lover anither push. "That's a guid ane! To drink my ale, and eat my
bread and cheese, and then deny it!"
I leave you, guid freends (said the narrator here), to conjecture what
were David's feelins, and to conceive what were his looks, while Jenny
was thus chargin him wi' ingratitude. I'll no attempt a description o'
them. A' this time the minister was lookin owre his window, richt abune
the lovers, and heard every word o' what they said; but he keepit quiet
till the argument should come to a crisis. In the meantime the
conversation between the lovers proceeded.
"Jenny," said David, in reply to her last remark, "ye're either daft or
fou--and that's the end o't. Sae let us speak aboot something else if ye
can."
"Do ye mean to say, David," replied Jenny--now getting somewhat serious
too, and a little surprised, in her turn, at seein the perfect composure
o' her lover, and the utter unconsciousness expressed on his
countenance--"do ye mean to say that I didna gie ye a bottle o' ale and
a basket o' bread and cheese oot o' the window there, aboot a
quarter-o'-an-hour syne?"
"Never saw them, nor heard o' them," replied David, with great coolness.
"Ta! nonsense, man!" said Jenny, with impatient credulity. "And did ye
no come and seek anither? and did ye no come three or four times to the
window?"
"Naething o' the kind," replied David, briefly, but with the same
calmness and composure as before. "I never got a bottle o' ale and a
basket o' bread frae ye oot o' that window; I never sought anither frae
ye; and I hae been only ance at that window this blessed nicht."
There was nae resistin belief to a disclaimer sae coolly, sae calmly,
and sae pointedly made; and Jenny acknowledged this by immediately
exclaimin, in the utmost dismay and alarm--
"Lord preserve me, then! wha was't that got them, and whar are they?"
Her queries were instantly answered.
"It was _me_ that got them, Jenny; and they're owre in yon corner
yonder," said the minister, in a loud whisper, and now thrustin his head
oot o' the window.
Jenny looked up for an instant in horror, uttered a loud scream, and
fled. David looked up, too, for a second, and then set after her as fast
as he could birr; leavin the facetious, but worthy minister in
convulsions o' laughter.
"And that, my freends," here said the merry landlord, "is the story o'
the minister o' Kirkfodden and his servant lass, as tauld to me by my
guid freend, Andrew, here"--laying his hand kindly on the shoulder of
the person he alluded to. The narrator was rewarded for his story, or
rather for his manner of telling it--for in this art he excelled--by a
continued roar of laughter from his auditory. When this had subsided--
"Come now," he said, "put in yer glasses. The best story's no the waur
o' a weetin. It looks as weel again through a glass o' toddy."
The invitation thus humorously given was at once obeyed. In a twinkling
a circle of empty glasses, like a _garde du corps_, surrounded the bowl,
and were soon replenished, with a dexterity and skill which long
practice alone could have given the artist. His well-practised hand and
arm skimmed the ponderous vessel as lightly over the glasses as if it
had been a cream-pot; filling each of the latter as it went along to
exactly the same height--not a drop in or over--with a precision that
was truly beautiful to behold.
The glasses, which had thus been scientifically filled, having been
again emptied, the landlord suddenly fixed his look on another of his
guests, who was sitting up in one of the furthest corners, by the
fireside, and to whom his attention had been directed, by observing him
musing and smiling at intervals, as if tickled by the suggestions of his
imagination. He rightly took them for symptoms of a story, and acted
upon this impression.
"James," he said, addressing the person alluded to, who was at the
moment gazing abstractedly on the fire, "if I'm no mistaen, ye hae
something to tell that micht amuse us. Ye're lookin like it, at ony
rate, if that smirk at the corner o' yer mouth has ony intelligence
in't."
James turned round, and, with a smile that was gradually acquiring
breadth, said that he was "thinkin aboot Tam Brodie and the kirn."
"I was sure o't," exclaimed the landlord, triumphantly. "What aboot Tam
and the kirn, James?"
