fancy to it. A sma' reward for the guid price ye gae for the cattle.
Mary can sleep for a nicht in the kitchen--for Jenny is at St Boswell's,
and winna be hame before the morn."
"You will have only one night's trouble of me," replied the old man;
"but you may have more of the cattle--eight at least--and I think I will
better pay you beforehand, Mr Ramsay, that there may be no mistake when
the men come to take them away."
And he put into the farmer's hand three times the sum he would have
demanded for the keeping of the steers. The farmer would have refused
the money, but Matty, whose by-play all along had been unnoticed by her
husband, pinched him on the arm, and the words of rejection died away in
his mouth. The parties afterwards retired to bed, leaving the strange
visiter in the apartment allotted to him.
"I never did a better day's wark, guidwife," said the farmer to his
partner, when they went up-stairs.
"Hush! hush! man, ye dinna ken what ye have done," replied she; and the
next moment she was busy whispering something in the ear of the farmer.
He started instantly, cried, "Impossible, impossible!" and stood for a
moment in dismay and consternation. But Matty gave him no time for
thought. She was again busy with his ear; and the next exhibition he
made was of an opposite character--a strange expression was upon his
face, and he slapped her upon the back in the extravagance of a feeling
that, whether betokening good-humour or not, seemed to have no bounds.
In a short time, the house was as quiet as Grimalkin himself could have
wished it, when bent on a hunting foray. All had apparently gone to bed,
and the stillness continued till considerably after midnight. A slow tap
at the kitchen-door showed that one individual at least was astir.
"Mary, Mary, are you awake?" said a voice, that at least was
uninterrupted by a cough.
The answer was a whisper from within. After some parley, the door was
opened, and a series of secret doings, among which the opening of the
outer door of the house, a recourse to the stable, the saddling of the
fleet horse, and other furtive preparations for a departure, were the
most important. During all this time, the figure of a female wrapped in
a cloak stood in the recess of the door. The horse was quietly walked to
the loan, and the mantled figure glided as secretly as a ghost, who
knows that the pimp Gallus will shortly awaken, to the starting-post.
One swing brought her to the pad, and another placed before her one whom
the light of the faint moon exhibited without a bend in his body or
beard on his chin. Away they set--
"On, on they rade, and farther on--
The steed gaed swifter than the wind--
Until they reach'd a desert wide,
And living land was left behind."
Not a word passed between the couple. The one was occupied spurring on
the steed, and the other clung to him, as if love had nerved her arms,
and made them as tenacious of the grasp of his waist as Lenora, of
German celebrity, was of the soulless body of her Wilhelm. Sometimes he
slackened his pace, to ascertain whether the guidman of Kelpiehaugh was
up and away in quest of runaway bride, like the Graemes after the heiress
of Netherby, over Cannobie-lee; and then, when he thought he heard the
clatter of a horse's hoof, he applied the spur again, and away they
went, over moss and muir, with such speed as love and fear in the rider
may alone impart to the obedient steed. At other times, the space of a
few minutes was devoted to soft whispers, and the gallant pressed the
encircling arms of his fair one, and sighed as he felt her embrace as
tight as a lover's heart could wish. He was as happy as one who is on
the verge of the enjoyment of stolen pleasures can be in a world where
lawful indulgences had no zest for him; and he turned his head for the
muffled kiss, which was granted as freely as any rieving lover, even
Lochinvar himself or Jock o' Hazeldean, could have desired. Nor less was
he pleased with the pressure of her fair arms, which accompanied or
followed the other demonstrations of her affection, and the speed of his
steed, now safe, as he thought himself, from all pursuit, was quickened,
that he might reach the goal, where all the joys of a long-sighed-for
possession awaited him. At length he gave his horse breathing-time, and,
taking himself a long inspiration--
"When, think ye, Mary," said he, "I will send for the six steers I
purchased from your father yesterday?"
"Maybe never, Robert," was the whispered reply.
"You say right, love. It was never my intention," said he. "I thought it
but fair to leave old Giles some consideration for his daughter."
A squeeze was the expression of the gratitude felt by the female for the
boon so generously bestowed on the farmer of Kelpiehaugh.
