Beef steaks and bacon hams
I can eat as lang's I'm able,
Cutlets, chops, and mutton pies;
Pork's the king o' a' the table!
_Fragment of an old Bachanalian Song._
"It has made my heart very sair that tale," said Charlie; "I wish you
hadna tauld it."
"I think it is nae tale ata'," said Tam Craik: "If I coudna hae tauld a
better tale than that, I wad never hae begun. I could now wager sax
merks, and sax brass mowdiworts to boot, that the Gospel-friar is the
man that shall be the first to thole the knife. And what for should he
no? He'll make the best mart amang us."
"I differ widely from you," said the poet, "with regard to the merits of
the tale. I love the friar for telling it; and I love him ten times
better for the part he took in the transaction. How I do admire the love
that has no selfish flaw, no moiety of sense to prompt its aberrations!
Should I ever get free from this vile pinnacle,--this grave in
altitude,--I'll search the world for that dear child, and find her too,
if in the world she be."
"Alas! I have searched, and searched in vain," answered the friar. "It
was so long before I knew of the mishap of my friend, and my darling
child, that all memory of the transaction was lost. I would travel from
sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth, to find out
that dear, that beloved maiden; and could I find her I would yet put her
in possession of the inheritance of her father. For I have instructed
the heads of our order, and they are preserving it in their own hands as
the patrimony of the orphan and the father-less."
During the time of the friar's narrative, Delany had been sitting close
by his knee in fixed and earnest attention; and at this time there
chancing to be a pause in the conversation, she looked wistfully about,
as if afraid she was going to commit herself by telling a lie. But there
was such a beam of intelligence playing over her lovely countenance,
that all the party fixed their eyes on her, as if watching with the
deepest interest what she was going to say.
"I have a confused dream of having heard something of this story
before," said she: "but subsequent events had quite obliterated the
traces of it from my memory, till this narrative renewed them: I think I
can give you some intelligence of this lost maiden. You said she was
called by her father's name. Do you recollect what that father of her's
was called?"
"Ay, that will I never forget while memory retains her seat in this
repentant bosom," said the friar. "His name was Captain Jacques
De-la-Veny."
"The very same," said the maid. "Then do you know ought of this? Or did
you ever see it before?"--and she took a small miniature from her bosom,
holding it near to the friar's eye.
"By the blessed stars of heaven, and the Holy Virgin that rules above
them!" exclaimed the friar; "it is the graven image of the captain of
fifty whom I slew in battle. I saw it placed in thy bosom, yea I held
thee on my knee till that chain of gold was locked about thy neck never
to be removed. Thou art indeed the daughter of the fairest and the
comeliest among women,--of her whom I loved far above my own life, and
for whom I travailled in pain; yea, thou art the child that I nursed and
held on my knee, and all the inheritance of thy fathers is thine.
Blessed be thou, my daughter! and blessed be they who have preserved
thee! Come to my bosom my child, my beloved, my fair one, that I may
fall on thy neck, and bless thee, and weep over thee; for my soul
rejoiceth that I have found thee."
The poet could stand it no longer; he threw himself at the maiden's
feet, and embraced them, and wept aloud. Charlie was busied in drawing
pictures of swords and cross-bows on the floor with the brazen end of
his sheathe, and always giving a loud sob as if his heart would burst.
Even Master Michael Scott once drew the back of his hand across his
eyes, though no one believed it was ought of sympathy that affected
him.
"The abbreviation of the name was so natural in the mouths of the people
of this land," said the friar, "that I wonder I should never have
recognised it, nor yet on the face of my dear child the features of her
mother. Hard has been thy lot, and the lot of thy fathers, but blessings
may yet remain in store for thee."
"I dinna see where they're to come frae," said Charlie, sighing louder
than ever. "It wad be the hardest thing I ever kend, if ane sae young,
sae bonnie, and sae good, after a' that she has borne, should be prickit
up atween the yird and the heaven here, to be hungered to dead, and then
eaten wi' the corbies."
"Life's sweet to us a'," said Gibbie: "She wad be as little missed as
ony that's here, if she _should_ be starved to death wi' hunger."
"She shall _not_ be starved to death wi' hunger;" cried Charlie, in a
tone of valiant desperation. "Na, na; afore she die o' hunger after a'
she has come through, I'll rather cut a limb off my ain body and feed
her wi't. An Corbie be spared, I can e'en ride by the warden's side wi'
a timmer ane."
"God bless you, for a kind heart," cried the poet.
"Gin I thought I were to win her mysel," said Tam, "and win away wi'
life out o' this luckless place, I wad do a good deal for her; but if I
trowed ony o' you were to get her frae me--I'll no tell you how I feel."
