party but those concerned in it; or, at least, if it was observed, it
was not understood; and in this predicament also stood he who had the
best opportunity of seeing it--namely, the laird. He saw all that passed
between Jones and the fiddler; but he could not make out what it meant;
nor did he seem to concern himself about discovering it. Having got the
fiddle into his possession, the laird commenced tuning it with great
assiduity, and with a bow stroke that showed he was well practised in
the use of the instrument. The tuning effected to his mind, he struck
up, with great vigour, a ranting Scotch reel, which he played with
uncommon spirit and skill. At first, the novelty of the measure took the
greater part of the audience by surprise. For a time they could make
nothing of it; but music being a universal language, both the spirit and
rhythm of the tune soon began to be perceived and appreciated; and, with
a little schooling from Jones, who seemed not only to understand the
music, but to be delighted with it, the dancers were placed in the order
of a reel; and, by a vigilant superintendence of their motions on the
part of the latter, they contrived to get through the figure with
tolerable correctness. All were delighted with the new dance. It was
repeated again and again, and every time with increased success, and a
diminishing necessity for the interference of Jones, who, having entered
fully into the spirit of the mirthful train, whooped and yelled as
vociferously as ever the laird had done. His enthusiasm was infectious;
all caught it--even the broad-beamed wife of Vander Tromp, who moved
under the inspiring influence of the laird's bow with an agility that no
one could have believed her ponderous person capable of; while the
others, including mine portly host himself, flung, and flew, and
shuffled, as madly as the witches in the midnight dance in Alloway Kirk.
The spell, in short, of the laird's music was complete, and each owned
the hilarious spirit which it was so well calculated to diffuse over all
who were within reach of its influence--in other words, over all who
were within hearing of the laird's admirably-played fiddle. Inspired
with additional glee by these indications of the powerful effect of his
music, the laird still further heightened its influence by breaking out,
as he played, into short, abrupt shouts, which were responded to, from
time to time, by the male dancers, but with most especial emphasis by
Jones, who seemed to be, altogether, at the very acme of human
enjoyment.
It was while the revellers were thus dinning the drowsy ear of night
with their obstreperous mirth, and while they were yet in the full
career of enjoyment, that four persons suddenly entered the kitchen of
the Drouthsloken. They were in the garb of seamen, wearing large, shaggy
pea-jackets, and low, round-crowned, glazed hats, with circular flaps
projecting behind. Although, however, all were dressed nearly alike,
there was one who evidently took the lead amongst them. He was a young
man, and had an air of authority in his manner to which the rest seemed
to pay deference. Some differences, too, in his outer habiliments,
notwithstanding of the general resemblance that prevailed in this
particular, pointed him out as of a superior grade to the others. This
person was not unknown to the inmates of the house. He was recognised as
Captain Hagedorn of the Jungfrau of Rotterdam--a man of fierce,
irascible temper, and an ardent, although not very acceptable, admirer
of Juliana. On his entrance, therefore, he was immediately greeted as an
acquaintance by Tromp, his wife, and their two daughters--by Juliana,
however, with an evident confusion and embarrassment of manner. To these
greetings, Hagedorn vouchsafed the return only of a surly and
unintelligible muttering, while he proceeded to provide himself with a
chair, on which he placed himself directly opposite the one-eyed
minstrel, at whom he threw, from time to time, looks of the most
malignant ferocity.
All, especially Juliana, who had reasons for fearing the worst, seemed
impressed with the belief that the fellow was bent on mischief, and that
he had come there for the especial purpose. Of this they were more
convinced, on observing the brass-tipped sheaths of cutlasses projecting
from beneath the pea-jackets of the intruders. Their fears were not long
of being realised.
"Tromp," said Hagedorn (we take the liberty of translating, in this, and
all other similar cases), "I thought you kept a regular, decent house.
Such is the character you pretend to, at any rate."
"And such," replied Tromp, with a blush of honest indignation, "is the
character I maintain. Who shall gainsay it?"
"Why, there are some things going on here to-night that don't look much
like it," replied Hagedorn. "Know ye, Tromp, or does Juliana know, who
this one-eyed gallant is?" pointing to the late serenader.
"Whether they do or not, they shall soon know, and so shall you to your
cost, Hagedorn!" replied the minstrel, starting to his feet, and hastily
stripping off the disguise, eye-patch and all, in which he was
enveloped; a proceeding which discovered to the astonished
onlookers--not, however, including either Jones or Juliana, who had a
previous knowledge of his identity--a tall, handsome,
gentlemanly-looking young man, well known as Sir Lionel Musgrave, one of
the gayest and most respected of those English gentlemen who shared the
misfortunes and exile of Charles II. during the existence of the
Commonwealth.