"Was I known, think ye?" he continued. "I liked not the sharp eye of
your mother. By my faith! I quailed under it. The devil an ancient
carlin duenna in an old romance ever observed so sharp a look-out for
the safety of her ward. But, ha! ha! Mary, we have outwitted the old
dame, and let her catch us now, if she can. We want only two miles of
Langholm, and then, hey! hey! and be merry, as the song says--
'Now all this time let us be merry,
And set nocht by this world a cherry.'
Safe in my house at Langholm, Mary, let Giles and his old dame enjoy the
bargain they have got. They may sell the steers at the next fair of St
Boswell's; but I will not so soon part with my Mary."
"Na, I hope not," replied the whispering female. "But hearna ye the
sounds of a horse's feet?"
The lover turned his head.
"Your father, by the rood!" cried he; and, clapping spurs again to his
horse, they set off at a quick gallop, with a view to distance their
pursuer, who was no other than Giles Ramsay himself, mounted on one of
his quickest plough-horses, and brandishing a huge cudgel, in the double
act of beating his nag and threatening vengeance on the fugitives.
The pursued were now in danger of being overtaken; for the greater speed
of the hunter was counterbalanced by the greater burden, and it was
clearly a cast-up whether they would be able to escape the vengeance
that awaited them. But, whatever might be the issue, there was no want
of energy in either hand or heel of the abductor; and he lashed and
spurred his steed more furiously as his fears increased--
"Still looking the sidelong woods among,
Before, around him, and behind;
And aye, whene'er the echo rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind."
And no less energetic was the fearful pursuer, whose hearty thwacks upon
the curpan of his shaggy cart-tracer, mixed with loud halloos, might be
heard in the distance, awakening the echoes of the silent night. The
lover relished not the appearance, and still less the cries, of the
lusty farmer; and as little apparently did his companion--who, as the
horse increased his speed, grasped her abductor round the waist--wish to
fall into the hands of the enraged pursuer. Away they scoured, and,
"Fear not, Mary--love will distance the old churl," fell from the lips
of the panting lover, in reply to the inspiring pressure of her arms;
while, "Na, na, Robert, flee for the love o' heaven," added more energy
to the spur, and more passion to his breast. They reached the skirts of
the woody Langholm; but it was not the abductor's intention to stop at
his residence, while he was in danger of being overtaken; so, striking
to the left, and dashing into a _corrie_, or deep lirk of a hill, he
stretched on with the flight of desperation. His wish was to clear the
fern brae, as the height was called, and, getting into the thick wood at
the back, make a sudden turn, and elude the quick eye of the farmer; but
the latter kept dashing and bounding on, hallooing in the distance, and
still brandishing his oaken ryss, in the most fearful demonstrations of
a vengeance that would be contented with nothing less, apparently, than
the body of the one, and the life of the other. Still the fond female
turned her eyes behind, and, giving her companion reports of the
progress of the pursuer, kept up his energies and alive his spirit.
"All the work of that accursed old duenna, your mother," muttered he.
"Ay, ay, nae doot, nae doot," rejoined she, and hugged him again more
closely than ever. The turn of the fern hill did not seem, however, to
bring the relief which it promised, for the couple were still within
hail of the redoubted Giles; and his shouting reverberated among the
rocks like the tally-ho of the hunter, or rather like the deep-mouthed
bay of the pack.
But here a more extraordinary phenomenon presented itself, and that was
an accession of strength to the sturdy Giles of no fewer than three
horsemen, who, probably attracted by his war-whoop, had tendered their
services in endeavouring to overtake and seize the fugitives. This
circumstance was proclaimed by a united cry of the whole pursuers, which
rung in the ears of the lover like the howl which met the Florentine on
his visit to the region of the wicked in Hades. There was, however, more
in the appearance of the strangers, as seen in the light of the now
bright moon, than in their war-shout that carried dismay to the breast
of the abductor. What this was, he told not; but his muttering of "Who
can have brought him and his servants to this part of the country at
this time?" satisfied his companion that he knew the individuals who had
thus opportunely joined the cause of the farmer; and now, if indeed that
were possible, he urged his panting steed forward at a still quicker
pace. His chance of escape was diminishing every moment. The horses of
the assistants were fleeter than those of the farmer; and, if he did not
succeed in overtaking the fugitives, it was too evident that they would
accomplish for him the object he had in view. The lover seemed doubtful
what he should do--whether still to press on, lay down his charge, or
make a sweep round the hill, and take refuge in Langholm. A clump of
trees now intervening between him and the party, he appeared to resolve
suddenly on the last manoeuvre; and his reason probably was, that he
might have time to secrete his fair one among some of the outhouses of
the mansion before the pursuers came up. Acting upon this resolution, he
turned the head of his horse, swept in by the tail of the height, struck
into a loan, and, after a rapid run of a few minutes, was opposite to
the house of Langholm.