"Just as a hungry man should feel," said Gibbie; "and as ane wha has
starvation afore his een maun feel. It is e'en a sair trial, and often
brings me a-mind o' the story of Marion Gib's callant."
Master Michael Scott, thinking that, in right of seniority, the Laird
was now about to begin his trial story for life or death, made a signal
with his hand for his guests to compose themselves, which they did with
one consent; while Gibbie, pleased with the mark of deference shown to
him, went on:--
Laird of Peatstacknowe's Tale.
There wad aiblins nane o' you ken Marion. She lived i' the Dod-Shiel;
and had a callant to the lang piper, him that Squire Ridley's man beat
at the Peel-hill meeting. Weel, you see, he was a gilliegaupy of a
callant, gayan like the dad o' him; for Marion said he wad hae eaten a
horse ahint the saddle; and as her shieling wasna unco weel stored o'
meat, she had ill getting him mainteened; till at the lang and the last
it just came to this pass, that whenever Jock was i' the house, it was a
constant battle atween Marion and him. Jock fought to be at meat, and
Marion to keep him frae it, and mony hard clouts and claws there past.
They wad hae foughten about a haggis, or a new kirning o' butter, for a
hale hour, and the battle generally endit in Jock's getting a', or a
good shareo' ilka thing. (I wish we had sic things here, even though we
had to fight for them!) When he had fairly gained the possession, by
whatever means, he feasted with the greatest satisfaction, licking his
large ruddy lips, and looking all about him with eyes of the utmost
benevolence. Marion railed all the while that the poor lad was enjoying
himself, without any mercy and restraint, and there wasna a vile name
under the sun that had ony signification of a glutton in it, that she
didna ca' him by. Jock took the bite wi' the buffet;--he heard a' the
ill names, and munched away. Oh, how his heart did rejoice o'er a fat
lunch o' beef, a good haggis, or even a cog o' milk brose! Poor fellow!
such things were his joy and delight. So he snapped them up, and in two
or three hours after he was as ready for another battle as ever.
This was a terrible life to lead. Times grew aye the langer the waur;
and Marion was obliged to hire poor Jock to Goodman Niddery, to herd his
kye and his pet sheep. Jock had nae thoughts at a' o' ganging to sic a
job at first; but Marion tauld him ilka day o' the fat beef, the huge
kebbucks, and the parridge sae thick that a horn-spoon wadna delve into
them, till he grew impatient for the term day. That day came at length,
and Marion went away hame wi' her son to introduce him. The road was
gayan lang, and Jock's crappin began to craw. He speered a hunder times
about the meat at Goodman Niddery's house, and every answer that Marion
gae was better than the last, till Jock believed he was gaun home to a
continual feast. It was a delightful thought, for the craving appetite
within him was come to a great height. They reached the place, and went
into the kitchen. Jock's een were instantly on the look-out; but they
didna need to range far. Above the fire there hung two sides of bacon
more than three inches deep of fat, besides many other meaner objects:
The hind legs of bullocks, sheep, and deer, were also there; but these
were withered, black, and sapless in appearance. Jock thought the very
substance was dried out o' them. But the bacon! How it did make Jock
smack his lips! It was so juicy that even the brown bristly skin on the
outside of it was all standing thick o' eenbright beaming drops like
morning dew. Jock was established at Goodman Niddery's; he would not
have flitted again and left these two sides of bacon hanging there for
an estate. Marion perceived well where the sum of his desires was fixed,
and trembled for fear of an instant attack: Well might she; for Jock had
a large dirk or sheathed knife (a very useful weapon) that he wore, and
that he took twice out of its place, looked at its edge, and then at the
enormous bacon ham, which was more than three inches deep of solid fat,
with the rich drops of juice standing upon the skin. Jock drew his knife
on his sandal, then on the edge of a wooden table that stood beside him,
examined the weapon's edge again, and again fixed his green eyes on the
bacon. "What do the people mean," thought he to himself, "that they do
not instantly slice down a portion of that glorious meat, and fry it on
the coals? Would they but give me orders to do it,--would they even give
me the least hint, how slashingly I would obey!"
None of them had the good sense to give Jock ony sic orders. He was two
or three times on the very point of helping himself, and at last got up
on his feet, it was believed, for the sole purpose of making an attack
on the bacon ham, when, behold, in came Goodman Niddery.
"There's your master, sirrah!" whispered Marion, "haste ye and whup aff
your bonnet."
Jock looked at him. There was something very severe and forbidding in
his countenance; so Jock's courage failed him, and he even took aff his
bonnet, and sat down with that in his one hand and the drawn knife in
the other. Marion's heart was greatly relieved, and she now ventured on
a little conversation:
"I hae brought you hame my lad, Goodman, and I hope he'll be a good
servant to you."