"Ha!" said Hagedorn, starting to his feet, on Musgrave discovering
himself. "So, I have unearthed the fox, eh!" And, as he spoke, he made a
grasp at Musgrave's throat; which the latter evaded by adroitly stepping
back a pace, when he instantly drew his sword and made a pass at
Hagedorn, who, however, skilfully warded it off with his cutlass, to
which he had had recourse the moment he missed his hold of his
antagonist. These proceedings were, of course, a signal to all the other
men in the apartment to muster on their respective sides; and this they
instantly did. Hagedorn's men immediately drew; Jones and his party did
the same; and the women ran screaming from the scene of the impending
contest. In one instant after, a general melee commenced. There were
deep oaths, overturning of tables, and clashing of swords in every
direction, and all the other characteristics of a tremendous and very
serious hubbub. Blows, too, were not wanting. They fell thick and fast
on all sides.
Hitherto our friend the laird had remained an idle, but
sufficiently-astonished spectator of the strange and sudden scene that
had been thus brought before his visual organs. Though an idle, he was
not altogether, however, a mute witness of the proceedings that were
going forward.
"'Od! this _is_ a queer business!" he muttered to himself. "Wha on earth
wad hae thocht that yon blin-ee'd, broken-doon-lookin soul o' a fiddler
wad hae turned oot a braw young swanky like that? Na, na, that'll no
do," suddenly added the laird, and now referring to the circumstance of
Jones being hard pressed by two of the intruders. "Twa on ane--that'll
never do." And the laird looked around him for some weapon wherewith he
might compensate the odds against his friend. Nothing of this kind more
efficient than the tongs presenting itself, the laird leaped down from
the table on which he had been perched in the quality of musician, and,
seizing the afore-mentioned instrument by the feet, advanced upon the
foe, shouting, "Stan to them, Jones! stan to them, lad! till I gie them
a taste o' the tangs!" And, in the same instant, he discharged a blow at
the head of one of Jones' assailants that laid him senseless on the
floor. Finding his first effort so successful, the laird repeated the
experiment on the prostrate man's companion with precisely the same
result. Down he went also with a fractured skull. "That's the way!"
shouted the laird, now greatly excited by his own destructive exertions;
"ca' them down like nine-pins! Soop them aff the face o' the yearth!"
At this moment, the laird's Io Paeans were interrupted by the entrance of
a party of the town-guard, whom Tromp had summoned to his aid. These
immediately seized on the intruders, as they were pointed out by the
latter--the fallen men having so far recovered as to be now sitting up,
although evidently sick and giddy from the effects of the laird's blows,
and looking, as he said himself, "unco white aboot the gills"--and
marched them off to the guard-house, to answer in due time to the
judicial authorities of the city for the breach of the peace of which
they had been guilty.
On the kitchen of the Drouthsloken being cleared of the enemy, an
investigation into the extent of personal injury sustained took place,
when it was found that this was, after all, very trivial, consisting
only of two or three slight flesh wounds, of which Musgrave bore two,
and one or two others one apiece.
"And now, laird," said Jones, addressing the latter, "what share of the
honours have you got?"
"Deil a scratch," replied the laird. "Feth, I didna gie them time for
that. I didna stan whilly-whain wi' them, wi' a bit shabble in my haun,
as ye a' did, but gied them richt knock-me-doon thuds at ance--sent them
owre like stots, ane after the ither. Feth! commen me to a pair o' tangs
in a kitchen row. It maks clean wark. I'll think mair o' them as a
weapon, baith o' offence and defence, than ever I did."
"In such hands as yours, laird, they certainly are a
sufficiently-formidable weapon. Had it not been for them and you
together, I would scarce have got off so scatheless as I have done. I
owe you a good turn, and it shall not be forgotten. I promised you an
introduction to the king; and I shall not only fulfil that promise, but,
as my word goes a long way with him, I shall give such an account of you
as, I answer for it, will insure you a favourable reception, and
probably procure you some still more substantial tokens of his regard."
"Ou, thank ye, sir, thank ye," said the laird; "but I dinna see that I
hae dune onything the nicht that should entitle me to ony special favour
frae his most gracious Majesty. What interest can he possibly hae in a
kitchen collyshangy like this?"
