kay again appeared at the jail door, demanding admittance to his
master. The door was immediately thrown open to him by the little
turnkey, whom he now for the first time addressed in a friendly tone.
The same change of manner marked his salutation to the guards at the
door of his master's apartment. To these he spoke in the most civil and
obliging terms possible. The men, who had often winced under his savage
growls and fierce looks, wondered at the change, but were glad enough to
meet with it in place of his former ferocity.
John, after talking for a few minutes with the sentinels, went into his
lordship's room. The latter was dressed, and ready for the bold
proceeding about to be adopted. "Think you you can manage them, John?"
said his lordship in a whisper, after the door had been secured in the
inside.
"Pooch, a dizzen o' them, my lort!" replied M'Kay in the same
under-tone. "It's twa bits o' shachlin' podies no wors speakin' aboot."
"But they are armed, John--they have guns and bayonets; and the former
are loaded."
"Pooch, their guns! what'll sicknify their guns, my lort, when I'll have
cot a hold o' the craturs themsels in my hants?" and he held out his
enormous brown paws as if to certify their power. "I'll crush the podies
like a mussel shells."
"No violence, John, remember," said Lord Rae energetically, but smiling
as he spoke,--"that is, to the extent of doing the men any, the smallest
personal injury. Remember now, John; do otherwise," continued his
lordship in a more severe tone, "and you forfeit my favour and esteem
for ever. Mark, John, besides," added his lordship, who seemed most
anxious on the point which he was now pressing on M'Kay's consideration,
"your doing any injury to these men would be destruction to me; for,
under such circumstances, the general would not grant me a protection
after I was out, and my case would otherwise be rendered infinitely
worse and more hopeless than it is. Now, remember all this, John, and do
the men no personal injury, I charge you."
John's face reddened a little at the earnestness with which these
injunctions were delivered, and probably he thought they indicated
something like degeneracy in his chief; but he promised compliance with
his commands; and, to render his obedience more certain, by lessening
the temptation to infringe them, he denuded himself of a concealed dirk,
which he always carried about him, over and above the arms he openly
wore. Of this proceeding, which was voluntary on M'Kay's part, his
master highly approved, but, smiling, said--
"You have still your fists, John, nearly as dangerous weapons as that
you have just laid aside; but I hope you will use them sparingly."
John smiled, and promised he would.
In a few minutes afterwards M'Kay came forth from Lord Rae's apartment
to perform the daring feat of securing two armed men by the mere force
of physical strength; for he was now without weapon of any kind. When he
came out, however, it was with an appearance of the most friendly
feeling towards the soldiers. He came out smiling graciously, and
entered into familiar chat with the men, alleging that he came to put
off the time till his master had written a letter which he was to
deliver to a person in town.
Thrown off their guard by M'Kay's jocular and cordial manner, the
soldiers grounded their muskets, and began to enter in earnest into the
conversation which he was promoting. M'Kay, in the meantime, was
watching his opportunity to seize them; but this, as it was necessary he
should be placed, with regard to them, so as to have one on either side
of him, that he might grasp both at the same instant, he did not obtain
for some time.
By dint, however, of some exceedingly cautious and wary manoeuvring,
M'Kay at length found himself in a position favourable to his meditated
proceedings. On doing so, he, with the speed and force of lightning,
darted an arm out on either side of him, seized a soldier by the breast
with each hand, and with as much ease as a powerful dog could turn over
a kitten, laid them both gently on their backs on the floor of the
passage, where he held them extended at full length, and immovable in
his tremendous grasp, till he felt assured that Lord Rae had cleared the
prison. This the latter effected with the most perfect success. The
moment M'Kay seized the soldiers--an act of which Lord Rae was apprised
by the former's calling out, "Noo, noo, my lort"--he rushed out, ran
along the passage, descended the stair in three or four leaps, came upon
the little turnkey unawares, as he was looking over the half-door of the
prison entrance--his sole occupation during three-fourths of the
day--seized him by the neck of the coat behind, laid him down, as M'Kay
had done by the soldiers, at his full length--no great length after
all--on the floor; drew the form to the door, placed it over the little
turnkey in such a way as to prevent his rising, jumped on it, leapt into
the street at one bound, and instantly disappeared. All this was done in
the tenth part of the time that has been taken to relate it. It was, in
truth, the work of but a moment.
On being satisfied that Lord Rae had made his escape--
"Noo, lads, ye may got up," said M'Kay, loosening his hold of the men,
and starting himself to his feet. "Ta burd's flown; but ye may look
after ta cage, and see tat no more o' your canaries got away."
Freed from the powerful grasp which had hitherto pinned them to the
floor, the soldiers sprang to their feet, and endeavoured to get hold of
their muskets. Seeing this, M'Kay again seized them, and again threw
them to the floor; but on this occasion it was merely to show the power
he had over them, if they should still have any doubt of it.
"Noo, lads, I'll tell you what it is," said M'Kay, addressing the
prostrate soldiers--"if you'll behave yoursels desenly, and no be
botherin' me wi' ony more o' your tarn nonsense, I'll aloo you to make
me your prisoner; for I'm no intending to run away; I'll kive myself up
to save your hides, and take my shance of ta law for what I'll do. Tat's
my mind of it, lads. If you like to acree to it, goot and well; if not,
I will knock your two heads togidder, till your prains go into smash."
