JOCK HALL'S JOURNEY
John Spence, who, as we have seen, was connected with the early history
of Adam Mercer, had now reached an extreme old age, somewhere between
eighty and ninety years. As he himself for a considerable time had
stuck to the ambiguous epoch of "aboon fourscore", it was concluded by
his friends that his ninth decade had nearly ended. He was hale and
hearty, however,--"in possession of all his faculties", as we say--with
no complaint but "the rheumatics", which had soldered his joints so as
to keep him generally a prisoner in the large chair "ayont the fire", or
compel him to use crutches, when he "hirpled" across the floor. He was
able, however, in genial weather, to occupy the bench at his cottage
door, there to fondle the young dogs, and to cultivate the acquaintance
of the old ones. He had long ago given up all active work, and was a
pensioner on his Lordship; but he still tenaciously clung to the title
of "Senior Keeper". The vermin even which he had killed, and nailed, as
a warning to evil-doers, over the gable-ends and walls of outhouses,
had, with the exception of a few fragments of bleached fossils, long
since passed away, giving place to later remains.
John was a great favourite with his master; and his advice was asked in
all matters connected with the game on the estate of Castle Bennock.
His anecdotes and reminiscences of old sporting days which he had spent
with three generations of the family, and with generations of their
friends and relations, were inexhaustible. And when the great annual
festival of "the 12th" came round, and the Castle was crowded, and the
very dogs seemed to snuff the game in the air and became excited, then
John's cottage, with its kennels and all its belongings, was a constant
scene of attraction to the sportsmen; and there he held a sort of court,
with the dignity and gravity of an old Nimrod.
The cottage was beautifully situated in a retired nook at the entrance
of a glen, beside a fresh mountain stream, and surrounded by a scattered
wood of wild birches, mountain ash, and alder. The first ridge of
Benturk rose beyond the tree tops, with an almost perpendicular ascent
of loose stones, ribbed by wintry floods, and dotted by tufts of heather
and dots of emerald-green pasture, up to the range of rocks which
ramparted the higher peaks, around which in every direction descended
and swept far away the endless moorland of hill and glen.
John had long been a widower, and now resided with his eldest son Hugh,
whose hair was already mingled with white, like brown heather sprinkled
with snow.
Although the distance which separated John Spence from Adam Mercer was
only about thirty miles, there had been little intercourse between the
cousins. A ridge of hills and a wild district intervened without any
direct communication. The mail coach which passed through Drumsylie did
not come within miles of Castle Bennock. Letters, except on business,
were rare between the districts, and were very expensive at that time to
all but M.P.'s, who could frank them for themselves or their friends.
And so it was that while John and Adam occasionally heard of each other,
and exchanged messages by mutual friends, or even met after intervals of
years, they nevertheless lived as in different kingdoms.
It was late on the Tuesday after his flight that Jock Hall, for reasons
known only to himself, entered the cottage of John Spence and walked up
to the blazing fire, beside which the old keeper was seated alone.
"Wat day, Mr. Spence!" said Jock, as his clothes began to smoke almost
as violently as the fire which shone on his wet and tattered garments.
John Spence was evidently astonished by the sudden appearance and blunt
familiarity of a total stranger, whose miserable and woebegone condition
was by no means prepossessing. Keeping his eye fixed on him, John
slowly drew a crutch between his knees, as if anxious to be assured of
present help.
"Wha the mis-chief are ye?" asked Spence in an angry voice.
"A freen', Mr. Spence--a freen'!" replied Jock, quietly. "But let me
heat mysel' awee--for I hae travelled far through moss and mire, and
sleepit last nicht in a roofless biggin, an' a' to see you--and syne
I'll gie ye my cracks."
Spence, more puzzled than ever, only gave a growl, and said, slowly and
firmly, "A freen' in need is nae doot a freen' indeed, and I suppose
ye'll be the freen' in need, and ye tak' me for the freen' indeed, but
maybe ye're mista'en!"
Hall remaining silent longer than was agreeable, Spence at last said
impatiently, "Nane o' yer nonsense wi' me! I'll ca' in the keepers.
Ye're ane o' thae beggin' ne'er-do-weel tramps that we hae ower mony o'.
Gang to the door and cry lood for Hugh. He's up in the plantin'; the
guidwife and bairns are doon at the Castle. Be quick, or be aff aboot
yer business."
Jock very coolly replied, "My business is wi' you, an' I'm glad I hae
gotten ye by yersel' an' naebody near. I'll _no_ ca' Hugh, an' I ken
_ye_ canna do't. Sae I'll jist wait till he comes, an' tell ye my
business in the meantime. Wi' your leave, Mr. Spence, I'll tak' a
seat;" on which he drew a chair to the side of the fire opposite old
John, who partly from fear and partly from a sense of his own weakness,
and also from curiosity, said nothing, but watched Hall with a look of
childish astonishment, his under lip hanging helplessly down, and his
hand firmly grasping the crutch. His only remark was--"My certes, ye're
a cool ane! I hae seen the day----" but what he had seen vanished in
another growl, ended by a groan.
