What see you there,
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance?
Henry the Fifth.
We are under the necessity of returning to Edinburgh, where the General
Assembly was now sitting. It is well known, that some Scottish nobleman
is usually deputed as High Commissioner, to represent the person of the
King in this convocation; that he has allowances for the purpose of
maintaining a certain outward show and solemnity, and supporting the
hospitality of the representative of Majesty. Whoever are distinguished
by rank, or office, in or near the capital, usually attend the morning
levees of the Lord Commissioner, and walk with him in procession to the
place where the Assembly meets.
The nobleman who held this office chanced to be particularly connected
with Sir George Staunton, and it was in his train that he ventured to
tread the High Street of Edinburgh for the first time since the fatal
night of Porteous's execution. Walking at the right hand of the
representative of Sovereignty, covered with lace and embroidery, and with
all the paraphernalia of wealth and rank, the handsome though wasted
figure of the English stranger attracted all eyes. Who could have
recognised in a form so aristocratic the plebeian convict, that,
disguised in the rags of Madge Wildfire, had led the formidable rioters
to their destined revenge? There was no possibility that this could
happen, even if any of his ancient acquaintances, a race of men whose
lives are so brief, had happened to survive the span commonly allotted to
evil-doers. Besides, the whole affair had long fallen asleep, with the
angry passions in which it originated. Nothing is more certain than that
persons known to have had a share in that formidable riot, and to have
fled from Scotland on that account, had made money abroad, returned to
enjoy it in their native country, and lived and died undisturbed by the
law.*
* See Arnot's _Criminal Trials,_ 4to ed. p. 235.
The forbearance of the magistrate was, in these instances, wise,
certainly, and just; for what good impression could be made on the public
mind by punishment, when the memory of the offence was obliterated, and
all that was remembered was the recent inoffensive, or perhaps exemplary
conduct of the offender?
Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene of his former
audacious exploits, free from the apprehension of the law, or even of
discovery or suspicion. But with what feelings his heart that day
throbbed, must be left to those of the reader to imagine. It was an
object of no common interest which had brought him to encounter so many
painful remembrances.
In consequence of Jeanie's letter to Lady Staunton, transmitting the
confession, he had visited the town of Carlisle, and had found Archdeacon
Fleming still alive, by whom that confession had been received. This
reverend gentleman, whose character stood deservedly very high, he so far
admitted into his confidence, as to own himself the father of the
unfortunate infant which had been spirited away by Madge Wildfire,
representing the intrigue as a matter of juvenile extravagance on his own
part, for which he was now anxious to atone, by tracing, if possible,
what had become of the child. After some recollection of the
circumstances, the clergyman was able to call to memory, that the unhappy
woman had written a letter to George Staunton, Esq., younger, Rectory,
Willingham, by Grantham; that he had forwarded it to the address
accordingly, and that it had been returned, with a note from the Reverend
Mr. Staunton, Rector of Willingham, saying, he knew no such person as him
to whom the letter was addressed. As this had happened just at the time
when George had, for the last time, absconded from his father's house to
carry off Effie, he was at no loss to account for the cause of the
resentment, under the influence of which his father had disowned him.
This was another instance in which his ungovernable temper had occasioned
his misfortune; had he remained at Willingham but a few days longer, he
would have received Margaret Murdockson's letter, in which were exactly
described the person and haunts of the woman, Annaple Bailzou, to whom
she had parted with the infant. It appeared that Meg Murdockson had been
induced to make this confession, less from any feelings of contrition,
than from the desire of obtaining, through George Staunton or his
father's means, protection and support for her daughter Madge. Her letter
to George Staunton said, "That while the writer lived, her daughter would
have needed nought from any body, and that she would never have meddled
in these affairs, except to pay back the ill that George had done to her
and hers. But she was to die, and her daughter would be destitute, and
without reason to guide her. She had lived in the world long enough to
know that people did nothing for nothing;--so she had told George
Staunton all he could wish to know about his wean, in hopes he would not
see the demented young creature he had ruined perish for want. As for her
motives for not telling them sooner, she had a long account to reckon for
in the next world, and she would reckon for that too."