"There's little in't," replied the other; "but I'll tell it for the guid
o' the company." And he immediately went on:--I daresay the maist o' ye
here ken Tam Brodie o' the Broomhouse; and them that dinna may now learn
that he's a sma' farmer, as weel as unco sma' man, in a certain part o'
Annandale. He is in but very indifferent circumstances, and has, on the
whole, a sair struggle wi' the warld; but this is no to hinder him, as
how should it, frae haein a maist extraordinar fondness for cream; but
it ought to hinder him frae takin every opportunity, which he does, o'
his wife's bein oot o' the way, to steal frae his ain kirn, to the
serious detriment o' his ain interest. His wife entertains the same
opinion; for she's obliged to watch him like a cat; and, when she does
catch him at the forbidden vessel, or discovers that it has been
there--which she often does, by the ring about his mouth, when she has
come so suddenly on him as no to gie him time to remove the
evidence--she does pepper him sweetly wi' the first thing that comes to
her haun; for she's a trimmer, though a weel-behaved, hard-workin woman.
A' her watchfuness, however, and a' the wappins she could gie her
husband, could neither cure him o' his propensity, nor prevent him
indulgin it whenever he thought he could do it without bein detected.
It happened ae day, that Mrs Brodie had some errand to a neighbourin
farmhouse, which she behoved to execute personally. Having dressed
hersel a little better than ordinary for this purpose, she cam to her
husband, who was at the moment delvin in the kail-yard behind the
house, told him where she was gaun, and desired him to look after the
weans till her return. This task, Tam, of course, readily undertook, and
continued to delve awa as composedly as if his wife's proposed absence
had suggested nae ither idea to him. He, in short, looked as innocent of
a sinister purpose as a man could do; although at that very moment the
cunnin little rascal's mind was fu' o' the idea o' makin a dive at the
kirn, the moment the wife's back was turned. And he soon made these evil
intentions manifest aneugh. While his wife was speakin to him, leavin
the bairns in his charge, Tam never raised his head, but continued
delvin awa wi' great assiduity. He was, in fact, afraid to lift his
head, for fear that his wife should discover his joy on his countenance,
and tak some means o' bafflin his designs. Although, however, he didna
raise his head while she was speakin to him, he did it the instant she
left him. While continuin bent as if in the act o' workin, he looked
after her till she disappeared down a brae, at the distance o' aboot a
hundred yards, when he stood erect, stuck his spade in the ground, and
went wi' deliberate step into the hoose. This deliberation, however, did
not proceed so much from a consciousness o' security, as to prevent
excitin suspicion o' his ain weans, whom he did not wish to trust wi'
the secret o' his intended depredations on the kirn, for fear they
should tell their mother, as, had they known it, they certainly
would--perhaps not deliberately, but they would blab it. This risk,
therefore, he resolved not to run. On enterin the kitchen whar the weans
war, to the number o' three or four--
"What keeps ye a' in the hoose sic a nice bonny day as this?" said he;
"awa and play yersels in the yard for a wee; and, as I'm wearied, and
gaun to rest mysel, ye can come and tell me whan ye see yer mither
comin. Ye can see her, ye ken, frae the tap o' the yard a lang way aff.
Now," he said, addressin the last o' the urchins, as they scampered
oot, in obedience to their father's commands--"now mind, and let me ken
_the moment_ your mither comes in sicht." The boy promised, and rushed
out after his brothers and sisters. The coast was now clear; Tam's
progress thus far was triumphant. He had never had before sae fair a
field for operations, and he felt a' the satisfaction that his happy
situation was capable o' affordin.
Havin got the weans oot, he advanced to the door, shut it, and, to
prevent any unseasonable intrusion, locked it--at least he thocht he had
done so, but the bolt had missed. Unaware o' this circumstance, he
proceeded to his operations wi' a feelin o' perfect security. Havin gone
into the room where the kirn was, he lifted the large stone by which the
lid was kept down, and placed it on the floor. This done, he lifted the
lid itsel, and next the clean white cloth which is usually thrown first
on the mouth o' the vessel. These a' removed, the glorious substance
appeared--thick, rich, and yellow. The glutton gazed on it a moment with
a rapturous eye; but there was no time to be lost. He had provided
himsel wi' a small tin jug. This he now dipped into the delicious
semi-fluid mass, raised it to his lips, and quaffed it aff as fast as
its consistency would admit. Again he dipped and again he swilled; and
to make everything as comfortable as possible, he next drew a chair to
the kirn, sat down on it, stretched out his legs, and in this luxurious
and deliberate attitude proceeded wi' his debauch. While in the act o'
pourin down his throat the fifth or sixth jug, wi' his head thrown back,
his eye--though half closed, from an overpowerin sense o'
enjoyment--caught a glimpse o' a castle o' cakes and a plate filled wi'
rolls o' fresh butter, that stood on the upper shelf o' a cupboard
fastened high upon the wa' in ane o' the corners o' the apartment. The
sight was temptin; for he felt at that moment somewhat hungry, and he
thocht, besides, the cakes and butter would eat delightfully wi' the
cream--and there is little doot they would. Filled wi' this new idea,
he rose frae his chair and approached the cupboard wi' the intention o'
sackin it; but it was owre high for him. (He was a very little man.)