"I coudna say, Marion: Gin he be as gude as you ca'ed him, he'll do. I
think he looks like ane that winna be behind at his bicker."
"Ay, weel I wat, Goodman, and that's true; and I wadna wish it were
otherwise. Slaw at the meat, slaw at the wark, ye ken."
"That _is_ a good hint o' my mother's!" thinks Jock to himsel: "What
though I should show the auld niggard a sample? The folk o' this house
surely hae nae common sense."
The dinner was now, however, set down on the kitchen-table. The goodman
sat at the head, the servants in a row on each side, and Jock and his
mother at the foot. The goodwife stood behind her servants, and gave all
their portions. The dinner that day consisted of broad bannocks, as hard
as horn, a pail of thin sour milk, called whig, and a portion of a large
kebbuck positively as dry as wood. Jock was exceedingly dissatisfied,
and could not but admire the utter stupidity of the people, and their
total want of all proper distinction. He thought it wonderful that
rational creatures should not know what was good for them. He munched,
and munched, and gnawed at the hard bread and cheese, till his jaws were
sore; but he never once looked at the food before him; but leaning his
cheek on his hand to rest his wearied grinders somewhat at every bite he
took, and every splash of the sour shilpy milk that he lapped in, he
lifted his eyes to the fat bacon ham with the juice standing on it in
clear bells.
Marion wished herself fairly out of the house, for she perceived there
would be an outbreak; and to prepare the good people for whatever might
happen, she said before going away,--"Now, goodwife, my callant's banes
are green, and he's a fast growing twig; I want to ken if he will get
plenty o' meat here."
"I winna answer for that, Marion;--he shall fare as the lave fare; but
he's may-be no very easily served. There are some misleared servants wha
think they never get enough."
"Tell me this thing, then, goodwife; will he see enough?"
"Ay; I shall answer for that part o't."
"Then I shall answer for the rest, goodwife."
Jock had by this time given up contending with the timber cheese, and
the blue sour milk, and, taking a lug of a bannock in his hand, the
size of a shoe sole, he went away and sat down at the fire-side, where
he had a full view of the bacon ham, three inches thick of fat, with the
dew standing on its brown skin.
The withered bread swallowed rather the better of this delicious sight;
so Jock chewed and looked, and looked and chewed, till his mother
entered into the security mentioned. "That is a capital hint," thought
Jock; "I shall verify my good mother's cautionry, for I can stand this
nae langer." He sprang up on a seat, sliced off a large flitch of bacon,
and had it on the coals before one had time to pronounce a word; and
then turning his back to it, and his face to the company, he stood with
his drawn dirk quite determined to defend his prey.
The goodwife spoke first up. "Gudeness have a care o' us! see to the
menseless tike!" cried she; "I declare the creature has na the breeding
o' a whalp!"
Jock was well used to such kind of epithets; so he bore this and some
more with the utmost suavity, still, however, keeping his ground.
Goodman Niddery grinned, and his hands shook with anger, as if struck
with a palsy; but for some reason or other he did not interfere. The
servants were like to burst with laughter; and Jock kept the goodwife at
bay with his drawn knife, till his slice was roasted; and then, laying
it flat on his dry piece of bread, he walked out to the field to enjoy
it more at leisure. Marion went away home; and the goodman and goodwife
both determined to be revenged on Jock, and to make him pay dear for his
audacity.
Jock gave several long looks after Marion as she vanished on Kettlemoor,
but he had left no kind of meat in her shieling when he came away, else
it was likely he would have followed his mother home again. He was still
smacking his lips after his rich repast, and he had seen too much good
stuff about the house of his new master to leave it at once; so he was
even fain to bid Marion good-b'ye in his heart, wipe the filial tear
from his eye, poor man, and try to reconcile himself to his new
situation.
"Do you carry aye that lang gully knife about wi' you, master cow-herd,
or how do they ca' ye?" said his master, when they next met after the
adventure of the bacon.
"I hae aye carried it yet," said Jock, with great innocence; "and a gay
gude whittle it is."
"Ye maun gie that up," said Niddery; "we dinna suffer chaps like you to
carry sic weapons about our house."
Jock fixed his green eyes on his master's face. He could hardly believe
him to be serious; still there was something in his look he did not
like; so he put his knife deeper into his pocket, drew one step back,
and, putting his under row of teeth in front of those above, waited the
issue of such an unreasonable demand.
"Come, come; give it up I say. Give it to me; I'll dispose of it for
you."
"I'll see you at the bottom o' the place my mother speaks about whiles,"
thought Jock to himself, afore I gi'e my gully either to you or ony
that belangs to you." He still kept his former position, however, and
the same kind of look at his master's face, only his een grew rather
greener.