"Quick! quick, Mary! jump and follow me," he cried, as he took her in
his arms. "This way," and he flew first to one door and then another.
They were shut, and he had no alternative left but to take his fair
charge into the mansion itself. Rushing up-stairs, and dragging after
him his abducted love, he reached a small bedroom, thrust her into it,
shut the door, locked it, and returned to face boldly his pursuers. By
the time he arrived at the landing-place, his horse had sought the
stable; and there was no apparent sign, save his appearance there at
that hour, of his having been engaged in the unlawful undertaking for
which he had been so hotly pursued.
"I have paid well for my love-errantry," said he, as he took a
handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from his face. "There is not another
beauty in Scotland for whom I would have toiled as I have now done. Have
I given them the slip? Mayhap I may, unless I am right in that fearful
conjecture, suggested by the appearance of my strange pursuers."
"Ho, there!" cried the voice of a man, rushing up on horseback. "What is
this, Robert?"
"My father!" ejaculated the youth; "what has brought you from Craigton
at this hour?"
"Robert! Robert!" ejaculated a voice from a bedroom window, at that
moment drawn up--"why have you placed a woman in my bedroom, and locked
her in?"
"Is that you, my love?" rejoined the father, in answer to the cry of his
wife. "Why, here is some infernal mystery. Your mother and I arrived
here to-day. We heard you were at St Boswell's, and I left her here that
I might go and join you at the market. Now I have returned to witness a
scene that baffles all my wits. Here is a man who has a claim upon you
which your mother corroborates by her extraordinary inquiry."
The cavalcade at that moment came up--Giles in the rear, still
brandishing his rung, and muttering incoherent threats against the
abductor. The youth was surrounded: his father cried for information,
his mother screamed from the window. Giles demanded restitution, and the
voice of the abducted female was heard in shrill tones over all.
"Ha! Matty, lass, this is sad wark," cried the farmer, on recognising
the voice of his wife.
"Is it possible, Robert Melville," said the father, "that you could
disgrace your family and your pedigree, by carrying off the wife of this
honest farmer--a woman stricken in years--and place her in the bedroom
occupied by your mother?"
"It's owre true," cried Giles, with something like a suppressed laugh.
"I see her face at the window. He came to Kelpiehaugh habited as an auld
man, wi' a grey beard stuck on his chin, and a scratch wig on his head;
and, in return for a supper and a bed, carried aff my helpmate, wi' whom
I hae lived, in love and honour, for thirty years."
The scene was getting more extraordinary. The young man was sceptical of
the truth of Giles' statement; but he could not disprove it by stating
what he conceived to be the veritable fact--that he had run away with
Mary, the young daughter of the farmer of Kelpiehaugh. He looked at the
latter, then turned up his eyes to the window, where he then saw only
the face of his mother. Her cries still rung in his ears; the father
called for the key; Giles insisted on the truth of his statement; and
the inquiries of the servants mingled with the general confusion. By an
impulse he could not resist, he gave his father the key; the door was
opened, and the mother, who was now dressed, came down-stairs, along
with her husband, followed by the female, on whom they turned eyes in
which wonder and indignation alternated their suitable expressions. The
female threw back her hood.
"We hae had a lang and a hard ride, Mr Melville," said she. "My feth, ye
did weel, but your horse did better; and, Giles, man, ye did as I never
saw ye do before."
"I couldna want ye, Matty," replied Giles; "and, if I havena testified
my love for ye by this nicht's wark, never a man in Scotland ever proved
his affection for his wife."
The absence of all ill-humour, the winks which Matty directed to the
wonderstruck youth, and his apparent amazement, added to the puzzle
which perplexed the minds of the father and the mother.
"What does all this mean, Robert?" cried the mother.
"For God's sake, explain this extraordinary affair!" rejoined the
father.
