JOCK HALL, THE NE'ER-DO-WEEL
We must go back for a few days in our story. During the lonely week
which we have but very partially and inadequately described--for how few
would believe that a man with a good conscience and good sense could
suffer so much in such circumstances!--the Sergeant received a visit
from Jock Hall, who has been already mentioned, and whom Katie described
as "a ne'er-do-weel".
Katie's estimate of Jock's character was that of Drumsylie. Most
parishes, indeed, have their quota of weaklings in intellect and
weaklings in morals. Jock belonged to the latter class. He was a thin,
sallow-faced man, of a nervous temperament, and with lank black hair,
and sharp piercing unrestful eyes. He might be aged thirty, although he
looked liker forty. His jacket was made of fustian, which might have
been clean some years before; his corduroy trousers had ragged endings,
beneath which were revealed old boots and worn-out stockings; while a
tattered bonnet covered his capacious head--a head that,
phrenologically, was of a superior type. How Hall lived no one knew,
nor cared to know. His lodging, when under a roof, varied with the
means at his disposal for paying rent. If any unknown householder in
the unknown recesses of the small towns which Jock visited, permitted
him to sleep gratis on the floor near the fire, it was a secret known
and appreciated by himself only.
Jock had never presumed to enter so aristocratic a house as Adam's. But
now that public report had brought the Sergeant down somewhat nearer to
his own level, and that he had a pair of boots to mend, without having
any credit with even the most drunken cobbler in Drumsylie, Jock thought
that, under the whole circumstances of the case, moral and commercial,
he might visit the Sergeant without any offence. He did so, to the
astonishment of Adam, and much more to that of his wife. "What do _ye_
want wi' Mr. Mercer?" was her question, as she opened the door to Jock's
knock.
"Business!" was his short and decided reply. When he entered the small
but cleanly kitchen, his only remark was, "Like a new preen!" Looking
round with a half-vacant, half-curious gaze, he fixed his eyes on the
Sergeant for a moment, then walking up to the starling's cage, he
muttered, "Deevils!"
This brief exclamation arrested the attention of Adam, who asked, "What
do ye mean, my man? D'ye ken what ye're saying?"
"Fine!" replied Jock. "Deevils! again say I!"
The Sergeant rose, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the door.
"I understan'," said Jock; "ye wad hae me gang oot. Ye're no' the first
that has sent Jock Hall that gait! Maist folk like to see his back a
hantle better than his face. But I'm no' gaun oot at present, Sergeant.
That stirlin' o' yours 'll no' let me. I'm fond o' birds--in fac,
they're the only leevin' things I care for. I never liked canaries,
they're ower genteel and ower particklar about bein' coodled, to please
a tramp like me that never was in that way mysel'. But our ain
birds--that's maavies, linties, and laverocks, or even gooldies, that
can stan' a' wathers, and sing for a' folk, specially for them that's
obleeged to lie oot in wuds, or on the heather--them's the singers for
Jock Hall! But I'm no weel acquaint wi' thae stirlin's. I'm telt that
yours is no canny, an' that it speaks like an auld-farrant bairn. Eh?"
And Jock turned to the cage from which his attention had for a moment
been diverted; and while the Sergeant was earnestly studying his strange
guest, the guest was as earnestly studying the strange bird. The
starling was singularly still, and seemed to sympathise with his master
in his study of Hall. He then leaped up to his perch, turned his back
to Jock, shook his feathers, turned round and again looked at his
visitor with a steady gaze.
"That's a fearsome bird!" said Hall, without moving. "As sure as I'm
leevin, I see'd his ee gettin' bigger and bigger, till it was like a
saxpence as it glowered at me. I was frichtened it kent a'things I was
doing or thinking aboot!"
"Let the bird alane!" said the Sergeant, "and come here to the window if
ye hae ony business wi' me, Hall."
Jock obeyed; but twice, between the cage and the window, he looked over
his shoulder at the starling, as if he was afraid of him.
"What do ye want wi' me?" inquired the Sergeant.