"Won't you give it up, you stubborn thief? Then I will take it, and give
you a good drubbing into the bargain."
When Jock heard this, he pulled out his knife. "That is a good lad to do
as you are bidden," said his master. But Jock, instead of delivering up
his knife, drew it from the sheathe, which he returned to his pocket.
"Now I sal only say this," said he; "the first man that tries to take my
ain knife frae me--he may do it--but he shall get the length o't in his
monyplies first." So saying, he drew back his hand with a sudden jerk.
Goodman Niddery gave such a start that he actually leaped off the
ground, and holding up both his hands, exclaimed, "What a savage we have
got here! what a satan!" And without speaking another word he ran away
to the house, and left Jock standing with his drawn knife in his hand.
The goodman's stomach burned with revenge against Jock; so that night
he sent him supperless to bed, out of requital for the affair of the fat
bacon; and next day the poor boy was set down to a very scanty
breakfast, which was not fair. His eye turning invariably to one
delicious object, the goodman perceived well what was passing in his
heart; and, on some pretence, first sent away all the servants and then
the goodwife. He next rose up himself, with his staff in his hand, and,
going slowly away into the little parlour, said, as he went through the
kitchen, "What can be become o' a' the fo'k?" and with that entered the
dark door that opened in a corner. He made as though he had shut the
door, but he turned about within it and peeped back.
The moment that he vanished was the watch-word for Jock; he sprang from
his seat at the bottom of the table, and, mounting a form, began to
whang away at the bacon ham. Some invidious bone, or hard object of some
sort, coming unfortunately in contact with the edge of his knife, his
progress was greatly obstructed; and though he cut and sawed with all
his might, before he succeeded in separating a piece of about two pounds
weight from the main body, his master had rushed on him from his
concealment, and, by one blow of his staff, laid him flat on the floor.
The stroke was a sore one, for it was given with extreme good will, and
deprived Jock of sensibility for the time being. He and his form both
came down with a great rumble, but the knife remained buried in the fat
bacon ham; and the inveterate goodman was not satisfied with felling the
poor lad, but kicked him, and laid on him with his stick after he was
down. The goodwife at length came running, and put a stop to this
cruelty; and fearing the boy was murdered, and that they would be hanged
for it, she got assistance, and soon brought Jock again to himself.
Jock had been accustomed to fight for his meat, and, in some measure
laid his account with it, so that, on the whole, he took his broken head
as little to heart as could have been expected,--certainly less than any
other boy of the same age would have done. It was only a little more
rough than he had been prepared to look for; but had he succeeded in his
enterprise, he would not have been ill content. The goodwife and her
maids had laid him on a kitchen bed and bathed his temples; and on
recovering from stupefaction, the first thing he did was to examine his
pockets to see if he had his gully. Alak! there was nothing but the
empty sheathe. Then he _did_ lose the field, and fell a blubbering and
crying. The goodwife thought he was ill, and tried to sooth him by
giving him some meat. He took the meat of course, but his heart was
inconsolable; till, just when busy with his morsel, his eye chanced to
travel to the old place as if by instinct, and there he beheld the haft
of his valued knife sticking in the bacon ham, its blade being buried
deep in sappy treasures. He sprang over the bed, and traversing the
floor with staggering steps, mounted a form, and stretched forth his
hand to possess himself again of his gully.
"Aih! Gudeness have a care o' us," cried the goodwife; "saw ever ony
body the like o' that? The creature's bacon mad! Goodman! goodman, come
here!"
Jock, however, extricated his knife and fled, though he could scarcely
well walk. Some of the maids averred that he at the same time slid a
corner of the ham into his pocket; but it is probable they belied him,
for Jock had been munching in the bed but the moment before.
He then went out to his cows, weak as he was. He had six cows, some
mischievous calves, and ten sheep to herd; and he determined to take
good care of these, as also, now that he had got his knife again, not to
want his share of the good things about the house, of which he saw there
was abundance. However, several days came and went, and Jock was so
closely watched by his master and mistress all the time he was in the
house, that he could get nothing but his own scanty portion. What was
more, Jock was obliged every day to drive his charge far a-field, and
remain with them from morn till evening. He got a few porridge in the
morning, and a hard bannock and a bottle of sour milk to carry along
with him for his dinner. This miserable meal was often despatched before
eleven o'clock, so that poor Jock had to spend the rest of the day in
fasting, and contriving grand methods of obtaining some good meat in
future.
There was one thing very teasing: He had a small shieling, which some
former herd had built, and plenty of sticks to burn for the gathering or
cutting. He had thus a fire every day, without any thing to roast on it.