The clergyman said that Meg had died in the same desperate state of mind,
occasionally expressing some regret about the child which was lost, but
oftener sorrow that the mother had not been hanged--her mind at once a
chaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension for her daughter's future safety;
that instinctive feeling of parental anxiety which she had in common with
the she-wolf and lioness, being the last shade of kindly affection that
occupied a breast equally savage.
The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was occasioned by her taking
the confusion of her mother's execution, as affording an opportunity of
leaving the workhouse to which the clergyman had sent her, and presenting
herself to the mob in their fury, to perish in the way we have already
seen. When Dr. Fleming found the convict's letter was returned from
Lincolnshire, he wrote to a friend in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fate
of the unfortunate girl whose child had been stolen, and was informed by
his correspondent, that she had been pardoned, and that, with all her
family, she had retired to some distant part of Scotland, or left the
kingdom entirely. And here the matter rested, until, at Sir George
Staunton's application, the clergyman looked out, and produced Margaret
Murdockson's returned letter, and the other memoranda which he had kept
concerning the affair.
Whatever might be Sir George Staunton's feelings in ripping up this
miserable history, and listening to the tragical fate of the unhappy girl
whom he had ruined, he had so much of his ancient wilfulness of
disposition left, as to shut his eyes on everything, save the prospect
which seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It was true, it would
be difficult to produce him, without telling much more of the history of
his birth, and the misfortunes of his parents, than it was prudent to
make known. But let him once be found, and, being found, let him but
prove worthy of his father's protection, and many ways might be fallen
upon to avoid such risk. Sir George Staunton was at liberty to adopt him
as his heir, if he pleased, without communicating the secret of his
birth; or an Act of Parliament might be obtained, declaring him
legitimate, and allowing him the name and arms of his father. He was
indeed already a legitimate child according to the law of Scotland, by
the subsequent marriage of his parents. Wilful in everything, Sir
George's sole desire now was to see this son, even should his recovery
bring with it a new series of misfortunes, as dreadful as those which
followed on his being lost.
But where was the youth who might eventually be called to the honours and
estates of this ancient family? On what heath was he wandering, and
shrouded by what mean disguise? Did he gain his precarious bread by some
petty trade, by menial toil, by violence, or by theft? These were
questions on which Sir George's anxious investigations could obtain no
light. Many remembered that Annaple Bailzou wandered through the country
as a beggar and fortune-teller, or spae-wife--some remembered that she
had been seen with an infant in 1737 or 1738,--but for more than ten
years she had not travelled that district; and that she had been heard to
say she was going to a distant part of Scotland, of which country she was
a native. To Scotland, therefore, came Sir George Staunton, having parted
with his lady at Glasgow; and his arrival at Edinburg happening to
coincide with the sitting of the General Assembly of the Kirk, his
acquaintance with the nobleman who held the office of Lord High
Commissioner forced him more into public than suited either his views or
inclinations.
At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George Staunton was placed next
to a clergyman of respectable appearance, and well-bred, though plain
demeanour, whose name he discovered to be Butler. It had been no part of
Sir George's plan to take his brother-in-law into his confidence, and he
had rejoiced exceedingly in the assurances he received from his wife,
that Mrs. Butler, the very soul of integrity and honour, had never
suffered the account he had given of himself at Willingham Rectory to
transpire, even to her husband. But he was not sorry to have an
opportunity to converse with so near a connection without being known to
him, and to form a judgment of his character and understanding. He saw
much, and heard more, to raise Butler very high in his opinion. He found
he was generally respected by those of his own profession, as well as by
the laity who had seats in the Assembly. He had made several public
appearances in the Assembly, distinguished by good sense, candour, and
ability; and he was followed and admired as a sound, and, at the same
time, an eloquent preacher.
This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton's pride, which had
revolted at the idea of his wife's sister being obscurely married. He now
began, on the contrary, to think the connection so much better than he
expected, that, if it should be necessary to acknowledge it, in
consequence of the recovery of his son, it would sound well enough that
Lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the decayed state of the family, had
married a Scottish clergyman, high in the opinion of his countrymen, and
a leader in the church.