"Hoo lang," asked Hall, in a low voice, "hae ye had that bird? Hoo auld
is he? Whaur did ye get him? What does he say when----"
"Never heed the bird," interrupted the Sergeant: "he's doin' ye nae
ill."
"I'm no sae sure but he _could_ do't if he took a thraw at me," said
Jock; "I'll wager he has seen me afore, an' kens me--for he's no canny."
"Nonsense!" said Adam.
"If it's nonsense," replied Jock, "what way has he brocht you into this
habble? What for do ye loe him sae weel? Why wad ye gie up, as I hear
ye wad, yer verra saul and body for this world and the neist, for the
sake o' the bird? What way do they say he's a witch?"
"Haud yer tongue, Hall," said the Sergeant, "and speak aboot yer ain
business, no' mine."
"_My_ business!" exclaimed Jock; "at yer service, Mr. Mercer, at yer
service!"
"Oot wi't, then, and be done wi't," said Adam.
"It's my business, then," said Hall, "to come here an' abuse a' thae
deevils,--Porteous, Smellie, and the lave--that abused that bird! that's
my business---the chief part o't," continued Hall, in rather an excited
manner; "an' the bird kens that, I'm certain,--just see hoo he's
glowerin' at me! I'se warrant he has watched me in the woods afore he
was catched; an' if he if a witch, and kens aboot me, then----"
"Haud yer tongue, Hall, this moment," said the Sergeant, with a loud
voice of command, "or I'll pit ye oot like a doug! If ye hae a message
to deliver, say it and be aff."
Jock was suddenly quiet, as if arrested by some strong power. Then in a
more natural tone of voice he said, "It's no' worth the while o' an auld
sodger to kick a man like me. But let sleepin' dougs lie! Dougs hae
teeth, and their bite is bad when mad--when mad!" Then, after a pause,
he went on, in a laughing mood, "But I _hae_ business, important
business wi' ye, Sergeant; an' afore we proceed to consider it, ye'll
tak' a snuff! It pits brains into a bodie's head;" and Jock produced a
small tin snuff-box, and opening the lid he looked into it with an
expression of anxiety. "There's twa, I'm sure,--twa snuffs; an' I
consider a man is no' poor wha has ae snuff for himsel' and anither for
a neebor. Sae tak' a snuff!" and he handed the box to the Sergeant, as
he himself leant back in his chair, crossed one leg over another, and
pointing to his boots said, "That's some business, since ye insist on
it! I want to gie ye a job, Mr. Mercer, for I hear ye're idle." Then
turning up the soles of his wretched boots, which looked like a kind of
leather vegetable about to rot into earth mould, he said, "They'll be
ill to patch, or to fit new soles on, but I ken ye're a gude tradesman.
Try."
Adam only smiled.
"Ye'll be like the lave," Jock continued, "ower prood to work for a man
like me. I wadna wunner if ye're no sure o' payment. Sae maybe it's as
weel to tell ye, that as far as I ken, ye'll never get a bawbee frae me!
For Jock Hall is a braw customer to them that'll ser' him--though, faix,
there's no mony o' that kind noo!--but he's a bad payer. In fac, he has
clean forgot hoo to pay an account."
Sorrow softens the hearts of good men; and if it is in any degree
occasioned by unjust treatment, it prompts charitable sympathies towards
others who are condemned as wicked by society without a fair hearing
ever having been afforded them. When the streams of their affection
have been frozen by the cold reception given where a warm welcome was
anticipated, it is a relief to let them flow into other and dried-up
cisterns where, in despair, from a long drought, such blessings were
never expected, and are joyfully appreciated.
So Adam felt kindly towards Jock, though he only said, "I'll men' your
boots for that fine pinch o' snuff, and they'll cost ye nae mair, except
guidwill, and that's cheap."
Jock Hall looked rather perplexed, and cleared out his box with his long
finger, pressing his last snuff vehemently into his nostril. Then
resuming, as if with difficulty, his careless manner, he said, "Hae the
boots ready by Friday nicht, as I maun fish the East Muir water on
Saturday."