"More than you're aware of, perhaps, laird; but never mind that in the
meantime. Here comes Tromp, to read us a lecture, I daresay, on the
evening's occurrences, although it was none of our fault either. Ha,
Musgrave, my spark!" continued Jones, and now turning to that
gallant--"didst think I couldn't have known thee? 'Od's fish, man, I
would have known the cut of thy jib, although thou hadst been sewn in a
sack."
"Faith, your ----" A wink from Jones prevented the word that was about
to follow. The wink was understood. "Faith, my friend," said Musgrave,
laughing, "to tell a truth, I had no idea you were here. It was intended
for a stolen march--to see whether I could not win my wager, by cutting
ye out in the good graces of our landlord's fair daughter July." The
conversation between Jones and Musgrave was here interrupted by the
approach of Tromp, who came not, as the latter had suspected, to
complain of what had occurred, but merely to request that the gentlemen
would now retire, as it was getting late, and as his household was in a
state of great alarm and confusion, in consequence of what had taken
place.
The request was too respectfully made, and in itself too reasonable, to
admit of the smallest objection. The party immediately donned their hats
and cloaks, when Jones, taking the laird by the hand, told him to remain
where he was for the night, and that he would wait upon him on the
following morning to conduct him to the king.
Agreeably to his promise, early in the forenoon of the following day,
Jones, attended by a gay band of cavaliers, entered the apartment in
which the laird was at breakfast.
"Oh, Mr Jones, hoo are ye?" said the latter, rising from his seat on the
entrance of the former. "I'm sure this is very guid o' ye. Nane the waur
o' the bit stramash we had last nicht, I hope?"
"Oh! not a bit, not a bit, kind thanks to you for that, laird," replied
Jones. "Now, my friend," continued the latter, "I am better than my
word: I promised to bring you to the king; instead of this, I have
brought the king to you. Any objection, laird, to take me for your
lawful, but unfortunate king? I am Charles," he said, in a tone of more
earnest emphasis.
Need we describe the laird's amazement at this astounding disclosure? We
need not. The reader will conceive it. Although he looked unutterable
things, all that he said was--
"Gude preserve me! is that a fact?" pronounced in the slow, deliberate
tone of overwhelming and perplexed amazement.
The sequel of our tale is soon told. Charles settled a small pension on
the laird--all that his circumstances at the time would afford--on which
he lived for several years at the Hague. He subsequently found his way
back to Scotland, the distracted state of the king's affairs preventing
the regular payment of his pension. In the meantime, years rolled on,
and changes took place, and amongst these came the Restoration. Charles
was restored to the throne of his ancestors. On this throne the monarch
had not been many days seated, when he was informed by one of the pages
in waiting that they had been much annoyed by an old grey-headed
Scotchman, with a large flat blue bonnet on his head, insisting on
admission to His Majesty's presence.
"Did he give his name?" replied the monarch.
"He did, please your majesty," replied the page; "he said he was sure
that, if we would inform your majesty that it was the Laird of Lucky's
How who sought admission, your majesty would instantly grant him an
audience."
"He was right," said Charles, smiling. "I recollect the honest man well.
Admit him next time he presents himself."
The laird came, was admitted, and was received with a most cordial
welcome by the good-natured monarch. They talked over the occurrences of
the evening they had spent in the kitchen of the Drouthsloken; and the
laird was finally dismissed, with a promise, shortly afterwards
redeemed, of his being reinstated in his patrimonial lands. To this
other gratuities were added, to an amount that amply compensated him, as
he often himself said, for all that he had suffered in the royal cause.
Some will say, perhaps, and with too much truth, that Charles was not so
grateful to all his friends; but, in the present instance, we have only
to do with the case of the Laird of Lucky's How.
THE ABDUCTION.