It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High Commissioner's
company broke up, Sir George Staunton, under pretence of prolonging some
inquiries concerning the constitution of the Church of Scotland,
requested Butler to go home to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket, and drink
a cup of coffee. Butler agreed to wait upon him, providing Sir George
would permit him, in passing, to call at a friend's house where he
resided, and make his apology for not coming to partake her tea. They
proceeded up the High Street, entered the Krames, and passed the
begging-box, placed to remind those at liberty of the distresses of the
poor prisoners. Sir George paused there one instant, and next day a L20
note was found in that receptacle for public charity.
When he came up to Butler again, he found him with his eyes fixed on the
entrance of the Tolbooth, and apparently in deep thought.
"That seems a very strong door," said Sir George, by way of saying
something.
"It is so, sir," said Butler, turning off and beginning to walk forward,
"but it was my misfortune at one time to see it prove greatly too weak."
At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked him whether he felt
himself ill? and Sir George Staunton admitted, that he had been so
foolish as to eat ice, which sometimes disagreed with him. With kind
officiousness, that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find out
where he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into the friend's house,
near to the prison, in which he himself had lived since he came to town,
being, indeed, no other than that of our old friend Bartoline Saddletree,
in which Lady Staunton had served a short noviciate as a shop-maid. This
recollection rushed on her husband's mind, and the blush of shame which
it excited overpowered the sensation of fear which had produced his
former paleness. Good Mrs. Saddletree, however, bustled about to receive
the rich English baronet as the friend of Mr. Butler, and requested an
elderly female in a black gown to sit still, in a way which seemed to
imply a wish, that she would clear the way for her betters. In the
meanwhile, understanding the state of the case, she ran to get some
cordial waters, sovereign, of course, in all cases of faintishness
whatsoever. During her absence, her visitor, the female in black, made
some progress out of the room, and might have left it altogether without
particular observation, had she not stumbled at the threshold, so near
Sir George Staunton, that he, in point of civility, raised her and
assisted her to the door.
"Mrs. Porteous is turned very doited now, puir body," said Mrs.
Saddletree, as she returned with her bottle in her hand--"She is no sae
auld, but she got a sair back-cast wi' the slaughter o' her husband--Ye
had some trouble about that job, Mr. Butler.--I think, sir," to Sir
George, "ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to my een ye look
waur than when ye came in."
And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting who it was that
his arm had so lately supported--the widow whom he had so large a share
in making such.
"It is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now," said old Saddletree,
who was confined to his chair by the gout--"clean prescribed and out of
date."
"I am not clear of that, neighbour," said Plumdamas, "for I have heard
them say twenty years should rin, and this is but the fifty-ane--
Porteous's mob was in thretty-seven."
"Ye'll no teach me law, I think, neighbour--me that has four gaun pleas,
and might hae had fourteen, an it hadna been the gudewife? I tell ye, if
the foremost of the Porteous mob were standing there where that gentleman
stands, the King's Advocate wadna meddle wi' him--it fa's under the
negative prescription."
"Haud your din, carles," said Mrs. Saddletree, "and let the gentleman sit
down and get a dish of comfortable tea."
But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; and Butler, at
his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him to
his lodgings. Here they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton's
return. This was no other than our reader's old acquaintance, Ratcliffe.
This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so much vigilance,
acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually rose to be governor, or
captain of the Tolbooth. And it is yet to be remembered in tradition,
that young men, who rather sought amusing than select society in their
merry-meetings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe's company, in order
that he might regale them with legends of his extraordinary feats in the
way of robbery and escape.*
* There seems an anachronism in the history of this person. Ratcliffe,
among other escapes from justice, was released by the Porteous mob when
under sentence of death; and he was again under the same predicament,
when the Highlanders made a similar jail-delivery in 1745. He was too
sincere a whig to embrace liberation at the hands of the Jacobites, and
in reward was made one of the keepers of the Tolbooth. So at least runs
constant tradition.
But he lived and died without resuming his original vocation, otherwise
than in his narratives over a bottle.
Under these circumstances, he had been recommended to Sir George Staunton
by a man of the law in Edinburgh, as a person likely to answer any
questions he might have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, who, according to
the colour which Sir George Staunton gave to his cause of inquiry, was
supposed to have stolen a child in the west of England, belonging to a
family in which he was interested. The gentleman had not mentioned his
name, but only his official title; so that Sir George Staunton, when told
that the captain of the Tolbooth was waiting for him in his parlour, had
no idea of meeting his former acquaintance, Jem Ratcliffe.