This, however, he was perfectly aware o'. So he took a stool in his
hand, placed it, and mounted; but was still several inches from the
mark. Findin this, he descended, put anither stool on the top o' the
first, and, on again mountin, found himself just barely within reach o'
the prize. By seizin, however, a fast hold o' ane o' the shelves o' the
cupboard by one hand, he found he could raise himsel up sufficiently
high to accomplish the purposed robbery wi' the ither. Discoverin this,
he grasped the shelf, and was just in the act o' raisin himsel up by its
means, when the stool on which he was standin (he had stood owre near
the end o't) suddenly canted up, and left him suspended to the cupboard
shelf; for he held on like grim death, kickin and spurrin awa in a vain
attempt to recover his footin. This was a state o' things that couldna
continue lang; either he must come doun himsel, or the cupboard must
come doun alang wi' him--and the latter was the upshot. Doun cam the
cupboard; wi' everything that was in it--and it was filled wi' cheeny
and crystal--smash on the floor wi' a dreadfu crash, and Tam below it.
There wasna a hail glass, cup, or plate left; and the rows o' butter
were rollin in a' directions through the floor. Here was a pretty
business; and the puir culprit knew it. Cantin awa the cupboard frae
aboon him, he slowly rose (for he was not at all much hurt) to his feet,
infinitely mair distressed wi' fear for his wife's vengeance than wi'
regret for his ain loss. At this instant--that is, just as he had gained
his feet, and was lookin ruefully doun on the wreck he had
occasioned--ane o' his bairns cam runnin to the door, and bawled out the
delightfu intelligence--
"Faither, my mother's comin!"
The horrible announcement roused him from his reverie, and instantly put
him on the alert. He had presence o' mind aneugh left to recollect that
the cupboard wasna a' he had to answer for. There was the kirn, which,
in its present denuded state, told an ugly tale. He flew to remedy this.
He snatched up the towel, spread it over the mouth o't, lifted the huge
stone with which all had been secured, dashed it down--on what? on the
lid? No, in his hurry and confusion he forgot the lid;--on the
towel--and doun went towel and stone into the kirn, and the latter with
such force as fairly knocked out the bottom, and sent the whole contents
streamin owre the floor. At this particularly felicitous moment, his
wife entered the outer door, when the first thing she met was the colly
dog wi' a row o' the fresh butter in his mouth. In ordinary
circumstances, this wad hae been a provokin aneugh sicht to her, but a
glimpse at the same instant o' the dreadfu ruin within made it appear
but a sma' matter indeed. On enterin on the scene o' devastation, she
fand the culprit standin almost senseless and speechless wi' terror and
horror, and every other stupifyin feelin that can be named, in the
middle o' the ruins he had created, and up to the shoe-mouth in cream.
"An awfu business this, Maggy," he said, in a sepulchral voice. It was
a' he got leave to say; for, in the next moment, he was felled wi' the
stroke o' a besom; and when he resumed his feet, which he did almost
instantly, he took to his heels, and didna venture hame again till wife
and weans were a' lang in their beds. Tam ne'er touched the kirn after
this.
"And here," said the narrator, "ends my story o' Tam Brodie and the
kirn."
"And a very guid ane it is," rejoined the landlord, taking off a cold
half-glass of punch that stood before him. "I ken Tam o' the Broomhouse
as weel as I ken ony ane here, and it's just as like him as can be.
William," added mine host, now turning and addressing another member of
the company--a quiet, mild-looking man, whom one could not, _a priori_,
have suspected of being a joker--"that's nearly as guid a ane as the
Blue Bonnet. Do ye mind that story? William shook his head and smiled.
"I mind it weel aneugh," he replied; "but it was rather a serious
affair--at least it micht hae been sae--and I'm no fond o' recollectin
't."
"Nonsense, man; nae harm cam o't," said the other; "and it was
harmlessly meant."
"But it micht hae been a bad business," said William.
"But it _wasna_," said mine host; "and, as I dinna believe there's ane
here that ever heard the story, I wish ye wad let me tell it."
"It's no worth tellin," said the other.