The farm of Kelpiehaugh, at a short distance from Lessudden, was, at an
early period of the St Boswell's meetings, occupied by Giles Ramsay--a
man who, as often happens in Scotland, was not loth to admit that "his
grey mare was the better horse." He liked the philosophy of the old
ballad quoted by Shakspere, and received it as a general maxim, that
"nought's to be had at a woman's hand" unless, in every case, "ye gie
her a' the plea." And, verily, Matty did not love him the worse for his
correct notions of woman-kind, though, as for anything like gratitude
for his easy submission to her entire authority, she knew nothing of the
sentiment, if she did not heartily despise it. The reason was indeed
plain enough; for she had the capacity to know that, whatever
superiority nature intended her husband should possess over her, in his
character of one of the lords of the creation, he had none whatever in
the capacity of her husband. In this there was a secret which she
communicated to no one; and that was simply, that Giles was, in all
respects, a stupid, simple, honest "cudden," and she was one of the
cleverest dames that ever made a good-natured husband cry "barlafummil"
in a matrimonial skirmish. Yet, with all the guidwife's cleverness, she
had not been able either to prevent Giles from getting behind with his
rent--the more by token as, we fancy, that Kelpiehaugh was too dear--or
to get "the glaikit hizzy," Mary, her daughter, well buckled to a canny
laird, who might help them to pay up their arrears. The first was
clearly no marvel; but the second might have been termed some what
extraordinary, seeing the young woman was as fair as Dowsabell.
Something as regarded the rent depended upon the next sale of cattle at
St Boswell's, for which honest Giles had ready six as good stirks as
ever grazed on a green lea; and it was arranged between him and the
better partner of the matrimonial firm, that he must get six pounds for
every head of them, otherwise he might have small chance for "love's
roundelay" on his return.
"It will mak thirty-six pounds, Giles," said Matty; "and that will
enable us to pay up ten pounds o' oor arrears."
"And what will I get for a superplus o' a pound a-head on them?" said
Giles.
"The liberty to buy a new gown for Mary," replied she, "that we may try
to get her aff at the next fair. But, if ye sell them for a pound less,
I rede ye to seek a quieter bield for your hame than Kelpiehaugh will be
on your return."
And so primed, old Giles set off with his six stirks to St Boswell's. He
arrived at the green, and exposed his bestial in the most favourable
manner he could; but he found that Matty's price did not accord with the
humour of the buyers, who probably thought proper to judge for
themselves in the question of value. The time passed, and Giles saw
before him nothing but the necessity of driving the stirks back again to
Kelpiehaugh--an operation he by no means relished. As he stood musing on
the apparently forlorn hope of a customer, an old man, much bent, with a
grey beard, and a patch over his left eye as big as the blind of him of
forging celebrity, "Blackpatch" himself, came up to him, and at once
offered him eight pounds a-head for his stock. The old farmer wondered,
smiled, and accepted. The bargain was struck, and forty-eight good
pounds were instanter placed in the hands of the seller.
"Now I have a favour to ask of you, good Mr Ramsay," said the buyer.
"It will be an unreasonable request I winna grant to ane wha has gien me
my ain price," replied the farmer. "What is't?"
"That you will drive the cattle home to Kelpiehaugh, and keep them there
at my risk and cost till I send for them," said the other.
"Granted, and wi' thanks," said the farmer.
"I have another favour to ask," said the other.
"As mony's ye like, sir, if they're a' o' a kind," answered the farmer,
smiling. "Out wi't."
"That you'll give me a bed at Kelpiehaugh to-night," said the old man.
"I have a distance to ride, and would fain halve the stage, by making
your house a half-way resting-place.
"Of a surety, sir," replied the farmer; "ye'll hae the best bed and the
best victuals Kelpiehaugh can boast o', and nae boast after a', though
Matty, I am proud to say, kens hussyskep as weel as ony woman in a' the
shirradom. Will ye gang wi' me, or come yersel?"
"I will come by myself," said the buyer. "I have some other affairs to
settle before the fair breaks up, and it may be later than your time
before I have finished."
The matter being thus arranged, the two parted. Giles was anxious to
know who his customer was; but no one could tell anything of him, and
the hour getting forward to the gloaming, he set off again for his farm,
with his forty-eight pounds in his pocket, and the cattle before him. On
his approaching Kelpiehaugh, Matty, along with her fair daughter, was at
the door, waiting for him. It was now dark; but she could hear his voice
in articulations which pleased her not. "Hey! hey! yaud! yaud!" and then
came the sound of a thwack on the backs of the lazy troop he was driving
before him.
"And ye've brought them back again, ye sorry simpleton?" cried the wife.
The husband answered nothing, but continued thumping at the nolt with
his "hey," and "yaud," and "phew"--every ejaculation having the effect
of an objurgatory attack on the dame herself.
"Ay, ay," she cried, "thump them and drive them into the shed, Giles,
that they may be ready for the roup o' our plenishing and stocking. The
auctioneer's hammer will knock them down wi' mair pith than that rung ye
are using, wi' a' the spite o' an angry disappointed man, wha couldna
mak a sale o' his ain kye."