This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant surprise, for he had
no difficulty in recollecting this man's remarkable features. The change,
however, from George Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even the
penetration of Ratcliffe, and he bowed very low to the baronet and his
guest, hoping Mr. Butler would excuse his recollecting that he was an old
acquaintance.
"And once rendered my wife a piece of great service," said Mr. Butler,
"for which she sent you a token of grateful acknowledgment, which I hope
came safe and was welcome."
"Deil a doubt on't," said Ratcliffe, with a knowing nod; "but ye are
muckle changed for the better since I saw ye, Maister Butler."
"So much so, that I wonder you knew me."
"Aha, then!--Deil a face I see I ever forget," said Ratcliffe while Sir
George Staunton, tied to the stake, and incapable of escaping, internally
cursed the accuracy of his memory. "And yet, sometimes," continued
Ratcliffe, "the sharpest hand will be ta'en in. There is a face in this
very room, if I might presume to be sae bauld, that, if I didna ken the
honourable person it belangs to, I might think it had some cut of an auld
acquaintance."
"I should not be much flattered," answered the Baronet, sternly, and
roused by the risk in which he saw himself placed, "if it is to me you
mean to apply that compliment."
"By no manner of means, sir," said Ratcliffe, bowing very low; "I am come
to receive your honour's commands, and no to trouble your honour wi' my
poor observations."
"Well, sir," said Sir George, "I am told you understand police matters--
So do I.--To convince you of which, here are ten guineas of retaining
fee--I make them fifty when you can find me certain notice of a person,
living or dead, whom you will find described in that paper. I shall leave
town presently--you may send your written answer to me to the care of Mr.
" (naming his highly respectable agent), "or of his Grace the Lord High
Commissioner." Rateliffe bowed and withdrew.
"I have angered the proud peat now," he said to himself, "by finding out
a likeness; but if George Robertson's father had lived within a mile of
his mother, d--n me if I should not know what to think, for as high as he
carries his head."
When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George Staunton ordered tea and
coffee, which were brought by his valet, and then, after considering with
himself for a minute, asked his guest whether he had lately heard from
his wife and family. Butler, with some surprise at the question, replied,
"that he had received no letter for some time; his wife was a poor
penwoman."
"Then," said Sir George Staunton, "I am the first to inform you there has
been an invasion of your quiet premises since you left home. My wife,
whom the Duke of Argyle had the goodness to permit to use Roseneath
Lodge, while she was spending some weeks in your country, has sallied
across and taken up her quarters in the Manse, as she says, to be nearer
the goats, whose milk she is using; but, I believe, in reality, because
she prefers Mrs. Butler's company to that of the respectable gentleman
who acts as seneschal on the Duke's domains."
Mr. Butler said, "He had often heard the late Duke and the present speak
with high respect of Lady Staunton, and was happy if his house could
accommodate any friend of theirs--it would be but a very slight
acknowledgment of the many favours he owed them."
"That does not make Lady Staunton and myself the less obliged to your
hospitality, sir," said Sir George. "May I inquire if you think of
returning home soon?"
"In the course of two days," Mr. Butler answered, "his duty in the
Assembly would be ended; and the other matters he had in town being all
finished, he was desirous of returning to Dumbartonshire as soon as he
could; but he was under the necessity of transporting a considerable sum
in bills and money with him, and therefore wished to travel in company
with one or two of his brethren of the clergy."
"My escort will be more safe," said Sir George Staunton, "and I think of
setting off to-morrow or next day. If you will give me the pleasure of
your company, I will undertake to deliver you and your charge safe at the
Manse, provided you will admit me along with you."
Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal; the appointment was made
accordingly, and, by despatches with one of Sir George's servants, who
was sent forward for the purpose, the inhabitants of the manse of
Knocktarlitie were made acquainted with the intended journey; and the
news rung through the whole vicinity, "that the minister was coming back
wi' a braw English gentleman and a' the siller that was to pay for the
estate of Craigsture."