"I'll tak my chance o' that," replied the landlord; "if it's counted
worthless, I'll tak the wyte o't. Do ye gie me leave?"
"A wilfu man maun hae his ain way--do as you like," rejoined William
Brydon, affectin a chariness he did not altogether feel.
Thus regularly licensed, the narrator began:--
About twa or three years syne, there used to come about this house o'
mine a wee bit whupper-snapper body o' an English bagman. An impudent,
upsettin brat he was, although no muckle higher than that table. The
favourite theme o' this wee ill-tongued rascal--for he had a vile
ane--was abusin Scotland, and a' that war in't, for a parcel o' sneakin,
hungry, beggarly loons. This was his constant talk wherever he was, and
whaever he micht be amang. I didna mind him mysel; for the cratur wasna
a bad customer, and he was, besides, such a wretched-lookin body--I mean
as to size and figure, for he was aye weel aneugh put on--that puttin a
haun to him was oot o' the question. Ye couldna hae blawn upon him, but
ye wad hae been in for murder, or culpable homicide at the very least.
But, although I keepit a calm sough wi' him, and didna mind his abusive
jabberin, it wasna sae wi' everybody; and there was nane bore it waur
than oor freend William Brydon here, wha aften forgathered wi' him in
this hoose. William couldna endure the cratur, and mony a sair wrangle
they had wi' the tongue; but the Englishman's was by far the glibber,
though William's was the weightier. It chanced that William and the
little gabby Englishman met here, both on their way to England, ae day
sune after the execution o' the rebels in Carlisle--a time whan the
Scots, as ye a' dootless ken, war in unco bad odour throughoot a'
England, and especially in Carlisle, whar the feelin ran sae high that
no person wearin ony piece o' dress which smelt in the least o' Scotland
was safe in the streets. And wha was sae vindictive against the rascally
rebels, as he ca'ed them, as our wee bagman? "Headin and hangin's owre
guid for the villains," he wad say. "They should be roasted before a
slow fire, like sae mony shouthers o' mutton." Oh, he had a bitter spite
at them! It was aboot this time, as I said, that he and our freend here
met in my hoose--and, as usual, they had a tremendous yokin; but it was,
on this occasion, a' aboot the rebels; for this was the thing uppermost
in the wee bagman's mind at the time. It was a grand catch for him, and
he made the maist o't. In short, a' his abuse now took this particular
direction.
Notwithstandin William and the bagman's constant quarrellin, and their
mutual dislike o' each ither, they aye drank thegither whan they met,
and whiles took guid scours o't, and lang sederunts; but it wasna for
love, ye'll readily believe, they sat thegither: na, na, it was for the
purpose o' gettin a guid worryin at ane anither; so that they may be
said to hae sought each ither's company oot o' a kind o' lovin hatred to
ane anither. In the afternoon o' which I'm speakin, the twa, as usual,
drank and quarrelled; but I was surprised to find, towards the end o'
their sederunt, that oor freend here, instead o' gettin angrier, as he
used to do, as the contest drew towards a close, grew aye the calmer;
and, what astonished me still mair, suddenly showed a strong disposition
to curry favour wi' his antagonist, and actually so far succeeded, by
dint o' soothin words, as to induce the bagman to extend the hand o'
friendship and good-fellowship to him--swearin that William was, after
all, a devilish good fellow, for a Scotchman. The bagman, however, was
by this time pretty weel on by the head; and this micht hae had some
share in producin this new-born kindness for the Scotchman. However this
may be, being both anxious to get on to Carlisle that nicht, they
agreed--such good freends had they thus suddenly become--to travel
together. This settled, their horses were brought to the door. William's
packs had been sent on before, and he had hired ane o' my horses to
carry him unto Carlisle. Just as they were gaun oot the passage there,
to the door to mount, William hings back a bit, lettin the bagman gang
on before him, and whispers into my ear--
"I'll play that pockpuddin a pliskie yet. Hae ye such a thing as an auld
broad bonnet aboot ye, that ye could lend me?"
Little dreamin what he was gaun to do with it, I replied I had; and
runnin into the kitchen here, I took down frae a nail, ane that I used
to wear when gaun aboot the garden, and gae it to him. William took it,
rowed it up, and thrust it in his pocket, without sayin a word, and, in
three minutes after, the twa war aff.