"Ye may depend on them, Jock! And noo, as yer business is done, ye may
gang." The Sergeant did not wish him to resume his wild talk, as he had
threatened to do.
Jock crossed his arms, and gazed on the Sergeant as if he would look him
through. Then grasping his own throat, and looking wildly, he said:
"It's come! it's come! The evil speerit is chokin' me! He is here like
a cannon ball! I maun speak, or my head will rive! I maun curse
Porteous, and the kirk, and religion, and elders, and Sabbath days, and
a' thing guid!" and his eyes flashed fire.
The Sergeant could not make him out, as they say. He was disposed to
think him insane, though he had never heard Jock's name associated with
anything save recklessness of character. He therefore did nothing but
return the gaze of the excited man. Katie, unwilling to sit in the same
room with him, had retired to her bedroom. Mary sat at the fireside
with her book in evident alarm.
"I hate them!" repeated Jock, almost grinding his teeth.
"What do ye mean, Jock?" asked Adam, quietly but firmly. "Do you want
to quarrel wi' me?"
"I mean," said Jock, bending towards the Sergeant, "that noo the fingers
o' religion are grippin' _yer_ windpipe and chokin' ye, as the evil
speerit is grippin' and chokin' me--that noo ye hae ministers an' elders
o' religion kicking ye in the glaur, lauchin at ye, bizzin at ye as a
blackguard--that noo when e'en Luckie Craigie an' Smellie ca' ye bad, as
a' folks hae ca'ed me a' my days--I thocht," he continued, with a
sarcastic grin, "that ye wad like ane waur than yersel' to speak wi' ye,
and, if ye liked, to curse wi' ye! Aha, lad! I'm ready! Say the word,
and Jock Hall's yer man. I ha'e poower noo in me for ony deevilry.
Begin!"
The Sergeant experienced what is called in Scotland a _grew_--the sort
of shiver one feels in a nightmare--as if a real demoniac was in his
presence. Fascinated as by a serpent, he said, "Say awa', Jock, for I
dinna understan' ye."
On this Jock became apparently more composed. But when with a suppressed
vehemence he was again beginning to speak, it struck the Sergeant to
interrupt the current of his passionate thoughts, on the plea that he
wished to hear Mary her lesson. His object was, not only to calm Jock,
but also to get the child out of the room.
"Mary," he said, after having assured her there was no cause of fear,
and placing her between his knees, "wha should we trust?"
"God!" replied Mary.
"Why?" asked the Sergeant.
"Because his name is Love, and He is our Faither."
"Richt, Mary; and we ought a' to love our Faither, for He loves us, and
to love our neebour as ourselves. Gang awa' ben to your mither noo. Ye
hae done weel."
When the door of the bedroom was shut, Jock Hall said, "That's Luckie
Craigie's lassie? Fine woman, Luckie! Kindly bodie! A gude hoose is
hers to sen' a puir orphan to. Ha! ha! ha! Keep us a'!--it's a warld
this, far ower guid for me! But Luckie is like the lave, and Smellie,
to do him justice, as he has mony a time done tae me, is no waur than
Luckie:
'When hungry gledds are screichin',
An' huntin' for their meat,
If they grip a bonnie birdie,
What needs the birdie greet?'
An' ye're to pay yersel' for the lassie, Smellie says; an' ye're to
teach her! A fine lesson yon! Ha! ha! ha! Jock Hall lauchs at baith o'
ye!"
The Sergeant was getting angry. Hall seemed now to be rather a
free-and-easy blackguard, although there was a weird gleam in his eye
which Adam did not understand; and in spite of his self-respect, he felt
a desire to hear more from Jock. So he only remarked, looking steadily
at him, "Jock! tak' care what ye say--tak' care!"
"Oo ay," said Hall. "I'm lang eneuch in the warld to ken _that_ advice!
But what care I for the advice o' you or ony man? It was for me, nae
doot, ye intended that lesson? I'm as gleg as a fish rising to a flee!