"Tak' a snuff, Mr. Spence," said Hall, as he rose and offered his tin
box to the keeper. "Snuff is meat and music; it's better than a bite o'
bread when hungry, and maist as gude as a dram when cauld, and at a'
times it is pleasant tae sowl and body. Dinna spare't!"
There was not, as usual, much to spare of the luxury, but Spence refused
it on the ground that he had never snuffed, and "didna like to get a
habit o't".
"I think," said Jock, "ye might trust yersel' at fourscore for no' doing
that."
The keeper made no reply, but kept his small grey eyes under his bushy
eyebrows fixed on his strange visitor.
When Jock had resumed his seat, he said, "Ye'll ken weel, I'se warrant,
Mr. Spence, a' the best shootin' grun' about Benturk? Ye'll nae doot
ken the best bits for fillin' yer bag when the win' is east or wast,
north or south? And ye'll ken the Lang Slap? and the Craigdarroch brae?
and the short cut by the peat moss, past the Big Stane, and doon by the
whins to the Cairntupple muir? And ye'll ken----"
Old Spence could stand this no longer, and he interrupted Jock by
exclaiming, "Confoond yer gab and yer impudence! dauring to sit afore me
there as if ye were maister and I servant! What do ye mean?"
"I was but axin' a ceevil question, Mr. Spence; and I suppose ye'll no'
deny that ye ken thae places?"
[Illustration: "I WAS BUT AXIN' A CEEVIL QUESTION, MR. SPENCE" Page
117]
"An' what if I do? what if I do?" retorted the keeper.
"Jist this," said Jock, without a movement in the muscles of his
countenance, "that I ken them tae for mony a year; and sae baith o' us
hae common freens amang the hills."
"What do _ye_ ken aboot them?" asked Spence, not more pacified, nor less
puzzled.
"Because," said Jock, "I hae shot ower them a' as a poacher--my name is
Jock Hall, parish o' Drumsylie--and I hae had the best o' sport on
them."
This was too much for the Senior Keeper. With an exclamation that need
not be recorded, Spence made an attempt to rise with the help of his
crutches, but was gently laid back in his chair by Jock, who said--
"Muckle ye'll mak' o't! as the auld wife said to the guse waumlin' in
the glaur. Sit doon--sit doon, Mr. Spence; I'll be as guid to you as
Hugh; an' I'll ca' in Hugh ony time ye like: sae be easy. For I wish
atween oorsels to tell ye aboot an auld poacher and an auld acquaintance
o' yours and mine, Sergeant Adam Mercer; for it's aboot him I've come."
This announcement induced John to resume his seat without further
trouble, on which Jock said, "Noo, I'll ca' Hugh to ye, gin ye bid me,
as ye seem feared for me;" and he motioned as if to go to the door.
"I'm no feared for you nor for mortal man!" replied Spence, asserting
his dignity in spite of his fears; "but, my fac! _ye_ might be feared,
pittin' yer fit into a trap like this! and if Hugh grips ye!----" He
left the rest to be inferred.
"Pfuff!" said Jock. "As to that, gudeman, I hae been in every jail
roon' aboot! A jail wad be comfort tae me compared wi' the hole I
sleepit in the nicht I left Drumsylie, and the road I hae travelled
sinsyne! But wull ye no' hear me about Adam Mercer?"
Spence could not comprehend the character he had to deal with, but
beginning to think him probably "a natural", he told him to "say awa',
as the titlin' remarked tae the gowk".
Jock now gathered all his wits about him, so as to be able to give a
long and tolerably lucid history of the events which were then agitating
the little world of Drumsylie, and of which the Sergeant was the centre.
He particularly described the part that Mr. Smellie had taken in the
affair, and, perhaps, from more than one grudge he bore to the said
gentleman, he made him the chief if not the only real enemy of the
Sergeant.
The only point which Jock failed to make intelligible to the keeper was
his account of the starling. It may have been the confusion of ideas
incident to old age when dealing with subjects which do not link
themselves to the past; but so it was that there got jumbled up in the
keeper's mind such a number of things connected with a bird which was
the bairn of the Sergeant's bairn, and whistled songs, and told Jock he
was a man, and disturbed the peace of the parish, and broke the Sabbath,
and deposed the Sergeant, that he could not solve the mystery for
himself, nor could Jock make it clear. He therefore accepted Spence's
confusion as the natural result of a true estimate of the facts of the
case, which few but the Kirk Session could understand, and accordingly
he declared that "the bird was a kin' o' witch, a maist extraordinar'
cratur, that seemed to ken a' things, and unless he was mista'en wad pit
a' things richt gin the hinner en'". The keeper declared "his
detestation o' a' speaking birds"; and his opinion that "birds were made
for shootin', or for ha'ein' their necks thrawn for eatin'--unless when
layin' or hatchin'".