On arrivin within aboot a mile o' Carlisle, Willie proposed to the
bagman that they should go into a public-house that was on the roadside,
and hae something before they entered the toon, as they required to part
a wee on this side o't--William having, he said, some sma' business to
do aff the road. To this proposal the Englishman readily agreed, and in
they gaed, leavin their horses at the door. Here William plied the
bagman--nothing loth, for he was a drucken wee rascal--wi' brandy till
he began to wink, and no to be perfectly certain which end o' him was
uppermost. Havin reduced him to this condition, his freend proposed that
they should be movin, when they both got up for that purpose.
"Where's my _'at_?" said the bagman, turnin round to look for the
article he named.
"Here it's, man," said William, comin behind him, and clappin the bonnet
on his head.
"Thank you, freend!" replied the bagman, generously believin that, as he
felt _something_ put upon his head, it must be his hat; and thus
theekit, he walked to the door, and mounted his horse, as grave and
composed as if a' was richt, and rode aff wi' William alangside o' him.
They hadna ridden far, however, when his friend, for obvious reasons,
desirous o' bein quit o' his companion, said he was sorry that they maun
now part, he requirin, as he told him before, to turn aff the road a
bit. On this they shook hands and parted. The bagman hadna proceeded far
wi' the notorious badge o' Scotland--the broad blue bonnet--on his head,
till he found himsel, he could not conceive how, an object of marked
attention to a' the passers-by. At length, as he approached the town,
this attention became gradually more and more alarmin, and began at the
same time to be accompanied by such symptoms as plainly evinced that it
was not o' a pleasant character.
Popular notice, the bagman very weel saw, he had attained by some means
or other; but he also saw as weel that this by no means meant popular
admiration; for in every face that was turned towards him there was an
angry scowl. Amazed and confounded at bein thus so strangely and
disagreeably marked, the poor little Englishman looked first at his
legs, and then at his horse, leanin forward for this purpose, and then
examined his own outer man all over, to see if he could discern onything
wrang wi' either, that micht account for his sudden elevation in the
public mind; but he found nothing--a' was richt, and the little bagman
was more perplexed than ever. He rode on, however--as what else could he
do?--and at length entered the town. Here the general attention became
still more strikingly marked: people stood on the streets and stared
broadly at him; and, when he had passed, looked after him, and shook
their heads. At length matters came to a crisis. This approached by
occasional cries of "Doun wi' the rebel!" "Doun wi' the Scottish
cut-throat!" "Hang the robber!" "Head him! head him!" If confounded
before, the little bagman was now ten times more so. These terms could
never apply to him, and yet they were most palpably directed to him.
What on earth could it mean? To be taken, too, for a character which of
all others he most abhorred. It was unaccountable--most extraordinary.
In the meantime, both the cries and the crowd increased, till the latter
at length fairly surrounded the little bagman and his horse, and
peremptorily arrested his progress, still shoutin, but with greater
ferocity, "Doun wi' the rebel!"
"Good people," said the perplexed and terrified cratur, "what do you
mean? Hear me for a moment. I'm no rebel. I detest them as much as you
can do. I am an Englishman--a born Englishman."
"Yes, when it suits your purpose, ye cowardly Scottish dog!" exclaimed
one of the crowd, advancin towards him, and seizin him by a leg.
"We know you too well by your head-mark," said a second, bustlin forward
to hae a share in forcibly dismounting the wee bagman; a measure which
was now evidently contemplated, if not determined on, by the crowd.
"Yes, yes!" shouted a third, "he has the mark o' the beast on him. Doun
wi' him! doun wi' him! He can't deny the blue bonnet. Doun wi' it, and
the head that's in it!" Seein all eyes at this moment directed to that
part o' his person where a hat should have been, the wee bagman
instinctively clapped his hand on his head. It felt strange! There was
no superstructure--all was bare and flat. He pulled aff the mysterious
coverin, and beheld with horror and amazement a large, broad, Scottish
blue bonnet, the size o' a cart wheel, with a red knob, like an
overgrown cherry, in the centre o't.
"Ay, where got ye that? where got ye that?" exclaimed some one frae the
crowd. But, though the question was put, no answer was permitted to the
questioned. In the next instant he was on his back on the street, kickin
and strugglin amongst the feet o' his assailants, who applied the latter
to all parts o' his person wi' a rapidity and vigour o' execution that
threatened, and certainly would hae extinguished, the wee life o' him,
if he hadna been rescued a trifle on this side o't by a guard o'
sodgers, whom the alarm had brought to the spot.