Jock sat over it often in the most profound contemplation, thinking how
delightfully a slice of bacon would fry on it,--how he would lay the
slice on his hard bannock, and how the juice would ooze out of it! Never
was there a man who had richer prospects than Jock had: still his
happiness lay only in perspective. But experience teaches man wisdom,
and wisdom points out to him many expedients.
Among Jock's fat sheep there was one fat ewe lamb, the flower of the
flock, which the goodwife and the goodman both loved and valued above
all the rest. She was as beautiful and playful as innocence itself, and,
withal, _as fat as she could lie in her skin_. There was one rueful day,
and a hungry one, that Jock had sat long over his little fire of sticks,
pondering on the joys of fat flesh. He went out to turn his mischievous
calves, whose nebs were never out of an ill deed, and at that time they
had strayed into the middle of a corn field. As bad luck would have it,
by the way he perceived this dawted ewe lamb lying asleep in the sun;
and, out of mere frolic, as any other boy would have done, he flew on
above her and tried if he could hold her down. After hard struggling he
mastered her, took her between his feet, stroked her snowy fleece and
soft downy cheek, and ever, as he patted her, repeated these words, "O
but ye be a bonny beast!"
The lamb, however, was not much at her ease; she struggled a little now
and then, but finding that it availed not, she gave it over; and seeing
her comrades feeding near her, she uttered some piteous bleats. They
could afford her no assistance, but they answered her in the same
tremulous key. After patting her a good while, Jock began to handle her
breast and ribs, and found that she was in good earnest _as fat as
pork_. This was a ticklish experiment for the innocent lamb. Jock was
seized with certain inward longings and yearnings that would not be
repressed. He hesitated long, long, and sometimes his pity awoke,--but
there was another natural feeling that proved the stronger of the two;
so Jock at length took out his long knife and unsheathed it. Next he
opened the fleece on the lamb's throat till its bonny white skin was
laid bare, and not a hair of wool to intervene between it and the point
of his knife. He was again seized with deep remorse, as he contemplated
the lamb's harmless and helpless look; so he wept aloud, and tried to
put his knife again into its sheathe, but he could not.
To make a long tale short, Jock took away the lamb's life, and that not
in the most gentle or experienced way. She made no resistance, and only
uttered one bleat. "Poor beast!" said Jock; "I dare-say ye like this
very ill, but I canna help it. Ye are suffering for a' your bits o' ill
done deeds now."
The day of full fruition and happiness for Jock was now arrived. Before
evening he had roasted and eaten the kidneys, and almost the whole of
the draught or pluck. His heart rejoiced within him, for never was there
more delicious food. But the worst of it was, that the devils of calves
were going all the while in the middle of a corn field, which his master
saw from the house, and sent one running all the way to turn them. The
man had also orders to "waken the dirty blackguard callant if he was
sleeping, and gie him his licks."
Jock was otherwise employed; but, as luck would have it, the man did not
come into his hut, nor discover his heinous crime; for Jock met him
among the corn, and took a drubbing with all proper decorum.
But dangers and suspicions encompassed poor Jock now on every side. He
sat down to supper at the bottom of the board with the rest of the
servants, but he could not eat a single morsel. His eyes were not fixed
on the bacon ham as usual, and moreover they had quite lost that sharp
green gleam for which they were so remarkable. These were circumstances
not to be overlooked by the sharp eyes of his master and mistress.
"What's the matter wi' the bit dirty callant the night?" said the
latter. "What ails you, sirrah, that you hae nae ta'en your supper? Are
you weel eneugh?"
Jock wasna ill, he said; but he could not enter into particulars about
the matter any farther. The goodman said, he feared the blade had been
stealing, for he did not kythe like ane that had been fasting a' day;
but after the goodwife and he had examined the hams, kebbucks, beef
barrel, meal girnel, and every place about the house, they could discern
nothing amissing, and gave up farther search, but not suspicion.
Jock trembled lest the fat lamb might be missed in the morning when he
drove out his flock, but it was never remarked that the lamb was
a-wanting. He took very little breakfast, but drove his kine and sheep,
and the devils of calves, away to the far field, and hasted to his wee
housie. He borrowed a coal every day from a poor woman, who lived in a
cot at the road side, to kindle his fire, and that day she noticed what
none else had done, that his coat was all sparked over with blood, and
asked him of the reason. Jock was rather startled by the query, and gave
her a very suspicious look, but no other answer.
"I fear ye hae been battling wi' some o' your neighbours," said she.
This was a great relief for Jock's heart. "Ay, just that," said he, and
went away with his coal.
What a day of feasting Jock had! He sliced and roasted, and roasted and
ate till he could hardly walk. Once when the calves were going into a
mischief, which they were never out of, he tried to run, but he could
not run a foot; so he was obliged to lie down and roll himself on the
ground, take a sleep, and then proceed to work again.