The youth was still mute. At length Matty whispered something in his
ear. He spoke for the first time since the scene commenced.
"It may be as you say, Mrs Ramsay," said he.
"Aweel, it's a' richt," replied she; "but it may please Giles and mysel
if ye will acknowledge it in the presence o' your father and mother."
"I have no objections," replied he; and, turning to his parents, who
understood not one word of all this dialogue, and far less of the
strange scene still acting around them, he added, "I hereby declare, in
presence of you, as witnesses, that I hereby renounce all claim----"
"To whom?" cried the mother; "to another man's wife--an aged matron?
Fie, Robert! Say no more. Close the lips that would dishonour a son in
presence of his parents."
"I hereby renounce all claim to six stirks at present lying at the farm
of Kelpiehaugh, and promise never to trouble Giles Ramsay for the same."
"It's a' settled and adjusted," cried Matty. "I am satisfied; and Giles,
I fancy, you are no ill-pleased wi' my nicht's wark?"
"I dinna ken which o' us hae dune best," replied the farmer. "Between
us, our arrears o' rent will be paid up. My bargain was guid; but I
freely admit yours is better."
"Then this affair is at last arranged?" said the youth.
The farmer assented. The worthy couple bade adieu to their friends, and
proceeded on their way to Kelpiehaugh. We cannot tell what explanations
took place at Langholm between the young man and his parents; neither
can we tell precisely the import of the conversation that took place
between the farmer and his wife on their journey homewards; but we
strongly suspect they enjoyed a hearty laugh at the clever manoeuvre
of the dame. It is probable that Giles himself was in the secret; at
least the good-humour he exhibited in getting again possession of his
spouse would lead us to believe that he had been a willing party in the
plot that had been so cleverly laid and executed. How far the daughter
was to blame has not been recorded; and, to do justice to the farmer and
his wife, they never taxed her with indiscretion. She was some time
afterwards married, and so put beyond the power of the wild youth who
had been so completely foiled by the genius of a clever dame.
SIR PATRICK HUME.
A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF MARCHMONT.
Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth was elected representative of the County of
Berwick in the year 1665, being then in the twenty-fifth year of his
age. He was a lover of freedom, a lover of his country, and a staunch
Presbyterian. In those days, however, a love of freedom was a dangerous
principle either to avow or to carry into Parliament. The tyrant
Charles, whom some falsely call the Merry Monarch, was then attempting
to rule the empire with a rod of iron. You have all heard of his Long
Parliament, and of his afterwards governing the country, like an
absolute tyrant, without a Parliament at all. Fettered and servile as
parliaments then were, young Hume had boldly stood forward as the
advocate of civil and religious liberty; and, when the arbitrary monarch
sent down a mandate to Scotland for a levy of men and of money, that he
might carry his plans of despotism the more effectually into execution,
Sir Patrick resisted the slavishness with which it was about to be
obeyed.
"What!" exclaimed he, "are we mere instruments in the hands of the
king--creatures appointed to minister to his pleasure? Are we not
representatives of the people of Scotland--the representatives of their
wants and their wishes, and the defenders of their rights? And shall we,
as such, at the mere nod of a monarch, drag them from following their
plough in the valley, or attending their hirsels on the hill--shall we
do these things, and lay contributions on their cattle, on their corn,
and on their coffers, merely because His Majesty wills it? Pause, my
countrymen. The king has no authority to compel such a measure, and it
can only be rendered legal by the concurrence of the assembled
representatives of the people."
"Treason!" vociferated the Duke of Lauderdale, who was the arch-minion
of Charles; "before the Parliament of Scotland, I denounce Sir Patrick
Hume as a dangerous man--as a plotter against the life and dignity of
our sovereign lord the king!"
"What!" exclaimed Sir Patrick, indignantly fixing his eyes upon
Lauderdale. "Though there may be amongst us a slave who would sell his
country for a royal smile, I still hope that this is a FREE Parliament,
and it concerns all the members to be FREE in what concerns the nation."
From that day, Sir Patrick Hume became a suspected man, and the eyes of
the king's creatures were upon him; and when, two years afterwards,
Charles endeavoured to put down the people by the sword, and establish
garrisons throughout the country, again the Laird of Polwarth stood
foremost in the ranks of opposition, and resisted his power. The king
accordingly ordered his privy council to crush so dangerous a spirit;
and Sir Patrick was confined in Stirling Castle, where, with the
exception of a short interval, he was imprisoned for two years.