This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had been adopted by Sir
George Staunton in consequence of the incidents of the evening. In spite
of his present consequence, he felt he had presumed too far in venturing
so near the scene of his former audacious acts of violence, and he knew
too well, from past experience, the acuteness of a man like Ratcliffe,
again to encounter him. The next two days he kept his lodgings, under
pretence of indisposition, and took leave by writing of his noble friend
the High Commissioner, alleging the opportunity of Mr. Butler's company
as a reason for leaving Edinburgh sooner than he had proposed. He had a
long conference with his agent on the subject of Annaple Bailzou; and the
professional gentleman, who was the agent also of the Argyle family, had
directions to collect all the information which Ratcliffe or others might
be able to obtain concerning the fate of that woman and the unfortunate
child, and so soon as anything transpired which had the least appearance
of being important, that he should send an express with it instantly to
Knocktarlitie. These instructions were backed with a deposit of money,
and a request that no expense might be spared; so that Sir George
Staunton had little reason to apprehend negligence on the part of the
persons intrusted with the commission.
The journey, which the brothers made in company, was attended with more
pleasure, even to Sir George Staunton, than he had ventured to expect.
His heart lightened in spite of himself when they lost sight of
Edinburgh; and the easy, sensible conversation of Butler was well
calculated to withdraw his thoughts from painful reflections. He even
began to think whether there could be much difficulty in removing his
wife's connections to the rectory of Willingham; it was only on his part
procuring some still better preferment for the present incumbent, and on
Butler's, that he should take orders according to the English Church, to
which he could not conceive a possibility of his making objection, and
then he had them residing under his wing. No doubt there was pain in
seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted, as he knew her to be, with the full truth
of his evil history; but then her silence, though he had no reason to
complain of her indiscretion hitherto, was still more absolutely ensured.
It would keep his lady, also, both in good temper and in more subjection;
for she was sometimes troublesome to him by insisting on remaining in
town when he desired to retire to the country, alleging the total want of
society at Willingham. "Madam, your sister is there," would, he thought,
be a sufficient answer to this ready argument.
He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he would think of an
English living of twelve hundred pounds yearly, with the burden of
affording his company now and then to a neighbour, whose health was not
strong or his spirits equal. "He might meet," he said, "occasionally, a
very learned and accomplished gentleman, who was in orders as a Catholic
priest, but he hoped that would be no insurmountable objection to a man
of his liberality of sentiment. What," he said, "would Mr. Butler think
of as an answer, if the offer should be made to him?"
"Simply that I could not accept of it," said Mr. Butler. "I have no mind
to enter into the various debates between the churches; but I was brought
up in mine own, have received her ordination, am satisfied of the truth
of her doctrines, and will die under the banner I have enlisted to."
"What may be the value of your preferment?" said Sir George Staunton,
"unless I am asking an indiscreet question."
"Probably one hundred a-year, one year with another, besides my glebe and
pasture-ground."
"And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred a-year, without
alleging any damning difference of doctrine betwixt the two churches of
England and Scotland?"
"On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment; there may be much good, and
there are certainly saving means in both; but every man must act
according to his own lights. I hope I have done, and am in the course of
doing, my Master's work in this Highland parish; and it would ill become
me, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in the wilderness. But, even
in the temporal view which you have taken of the matter, Sir George, this
hundred pounds a-year of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and left us
nothing to wish for; my father-in-law's succession, and other
circumstances, have added a small estate of about twice as much more, and
how we are to dispose of it I do not know--So I leave it to you, sir, to
think if I were wise, not having the wish or opportunity of spending
three hundred a-year, to covet the possession of four times that sum."
"This is philosophy," said Sir George; "I have heard of it, but I never
saw it before."
"It is common sense," replied Butler, "which accords with philosophy and
religion more frequently than pedants or zealots are apt to admit."
Sir George turned the subject, and did not again resume it. Although they
travelled in Sir George's chariot, he seemed so much fatigued with the
motion, that it was necessary for him to remain for a day at a small town
called Mid-Calder, which was their first stage from Edinburgh. Glasgow
occupied another day, so slow were their motions.
They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had resolved to leave the
equipage and to hire a boat to take them to the shores near the manse, as
the Gare-Loch lay betwixt them and that point, besides the impossibility
of travelling in that district with wheel-carriages. Sir George's valet,
a man of trust, accompanied them, as also a footman; the grooms were left
with the carriage. Just as this arrangement was completed, which was
about four o'clock in the afternoon, an express arrived from Sir George's
agent in Edinburgh, with a packet, which he opened and read with great
attention, appearing much interested and agitated by the contents. The
packet had been despatched very soon after their leaving Edinburgh, but
the messenger had missed the travellers by passing through Mid-Calder in
the night, and overshot his errand by getting to Roseneath before them.