Her cutting words had still no effect upon the good-natured farmer, who
continued his operations till he got the six steers safely lodged in
their shed. He then came into the house quietly, and, with a "heigh-ho,
that job's weel owre," sat him down by the side of the fire, opposite to
his wife and daughter. For some minutes there was silence in the house
of Kelpiehaugh; the reason whereof was that Matty's authority was for
once apparently disregarded, or set at naught, by the apparent absence
of all tokens of fear and contrition on the part of her mate. She had
already indicated sufficiently her sense of his stupidity, and given him
a peremptory notice of what he might expect for the next half-year to
come; yet there was he, against all custom, and all the laws of marital
subordination, sitting as easy and comfortable as if he merited her
praise and deserved her blessing. She could only look daggers at him,
with occasionally an expression of staring wonder at a nonchalance that
disproved twenty years of authority.
"Is there naething in Kelpiehaugh for its master to eat or drink?" said
he, at last, in a calm, soft voice. "A hard day's wark deserves
something at e'en."
"Is he adding impertinence to his folly?" thought the dame, as she sat
doggedly silent and immoveable.
"Come, Mary," added he; "since Matty will gie us naething, rise, lassie,
and gie your father the best that's in the house, and, by way o' bribe,
here's a new gown to ye--the bonniest and brawest I could find at St
Boswell's."
The girl started up and laid hold of the dress. The bright hues glared
on her eyes. The dame cast a side-eye on the gaudy article.
"Waur and waur, Giles," she ejaculated. "Are ye mad, man? What, in the
name o' a' that's guid or ill, possessed ye? Will that gown pay our
rent?"
"Maybe it may," rejoined Giles. "Mary's the bonniest lass on this side
o' the Tweed, and beauty's nae waur o' being weel buskit. It may bring
her a husband wha'll pay our rent; and, if it doesna, there's nae
skaith, seeing we may yet be able to do it oursels."
"The man's as mad as a March hare, or a gled-stung quey," cried Matty.
"But am I to get nae supper, Matty?" rejoined he, with the same
calmness.
"The deil a bit," ejaculated the dame.
"Maybe this may bribe ye," said he, as he pulled out of another pocket a
gown-piece, as bright as the other, for his beloved spouse.
The charm had no power, save that of increasing the wonder of the dame;
and the statement which immediately followed, that there was a stranger
to be entertained at Kelpiehaugh that night, roused her still farther.
It was not till she began to look more narrowly into the face of her
husband, that she observed a dry humour about him, that might be
anything but the result of an unsuccessful attempt to dispose of his
bestial, and, going up to him, she shook him heartily by the shoulders.
"Come, come, Giles," she said, "there's a secret at the bottom o' a'
this, and maybe this may explain it."
And, seizing his pocket-book, she opened it, and pulled forth the bunch
of notes. They were counted on the instant, and the eyes of the dame
brightened up at every addition to the calculation. The farmer explained
all, and, in the course of his narration, Matty's wonder waxed great
again. She was not altogether satisfied. She looked at the notes, to see
that they were not forged; glanced at Giles; fell into a brown study;
looked at Mary; hemmed and heyed; and began to make preparations for the
stranger. In about an hour afterwards, the old customer arrived, was
ushered in to the fire, and took his seat, while Giles went to look to
the putting-up of his horse, which, he observed, was as clever and
clean-limbed a creature as that which carried the "fair ladye" and "true
Thomas" over the Eildon Hills. The supper was, in the meantime, in the
act of being served up. The old man coughed and told stories, Mary
listened, and Matty eyed her guest with a peculiar expression, which
made him rub his beard, cough more and more, and retire farther into the
recess which he had taken possession of. Nor would the supper draw him
forth; for he said he had supped before he came, yet had he no objection
to drink the ale which Matty handed him, and was as merry as an old man
might be, who had seen so many summers as his beard betokened. Many a
thing they talked of, but they all concerned the farmer, and his wife
and daughter; for the never a word would he say of himself, either as to
what he was, or where he lived--the dry skeleton of a name, Mr
Farquharson, being all he gratified them with, while, in return, he
asked so much of the condition and doings of his host and family, that
one might have thought he intended either to pay their arrears of rent,
or marry the daughter, at the very least. The supper, of which he
partook not, being done, he said he wished not to put them about in
their arrangements, and would be very well pleased to lie in the small
bed behind him, unless that were set apart for some other of the family.