The lassock said we should love our faither! Hoo daur you or ony man
say that tae me?" Then, leaning forward with staring eyes and clenched
fist, he said, "I hated my faither! I hated my mither! They hated me.
My faither was a Gospel man; he gaed to the kirk on Sabbath--wha but
him!--and he drank when he could get it the rest o' the week; an' he
threshed my mither and us time aboot--me warst o' a', as I was the
youngest. I focht mony a laddie for lauchin' at him and for ca'in him
names when he was fou, and mony a bluidy nose I got; but he threshed me
the mair. My mither, tae, gaed to the kirk, and begged claes for me and
my brithers and sisters frae guid folk, and said that my faither wasna
weel and couldna work. Oh, mony a lee I telt for them baith! And she
drank, as weel, and focht wi' my faither and us time aboot. And syne
they selt a' their claes and a' their blankets, and left us wi' toom
stomachs and toom hearts, cowerin' aboot a toom grate wi' cauld cinders.
I never was at skule, but was cuffed and kickit like a doug; and my wee
brithers and sisters a' dee'd--I dinna ken hoo: but they were starved
and threshed, puir things! But they were waik, and I was strang. Sae I
leeved--waes me! I leeved! I hae sat oot in the plantin' mony a nicht
greetin' for my brither Jamie, for he had a sair cough and dwined awa',
naked and starved. He aye gied me his bit bread that he stealt or
beggit"--and Jock cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a scrap
of a ragged handkerchief. "But my faither and mither dee'd, thank God!
I hate them noo, and they hated me--they hated me, they did"--and he
fell into a sort of dream. His vehemence sank into a whisper; and he
spoke as one in sleep--"An' a' folks hate me--hate me. An' what for
no'? I hate _them_!--God forgive me! Na, na! I'll no' say _that_.
There's nae God! But I believe in the Deevil--that I do, firmly."
Jock sank back in his chair, as if wearied, and closed his eyes, his
chest heaving. Then opening his eyes, he said in a low tone, "The bird
kens that! Wha' telt him?" and his eyes were again closed.
"Jock, my man," said the Sergeant, perplexed, yet kindly, "_I_ dinna
hate ye."
But Jock went on as in a dream. "I hae led an awfu' life o't! I hae
starved and stealt; I hae poached and robbed; I hae cursed and drank; I
hae 'listed and deserted; I hae lain oot on muirs and in mosses. I'm
Jock Hall! a'body kens me, and a' hate me as I do them! And what guid
did yer ministers and elders, yer Sabbath days and yer preachings, do
for me? Curse them a', I say! what's Jock Hall's saul worth! It's no'
worth the burnin'! What care I?
'Cock-a-Bendy's lying sick,
Guess what'll mend him?
Hang the blackguard by the throat,
And that'll soon end him!"
"Be quiet, my puir fellow," said the Sergeant, "and listen to me. _I_
never harmed you, Jock; I couldna harm you! I never wull harm you.
I'll feed ye noo; I'll gie ye shoon; I'll stan' yer frien'."
Jock looked up, and in a calm tone said, "My head is spinnin' and my
heart is sick! I havena eaten a bit since yesterday. Dinna flyte on me
e'enoo, I'm no mysel'; wait a wee, Mr. Mercer, and then ye can abuse me,
or kick me." With still greater calm he added in a few seconds, and
looking round like one waking up more and more into life, "I hae been
dreaming or raving! Man, Mercer, I think I tak' fits
sometimes--especially when I'm lang wi'oot meat. What was I saying
e'enoo?"
"Naething particular," said Adam, wishing not to rouse him, but to feed
him; "never heed, Jock. But bide a wee, I'll gie ye a nice cup of tea
and a smoke after it, and we'll hae a crack, and ye'll comfort me in yer
ain way, and I'll comfort you in mine."
Jock, like a man worn out with some great exertion, sat with his head
bent down between his hands--the veins of his forehead swollen. The
Sergeant, after some private explanation with Katie, got tea and
wholesome food ready for Jock; and that he might take it in peace, Adam
said that he had to give Mary another lesson in the bedroom.