There was nutrition in the very steams that issued from Jock's hut; the
winds that blew over it carried health and savoury delight over a great
extent of country. A poor hungry boy that herded a few lean cows on an
adjoining farm, chancing to come into the track of this delicious
breeze, became at once like a statue. He durst not move a step for fear
of losing the delicious scent; and there he stood with his one foot
before the other, his chin on his right shoulder, his eyes shut and his
mouth open, his nose being pointed straight to Jock's wee housie. The
breeze still grew richer, till at last it led him as straight as there
had been a hook in his nose to Jock's shieling; so he popped in, and
found Jock at the sublime employment of cooking and eating. The boy
gaped and stared at the mangled body of the lamb, and at the rich repast
that was going on; but he was a very ignorant and stupid boy, and could
not comprehend any thing; so Jock fed him with a good fat piece well
roasted, and let him go again to his lean cows.
Jock looked very plump and thriving-like that night; his appearance was
quite sleek, somewhat resembling that of a young voluptuary; and, to
lull suspicion, he tried to take some supper, but not one bite or soap
was he able to swallow. The goodwife, having by that time satisfied
herself that nothing was stolen, became concerned about Jock, and wanted
him to swallow some physic, which he peremptorily refused to do.
"How can the puir thing tak ony meat?" said she. "He's a' swalled i' the
belly. Indeed I rather suspect that he's swalled o'er the hale body."
The next morning, as Jock took out his drove, the goodman was standing
at the road side to look at them. Jock's heart grew cold, as well it
might, when the goodman called out to him, "Callant, what hae you made
o' the gude lamb?"
"Is she no there?" said Jock, after a long pause, for he was so much
astounded that he could not speak at the first.
"Is she no there!" cried the goodman again in great wrath, imitating
Jock's voice; "If ye binna blind, ye may see that. But I can tell you,
my man, gin ye hae letten ought happen to that lamb, ye had better never
hae been born."
"What can be comed o' the beast?" said Jock; "I had better look the
house, she's may be stayed in by herself."
Jock didna wait for an order, but, glad to be a little farther off from
his master, he ran back and looked the fold and sheep-house, and every
nettle bush around them, as he had been looking for a lost knife.
"I can see naething o' her," said he, as he came slounging back, hanging
his head, and keeping aloof from the goodman, who still carried his long
pike staff in his hand.
"But I'll mak you see her, and find her baith, hang-dog," said he; "or
deil be in my fingers an I dinna twist your neck about. Are you sure you
had her yestreen?"
O yes! Jock was sure he had her yestreen. The women were examined if
they had observed her as they milked the cows. They could not tell. None
of them had seen her; but they could not say she was not there. All was
in commotion about the steading, for the loss of the dawted pet lamb,
which was a favourite with every one of the family.
Jock drove his cattle and nine sheep to the field--roasted a good collop
or two of his concealed treasure, and snapped them up, but found that
they did not relish so well as formerly; for now that his strong
appetite for fat flesh was somewhat allayed, yea even fed to loathing,
he wished the lamb alive again: He began, moreover, to be in great
bodily fear; and to provide against the probability of any discovery
being made, he lifted the mangled remains of his prey, and conveyed them
into an adjoining wood, where he covered them carefully up with withered
leaves, and laid thorns above them, "Now!" said Jock, as he left the
thicket, "let them find that out wha can."
The goodman went to all the herds around enquiring after his lamb, but
could hear no intelligence of her till he came to the cottage of poor
Bessie, the old woman that had furnished Jock with a coal every day.
When he put the question to her, the rock and the lint fell out of
Bessie's hand, and she sat a while quite motionless.
"What war ye saying, goodman? War ye saying ye had lost your bonnie pet
lamb?"
"Even sae, Bessie."
"Then, goodman, I fear you will never see her living again. What kind o'
callant is that ye hae gotten? He's rather a suspicious looking chap. I
tentit his claes a' spairged wi' blude the tither day, and baith this
and some days bygane he has brought in his dinner to me, saying that he
dought nae eat it."
Goodman Niddery could make no answer to this, but sat for a while
grumphing and groaning as some late events passed over his mind;
particularly how Jock's belly was swollen, and how he could not take any
supper. But yet the idea that the boy had killed his favourite, and
eaten her, was hardly admissible: the deed was so atrocious he could not
conceive any human being capable of it, strong as circumstances were
against his carnivorous herd. He went away with hurried and impatient
steps to Jock's wee house, his old colley dog trotting before
him, and his long pike-staff in his hand. Jock eyed him at a distance,
and kept out of his path, pretended to be engaged in turning the calves
to a right pasture, and running and threshing them with a long goad; for
though they were not in any mischief then, he knew that they would soon
be in some.