Britain had long been distracted with the pretended discovery of
fabulous or ridiculous plots against the royal family; and the perjury
of paid miscreants, like the infamous Titus Oates, was causing the
scaffolds to run with gore. But tyranny being glutted with Catholic
blood, and the extinguishing of what were called Popish plots, the
myrmidons of Charles (who lived a libertine, and died a Papist)
professed that they had discovered a Protestant plot against his royal
person. In this plot the incorruptible Algernon Sydney, Lord Russell, Mr
Bailie of Jerviswoode, and Sir Patrick Hume, were included. They beheld
their common country withering and wasting beneath the grasp of a
tyrant; and true it is they had united together to restore it to
freedom, but they were innocent of designs against his life, or even of
a wish to dethrone him. They did not, however, act sufficiently in
concert, and were unable to bring their plans into operation. A price
was set upon their heads--some fled into exile, and others sought refuge
on the mountain and in the wilderness; while the amiable Russell died
upon the scaffold.
It was near nightfall, in the month of September, 1684, when Jamie
Winter, who was joiner on the estate of Polwarth, ran breathless up to
Redbraes Castle, and knocked loudly at the door. It was opened by John
Allan, the land-steward, who, perceiving his agitation, inquired--
"In the name o' guidness, Jamie, what's happened, or what do ye want?"
"Dinna ask, Maister Allan," replied Jamie; "but, for Heaven's sake, tell
me, is Sir Patrick at hame? and let me speak to him presently, as ye
value his life."
"Follow me, then, Jamie," said the other, "and come in quietly, that the
servants mayna observe onything extraordinar; for we live in times when
a man canna trust his ain brither."
The honest joiner was ushered into a room where Sir Patrick sat in the
midst of his family, acting at once as their schoolmaster and their
playmate.
"Weel, James," said the laird, "I understand ye hae been at Berwick the
day. Ye've got early back. What uncos heard ye there?"
"I watna, Sir Patrick," replied the other; "now-a-days, I think, there's
naething unco that can happen. Satan seems to have been let loose on our
poor misgoverned country. But I wish to speak to your honour very
particularly, and in private, if you please."
"You may speak on, James," said the laird; "I am private in the midst o'
my ain family."
"Wi' your guid leave sir," returned the cautious servant, "I wad rather
the bairns were oot o' the way, for what I hae to say is no proper for
them to hear, and the sooner ye are acquainted wi' it the better."
Sir Patrick led his younger children out of the room, but requested Lady
Polwarth and their eldest daughter, Grizel, a lovely dark-haired girl,
about twelve years of age, to remain.
"You are the bearer of evil tidings, James," said he, as he returned,
"but you may tell them now--it is meet that my wife should hear them, if
they concern me; and," added he, taking Grizel's hand in his, "I keep no
secrets from my little secretary."
"God bless her!" said James, "she's an auld-farrant bairn, as wise as
she's bonny, I ken that. But, your honour, I am, indeed, the bearer of
evil tidings. A party o' troopers arrived at Berwick this morning, and
it was nae secret there that they would be baith at Jerviswoode and
Redbraes before midnicht. I heard them talk o' the premium that was set
upon your life, and slipped out o' the town immediately, without
performing a single transaction, or speaking a word to a living
creature. How I've got alang the road is mair than I can tell; for I was
literally sick, blind, and desperate wi' grief. I've this minute
arrived, and whatever can be done to save you maun be done instantly."
Lady Polwarth burst into tears. Sir Patrick grasped the hand of his
faithful servant. Little Grizel gazed in her father's face with a look
of silent despair, but neither spoke nor wept.
"Oh, fly! fly instantly, my dear husband!" cried Lady Polwarth, "and
Heaven direct you."
"Be composed, my love," said Sir Patrick; "I fear that flight is
impossible; but some means of evading them may perhaps be devised."
"Oh, my leddy," said Jamie Winter, "to flee is out o' the question
athegither. Government has its spies at every turn o' the road--in every
house in the country--even in this house. Our only hope is to conceal
Sir Patrick; but how or where is beyond my comprehension."