Hall was thus left alone with his food, of which he ate sparingly. When
Adam again entered the kitchen, Jock was calm. The Sergeant soon
engaged him in conversation after his own method, beginning by telling
some of his soldier stories, and then bit by bit unfolding the Gospel of
Peace to the poor man, and seeking to drop a few loving words from his
own softened heart to soften the heart of the Prodigal.
The only remark Jock made was, "I wish I'd been in a battle, and been
shot, or dee'd wi' oor Jamie! But what for did I tell _you_ a' this? I
never spak' this way to mortal man! It's that bird, I tell ye. What's
wrang wi't?"
"Naething!" replied the Sergeant; "it's a' nonsense ye're talking. I'll
let ye see the cratur, to convince ye that he is jist as natural and
nice as a mavis or laverock."
"Stop!" said Jock, "I dinna like him. He is ower guid for me! I tell
ye I'm a deevil! But bad as I am--and I'll never be better, nor ever do
ae haun's turn o' guid in this world--never, never, never!----"
The Sergeant rose and took down the cage, placing it before Hall,
saying, "Jist look at his speckled breest and bonnie ee! Gie him this
bit bread yersel', and he'll be cheerie, and mak' us a' cheerie."
Jock took the bread and offered it to Charlie, who, seeing the gift,
declared "A man's a man for a' that!" "Guid be aboot us!" said Hall,
starting back; "hear what he says to me! If that's no' a witch, there's
nane on yirth! I said I was a deevil, he says I'm a man!"
"And sae ye _are_ a man for a' that, and no sic a bad ane as ye think.
Cheer up, Jock!" said Adam, extending his hand to him.
Jock took the proffered hand, and said, "I dinna understan' a'
this--but--but--I was gaun to say, God bless ye! But it's no' for me to
say that; for I never was in a decent hoose afore--but only in jails,
and amang tramps and ne'er-do-weels like mysel'. I'm no' up tae
menners, Sergeant--ye maun excuse me."
Jock rose to depart. Before doing so he looked again round the
comfortable clean room--at the nice fire and polished grate--at
Charlie's bed with its white curtains--and at the bird, so happy in its
cage--then, as if struck by his own ragged clothes and old boots, he
exclaimed, "It wasna for me to hae been in a hoose like this." Passing
the bedroom door, he waved his hand, saying, "Fareweel, mistress;
fareweel, Mary," and turning to the Sergeant, he added, "and as for you,
Sergeant----" There he stopped--but ending with a special farewell to
the starling, he went to the door.
"Come back soon and see me," said the Sergeant. "I'll be yer freen',
Jock. I hae 'listed ye this day, and I'll mak' a sodger o' ye yet, an'
a better ane, I hope, than mysel'."
"Whisht, whisht!" said Jock. "I have mair respec' for ye than to let ye
be _my_ freen'. But for a' that, mind, I'm no gaun to pay ye for my
boots--and ye'll hae them ready 'gin Friday nicht, for Saturday's
fishin'--fareweel!"
"A' richt, Jock," said Adam.
No sooner had Hall left the house than the Sergeant said to himself,
"God have mercy on me! I to be unhappy after that! I wi' Katie and
Mary! I wi' mercies temporal and spiritual mair than can be numbered!
Waes me! what have I done! Starling, indeed! that's surely no' the
question--but starvation, ignorance, cruelty, hate, despair, hell, at
our verra doors! God help puir Jock Hall, and may He forgive Adam
Mercer!"
Jock got his boots on Friday night, well repaired. He said nothing but
"Thank ye," and "Ye'll get naething frae me." But on Saturday evening a
fine basket of trout was brought by him to the Sergeant's door. Jock
said, "There's beauties! Never saw better trout! splendid day!" But
when the Sergeant thanked him, and offered him a sixpence, Jock looked
with wonder, saying, "Dinna insult a bodie!"