The goodman no sooner set his nose within Jock's shieling than he was
convinced some horrid deed had been done. It smelled like a cook's
larder; and, moreover, his old dog, who had a very good scent, was
scraping among the ashes, and picking up fragments of something which he
seemed very much to enjoy. Jock did not know what to do when he saw how
matters stood, yet he still had hopes that nothing would appear to
criminate him. The worst thing that he saw was the stupid hungered boy
on the adjoining farm coming wading through the corn. He had left his
dirty lean kine picking up the very roots of the grass, and had come
snouking away in hopes of getting another fat bit for his impoverished
stomach. But, when he saw Goodman Niddery come out of the cot with
impassioned strides, he turned and ran through the strong corn with his
whole might, always jumping up as he proceeded.
The goodman called angrily on his old dog to come after him, but he
would not come, for he was working with his nose and fore feet among
Jock's perfumed ashes with great industry; so the goodman turned back
into the house, and hit him over the back with his long pike-staff,
which made him glad to give over, and come out about his business; and
away the two went to reconnoitre further.
As soon as the old dog was fairly a-field again, he took up the very
track by which Jock had carried the carcase that morning, and went as
straight as a line to the hidden treasure in the thicket. The goodman
took off the thorns, and removed the leaves, and there found all that
remained of his favourite and beautiful pet lamb. Her throat was all cut
and mangled, her mouth open, and her tongue hanging out, and about one
half of her whole body a-wanting. The goodman shed tears of grief, and
wept and growled with rage over the mangled form, and forthwith resolved
(which was hardly commendable) to seize Jock, and bring him to that very
spot and cut his throat.
Jock might have escaped with perfect safety had he had the sense or
foresight to have run off as soon as he saw his master enter the wood;
but there seems to be an infatuation that directs the actions of some
men. Jock did not fly, but went about and about, turning his kine one
while, his nine sheep another, and always between hands winning a pelt
at one of the ill-conditioned calves, till his incensed master returned
from the fatal discovery, and came up to him. There was one excuse for
him, he was not sure if the carcase had been found, for he could not see
for the wood whether or not his master went to the very place, and he
never thought of the sagacity of the dog.
When Goodman Niddery first left the wood, he was half running, and his
knees were plaiting under him with the anticipation of horrid revenge.
Jock did not much like his gait; so he kept always the herd of cows, and
the sheep too, betwixt himself and this half-running master of his. But
the goodman was too cunning for poor Jock; he changed his step into a
very slow careless walk, and went into the middle of the herd of cows,
pretending to be whistling a tune, although it was in fact no tune, but
merely a concatenation of tremulous notes on C sharp, without the least
fall of harmony. He turned about this cow and the other cow, watching
Jock all the while with the tail of his eye, and trilling his hateful
whistle. Jock still kept a due distance. At length the goodman called to
him, "Callant, come hither, like a man, and help me to wear this cow
against the ditch. I want to get haud o' her."
Jock hesitated. He did not like to come within stroke of his master's
long stick, neither did he know on what pretence absolutely to refuse
his bidding; so he stood still, and it was impossible to know by his
looks whether he was going to comply or run off altogether. His master
dreaded the latter, and called to him in a still kinder manner, until
Jock at last unfortunately yielded. The two wore the cow, and wore the
cow, up against the ditch, until the one was close upon her one side,
and the other upon her other. "Chproo! hawkie! chproo, my bonnie cow!"
cried the goodman, spreading out his arms, with his pike-staff clenched
fast in his right hand; then springing by the cow in a moment, he flew
upon Jock, crying out, with the voice of a demon, "D--n you, rascal! but
I'll do for you now!"
Jock wheeled about to make his escape, and would have beat his master
hollow, had he been fairly started, or timeously apprised of his
dreadful danger; but ere he had run four or five steps the pike-staff
came over the links of his neck such a blow that it laid him flat on his
face in a mire. The goodman then seized him by the cuff of the neck with
the one hand, and by the hair of his head with the other, and said, with
a triumphant and malicious laugh, "Now, get up, and come away wi' me, my
braw lad, and I'll let you see sic a sight as you never saw. I'll let
you see a wally-dy sight! Get up, like a good cannie lad!"
As he said this he pulled Jock by the hair, and kicked him with his
foot, until he obliged him to rise, and in that guise he led him away to
the wood. He had a hold of his rough weatherbeaten hair with the one
hand, and with the other he heaved the cudgel over him; and as they went
the following was some of the discourse that passed between them.
"Come away, now, my fine lad. Are nae ye a braw, honest, good callant?