But too happy to accept of such terms, the soldiers at once assented to
them; and on their doing so, were permitted once more to resume their
legs, when M'Kay peaceably yielded himself their prisoner. The gigantic
Highlander could easily have effected his own escape; but he could not
have done so without having recourse to that violence which had been so
anxiously deprecated by both his master and mistress. Without inflicting
some mortal injury on the soldiers, he could not have prevented them
from pursuing him when he had fled, and probably firing on him as he did
so. All this, therefore, had been provided for by the arrangements
previously agreed upon by Lord Rae and his retainer. By these it was
settled, that he should, on the former's making his escape, peaceably
yield himself up to "underlie the law," in a reliance on the friendly
disposition of Cromwell towards the fugitive, which, it was not doubted,
would be exerted in behalf of his servant. Such proceeding, it was
thought too, would bring Lord Rae's case sooner to issue; and be, with
regard to the law, as it were, throwing a bone in the dog's way to
arrest his attention, and interrupt his pursuit of the original and more
important object of his vengeance.
On delivering himself up, M'Kay was immediately placed in confinement,
and shortly after brought to trial, for aiding and abetting in the
escape of a State prisoner. The trial was a very brief one; for the
facts were easily established, and sentence was about to be passed on
the prisoner, when a stir suddenly arose at the court door. The
presiding judge paused; the stir increased. In the next instant it was
hushed; and in that instant Cromwell entered the court. On advancing a
pace or two within the apartment, he took off his hat, bowed
respectfully to the judges, and proceeding onwards, finally ascended the
bench and took his seat beside them.
When a man feels himself master, he need be under no great ceremony;
neither need he trouble himself much about forms or rules which regulate
the conduct of inferiors. Cromwell, on this occasion, got up in a few
minutes after he had taken his place, and delivered to the court a long,
and, after his usual fashion, obscure and unconnected oration in favour
of the prisoner at the bar. The chief ground, however, on which he
rested his defence and exculpation of M'Kay, was the fidelity to his
master, which the crime with which he was charge implied, and the worse
effect to the cause of morality than good to the political interests of
the State, which the infliction of any punishment in such case would
produce. "If," concluded Cromwell, "fidelity to a master is to be
punished as a crime, where shall we look for honest servants?"
The reasoning of Cromwell, even had it been less cogent than it was,
could not be but convincin to those who knew of and dreaded his power.
He was listened to with the most profound attention, and the justness
of his arguments and force of his eloquence acknowledged by the
acquittal of the prisoner.
As M'Kay rose from his seat at the bar to leave the court, Cromwell eyed
him attentively for some seconds, and, struck with his prodigious size
and fierce aspect, whispered to one of the judges near him, "May the
Lord keep me from the devil's and _that_ man's grasp."
We have now only to add, that the protection promised by Cromwell to
Lady Rae for her husband was duly made out, and delivered to her. We
need not say that it was found to be a perfectly efficient document.
THE DIAMOND EYES.
When I entered Edinburgh College the students were tolerably free from
any of those clubs or parties into which some factitious subject--often
a whim--divides them. In the prior year the spirit of wager had seized a
great number of them with the harpy talons of the demon of gambling,
giving rise to consequences prejudicial to their morals, as well as to
their studies. A great deal of money among the richer of them changed
hands upon the result of bets, often the most frivolous, if not
altogether ridiculous. Now, we are not to say that, abstracted from the
love of money, the act of betting is unqualifiedly bad, if rather we may
not be able to say something for it, insomuch as it sometimes brings
out, and stamps ingenuity or sagacity, while it represses and chastises
arrogance. But the practice at the College at that time was actually
wild. They sought out subjects; the aye and the no of ordinary converse
was followed by the gauntlet, which was taken up on the instant; and
they even had an umpire in the club, a respectable young man of the name
of Hawley, who was too wise to bet himself, but who was pleased with the
honour of being privileged to decide the bets of the others.
In the heat of this wild enthusiasm, it happened that two of these
youths, one called Henry Dewhurst, and the other Frank Hamilton, were
walking on the jetty which runs out from the harbour of Leith a full
mile into the Forth. Dewhurst was the son of a West India planter, who
allowed him £300 a year, every penny of which was spent in paying only a
part of his bills long before the year was done; one of which bills I
had an opportunity of seeing, to my wonder--how any one could eat £15
worth of tarts and sweetmeats in the course of not many months! Hamilton
was the son of a west country proprietor, and enjoyed the privilege of
using, to his ruin, a yearly allowance of £250. In the midst of their
sauntering they hailed two of their friends,--one Campbell, a sworn
companion of the young West Indian; and the other Cameron, as closely
allied to Hamilton;--all the four being, as the saying goes, "birds of a
feather," tossing their wings in the gale of sprees, and not always
sleeping in their own nests at night.
As they approached the end of the jetty, they met a lad who had wounded
one of these large gulls called Tom Norries,--a beautiful creature, with
its fine lead-coloured wings and charming snow-white breast, and eye
like a diamond.
"I will give you a shilling for the bird," said Dewhurst.
"But what are you to do with it?" replied the lad. "I would not like it
to be killed. It is only hurt in the wing; and I will get half-a-crown
for it from one who has a garden to keep it in."
"No, no," said Dewhurst, "I'll not kill it. Here's your half-crown."