He was now on his return, after having waited more than four-and-twenty
hours. Sir George Staunton instantly wrote back an answer, and rewarding
the messenger liberally, desired him not to sleep till he placed it in
his agent's hands.
At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited for them some time.
During their voyage, which was slow, for they were obliged to row the
whole way, and often against the tide, Sir George Staunton's inquiries
ran chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who had infested that
country since the year 1745. Butler informed him that many of them were
not native Highlanders, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperate
fortunes, who had taken advantage of the confusion introduced by the
civil war, the general discontent of the mountaineers, and the unsettled
state of police, to practise their plundering trade with more audacity.
Sir George next inquired into their lives, their habits, whether the
violences which they committed were not sometimes atoned for by acts of
generosity, and whether they did not possess the virtues as well as the
vices of savage tribes?
Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes show sparks of
generosity, of which even the worst class of malefactors are seldom
utterly divested; but that their evil propensities were certain and
regular principles of action, while any occasional burst of virtuous
feeling was only a transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, and excited
probably by some singular and unusual concatenation of circumstances. In
discussing these inquiries, which Sir George pursued with an apparent
eagerness that rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to mention the
name of Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, with which the reader is already
acquainted. Sir George caught the sound up eagerly, and as if it conveyed
particular interest to his ear. He made the most minute inquiries
concerning the man whom he mentioned, the number of his gang, and even
the appearance of those who belonged to it. Upon these points Butler
could give little answer. The man had a name among the lower class, but
his exploits were considerably exaggerated; he had always one or two
fellows with him, but never aspired to the command of above three or
four. In short, he knew little about him, and the small acquaintance he
had had by no means inclined him to desire more.
"Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these days."
"That would be a dangerous meeting, Sir George, unless you mean we are to
see him receive his deserts from the law, and then it were a melancholy
one."
"Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler, and who shall escape
whipping? But I am talking riddles to you. I will explain them more fully
to you when I have spoken over the subject with Lady Staunton.--Pull
away, my lads," he added, addressing himself to the rowers; "the clouds
threaten us with a storm."
In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the huge piles of
clouds which assembled in the western horizon, and glowed like a furnace
under the influence of the setting sun--that awful stillness in which
nature seems to expect the thunder-burst, as a condemned soldier waits
for the platoon fire which is to stretch him on the earth, all betokened
a speedy storm. Large broad drops fell from time to time, and induced the
gentlemen to assume the boat-cloaks; but the rain again ceased, and the
oppressive heat, so unusual in Scotland in the end of May, inclined them
to throw them aside. "There is something solemn in this delay of the
storm," said Sir George; "it seems as if it suspended its peal till it
solemnised some important event in the world below."
"Alas!" replied Butler, "what are we that the laws of nature should
correspond in their march with our ephemeral deeds or sufferings! The
clouds will burst when surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goat
is falling at that instant from the cliffs of Arran, or a hero expiring
on the field of battle he has won."
"The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir George Staunton; "and
to dwell on the fate of humanity as on that which is the prime central
movement of the mighty machine. We love not to think that we shall mix
with the ages that have gone before us, as these broad black raindrops
mingle with the waste of waters, making a trifling and momentary eddy,
and are then lost for ever."
"_For ever!_--we are not--we cannot be lost for ever," said Butler,
looking upward; "death is to us change, not consummation; and the
commencement of a new existence, corresponding in character to the deeds
which we have done in the body."
While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the solemnity of the
approaching storm naturally led them, their voyage threatened to be more
tedious than they expected, for gusts of wind, which rose and fell with
sudden impetuosity, swept the bosom of the firth, and impeded the efforts
of the rowers. They had now only to double a small headland, in order to
get to the proper landing-place in the mouth of the little river; but in
the state of the weather, and the boat being heavy, this was like to be a
work of time, and in the meanwhile they must necessarily be exposed to
the storm.
"Could we not land on this side of the headland," asked Sir George, "and
so gain some shelter?"
Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none affording a convenient or
even practicable passage up the rocks which surrounded the shore.