Do nae ye think ye deserve something that's unco good frae me? Eh? Ay,
ye surely deserve something better nor ordinar': And ye shall hae it
too."--(Then a kick on the posteriors, or a lounder with the
staff.)--"Come your ways like a sonsy, brave callant, and I'll let you
see a bonny thing and a braw thing in yon brake o' the wood, ye ken."
Jock cried so piteously that, if his master had not had a heart of
stone, he would have relented, and not continued in his fatal purpose;
but he only grew the longer the more furious.
"O let me gang! let me gang! let me gang!" cried Jock. "Let me gang! let
me gang! for it wasna me. I dinna ken naething about it ata'!"
"Ye dinna ken naething about what, my puir man?"
"About yon bit sheep i' the wood, ye ken."
"You rascal! you rogue! you villain! you have confessed that you kend
about it, when I wasna speiring ony sic question at you. You hound! you
dog! you savage wolf that you are! Mother of God! but I will do for you!
You whelp! you dog! you scoundrel! come along here." (Another hard
blow.) "Tell me now, my precious lad, an ye war gaun to be killed, as ye
ken something about killing, whether would you choose to have your
throat cut, or to have your feet tied and be skinned alive?"
"O dinna kill me! dinna kill me!" cried poor Jock. "My dear master,
dinna kill me, for I canna brook it. Oh, oh! an ye kill me I'll tell my
mother, that will I; and what will Marion say t'ye, when she has nane
but me? Oh master, dinna kill me, and I'll never do the like o't again!"
"Nay, I shall take warrant for that: you shall never do the like o't
again!"
In this melancholy and heart-breaking manner he dragged him on all the
way by the rough towsy head, kicking him one while, and beating him
another, till he brought him to the very spot where the mangled remains
of the pet lamb were lying. It was a blasting sight for poor Jock,
especially as it doubled his master's rage and stern revenge, and these
were, in all conscience, high enough wrought before. He twined the
hapless culprit round by the hair, and knocked him with his fist, for he
had dropped the staff to enable him to force Jock to the place of
sacrifice; and he swore by many an awful oath, that if it should cost
him his life, he would do to Jock as he had done to that innocent lamb.
With that he threw him on the ground, and got above him with his knees;
and Jock having by that time lost all hope of moving his ruthless
master by tears or prayers, began a struggling with the force which
desperation sometimes gives, and fought with such success that it was
with difficulty his master could manage him.
It was very much like a battle between an inveterate terrier and a bull
dog; but, in spite of all that Jock could do, the goodman got out his
knife. It was not, however, one like Jock's, for it had a folding blade,
and was very hard to open, and the effecting of this was no easy task,
for he could not get both his hands to it. In this last desperate
struggle, Jock got hold of his master's cheek with his left hand, and
his nails being very long, he held it so strait that he was like to tear
it off. His master capered up with his head, holding it back the full
length of Jock's arm; yet still being unable to extricate his cheek from
Jock's hold, he raised up his knife in his right hand in order to open
it with his teeth, and, in the first place, to cut off Jock's hand, and
his head afterwards. He was holding down Jock with his right knee and
his left hand; and while in the awkward capering attitude of opening
his knife, his face was turned nearly straight up, and his eyes had
quite lost sight of his victim. Jock held up his master's cheek, and
squeezed it still the more, which considerably impeded his progress in
getting the knife open; and, at that important moment, Jock whipped out
his own knife, his old dangerous friend, and struck it into the
goodman's belly to the haft. The moment he received the wound he sprang
up as if he had been going to fly into the air, uttered a loud roar, and
fell back above his dead pet lamb.
Lord, how Jock ran! He was all bespattered with blood, some of it his
own, and some of it his master's; wanted the bonnet, and had the bloody
knife in his hand; and was, without all doubt, a wild frightsome-looking
boy. As he sped through the wood, he heard the groans and howls of his
master in the agonies of death behind him. Every one of them added to
Jock's swiftness, till it actually became beyond the speed of mortal
man. If it be true that love lends a pair of wings, fear, mortal fear,
lends two pair. There is nought in life I regret so much as that I did
not see Jock in this flight; it must have been such an extraordinary
one. There was poor Jock flying with the speed of a fox from all the
world, and yet still flying into the world. He had no home, no kindred
to whom he durst now retreat, no hold of any thing in nature, save of
his own life and his good whittle; and he was alike unwilling to part
with either of these. The last time he was seen was by two women on
Kirtle-common. He appeared sore bespent, but was still running on with
all his might.
The goodman was found before the evening, but only lived to tell how he
had come by his end. All his friends and servants were raised, and sent
in pursuit of Jock. How he eluded them no man knows; but from that day
Marion's Jock has never been more seen or heard of in this land.