But what practical object, it may be asked, had Hall in view in this
volunteer mission of his? It was, as he told the keeper, to get him to
ask his Lordship, as being the greatest man in the district, to
interfere in the matter and by all possible means to get Smellie, if not
Mr. Porteous, muzzled. "Ye're Adam's coosin, I hear," said Jock, "and
the head man wi' his Lordship, and ye hae but tae speak the word and
deliver the Sergeant an' his bird frae the grips o' these deevils."
Jock had, however, touched a far sorer point than he was aware of when
he described Smellie as the propagator of the early history of the
Sergeant as a poacher. This, along with all that had been narrated, so
roused the indignation of Spence, who had the warmest regard for the
Sergeant, apart from his being his cousin and from the fact of his
having connived in some degree at his poaching, that, forgetting for a
moment the polluted presence of a confessed poacher like Hall, he told
him to call Hugh; adding, however, "What wull he do if he kens what ye
are, my man? It's easy to get oot o' the teeth o' an auld doug like me,
wha's a guid bit aboon fourscore. But Hugh!--faix he wad pit baith o'
us ower his head! What _wad_ he say if he kent a poacher was sitting at
his fireside?"
"I didna say, Mr. Spence, that I _am_ a poacher, but that I was ane; nor
did I say that I wad ever be ane again; nor could Hugh or ony ane else
pruve mair than has been pruved a'ready against me, and paid for by sowl
and body to jails and judges: sae let that flee stick to the wa'!"
answered Jock; and having done so, he went to the door, and, with
stentorian lungs, called the younger keeper so as to wake up all the
dogs with howl and bark as if they had been aware of the poaching habits
of the shouter.
As Hugh came to the door, at which Jock calmly stood, he said to him in
a careless tone, like one who had known him all his life: "Yer faither
wants ye;" and, entering the kitchen, he resumed his former seat,
folding his arms and looking at the fire.
"Wha the sorrow hae ye gotten here, faither, cheek by jowl wi' ye?"
asked the tall and powerful keeper, scanning Jock with a most critical
eye.
"A freen' o' my cousin's, Adam Mercer," replied old Spence. "But speer
ye nae questions, Hugh, and ye'll get nae lees. He has come on business
that I'll tell ye aboot. But tak' him ben in the meantime, and gie him
some bread and cheese, wi' a drap milk, till his supper's ready. He'll
stay here till morning. Mak' a bed ready for him in the laft."
Hugh, in the absence of his wife, obeyed his father's orders, though not
without a rather strong feeling of lessened dignity as a keeper in being
thus made the servant of a ragged-looking tramp. While Jock partook of
his meal in private, and afterwards went out to smoke his pipe and look
about him, Old Spence entered into earnest conference with his son Hugh.
After giving his rather confused and muddled, yet sufficiently correct,
edition of Mercer's story, he concentrated his whole attention and that
of his son on the fact that Peter Smellie was the enemy of Adam Mercer,
and had been so for some time; that he had joined the minister to
persecute him; and, among other things, had also revealed the story of
Adam's poaching more than thirty years before, to raise prejudice
against his character and that of Spence as a keeper.
"Wha's Smellie? I dinna mind him," asked Hugh.
"Nae loss, Hugh!--nae loss at a'. I never spak' o't to onybody afore,
and ye'll no clipe aboot it, for every dog should hae his chance; and if
a man should miss wi' ae barrel, he may nevertheless hit wi' the tither;
and I dinna want to fash the man mair than is necessar'. But this same
Smellie had a shop here at the clachan aboon twenty years syne, and I
got him custom frae the Castle; an' didna the rogue--Is the door
steekit?" asked the old man in a whisper. Hugh nodded. "An' didna the
rogue," continued old John, "forge my name tae a bill for L50? That did
he; and I could hae hanged him! But I never telt on him till this hour,
but made him pay the half o't, and I paid the ither half mysel'; and
Adam see'd me sae distressed for the money that he gied me L5 in a
present tae help. Naebody kent o't excep' mysel' and Adam, wha was
leevin' here at the time, and saw it was a forgery; and I axed him
_never_ to say a word aboot it, and I'll wager he never did, for a
clean-speerited man and honourable is Adam Mercer! Weel, Smellie by my
advice left the kintraside for Drumsylie, and noo he's turning against
Adam! Isna that awfu'? Is't no' deevilish? Him like a doug pointing
at Adam! As weel a moose point at a gled!"
"That's a particular bonnie job indeed," said Hugh. "I wad like to
pepper the sneaky chiel wi' snipe-dust for't. But what can be dune
noo?"
"Dune! Mair than Smellie wad like, and enouch to mak' him lowse his
grip o' Adam!" said the old man. "I hae a letter till him bamboozlin'
my head, and I'll maybe grip it in the mornin' and pit it on paper afore
breakfast-time! Be ye ready to write it doon as I tell ye, and it'll
start Smellie ower his wabs and braid claith, or I'm mista'en!"
Hugh was ordered to meet his father in the morning to indite the
intended epistle.