"Think again," said Sir George Staunton; "the storm will soon be
violent."
"Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, "there's the Caird's Cove; but we
dinna tell the minister about it, and I am no sure if I can steer the
boat to it, the bay is sae fa' o' shoals and sunk rocks."
"Try," said Sir George, "and I will give you half-a-guinea."
The old fellow took the helm, and observed, "That, if they could get in,
there was a steep path up from the beach, and half-an-hour's walk from
thence to the Manse."
"Are you sure you know the way?" said Butler to the old man.
"I maybe kend it a wee better fifteen years syne, when Dandie Wilson was
in the firth wi' his clean-ganging lugger. I mind Dandie had a wild young
Englisher wi' him, that they ca'd"
"If you chatter so much," said Sir George Staunton, "you will have the
boat on the Grindstone--bring that white rock in a line with the
steeple."
"By G--," said the veteran, staring, "I think your honour kens the bay as
weel as me.--Your honour's nose has been on the Grindstone ere now, I'm
thinking."
As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove, which, concealed
behind crags, and defended on every point by shallows and sunken rocks,
could scarce be discovered or approached, except by those intimate with
the navigation. An old shattered boat was already drawn up on the beach
within the cove, close beneath the trees, and with precautions for
concealment.
Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his companion, "It is
impossible for you to conceive, Sir George, the difficulty I have had
with my poor people, in teaching them the guilt and the danger of this
contraband trade--yet they have perpetually before their eyes all its
dangerous consequences. I do not know anything that more effectually
depraves and ruins their moral and religious principles."
Sir George forced himself to say something in a low voice about the
spirit of adventure natural to youth, and that unquestionably many would
become wiser as they grew older.
"Too seldom, sir," replied Butler. "If they have been deeply engaged, and
especially if they, have mingled in the scenes of violence and blood to
which their occupation naturally leads, I have observed, that, sooner or
later, they come to an evil end. Experience, as well as Scripture,
teaches us, Sir George, that mischief shall hunt the violent man, and
that the bloodthirsty man shall not live half his days--But take my arm
to help you ashore."
Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting in his altered
thought the different feelings of mind and frame with which he had
formerly frequented the same place. As they landed, a low growl of
thunder was heard at a distance.
"That is ominous, Mr. Butler," said Sir George.
"_Intonuit laevum_--it is ominous of good, then," answered Butler,
smiling.
The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their way round the headland
to the ordinary landing-place; the two gentlemen, followed by their
servant, sought their way by a blind and tangled path, through a close
copsewood, to the Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their arrival was
anxiously expected.
The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return on the preceding
day, which was that appointed by Sir George's letter. The delay of the
travellers at Calder had occasioned this breach of appointment. The
inhabitants of the Manse began even to doubt whether they would arrive on
the present day. Lady Staunton felt this hope of delay as a brief
reprieve, for she dreaded the pangs which her husband's pride must
undergo at meeting with a sister-in-law, to whom the whole of his unhappy
and dishonourable history was too well known. She knew, whatever force or
constraint he might put upon his feelings in public, that she herself
must be doomed to see them display themselves in full vehemence in
secret,--consume his health, destroy his temper, and render him at once
an object of dread and compassion. Again and again she cautioned Jeanie
to display no tokens of recognition, but to receive him as a perfect
stranger,--and again and again Jeanie renewed her promise to comply with
her wishes.
Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious thought on the
awkwardness of the approaching meeting; but her conscience was
ungalled--and then she was cumbered with many household cares of an
unusual nature, which, joined to the anxious wish once more to see
Butler, after an absence of unusual length, made her extremely desirous
that the travellers should arrive as soon as possible. And--why should I
disguise the truth?--ever and anon a thought stole across her mind that
her gala dinner had now been postponed for two days; and how few of the
dishes, after every art of her simple cuisine had been exerted to dress
them, could with any credit or propriety appear again upon the third;
and what was she to do with the rest?--Upon this last subject she was
saved the trouble of farther deliberation, by the sudden appearance of
the Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout fellows, dressed and armed
in the Highland fashion.
"Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I hope I hae the pleasure
to see you weel--And goot-morrow to you, goot Mrs. Putler--I do peg you
will order some victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we hae peen
out on firth and moor since afore daylight, and a' to no purpose
neither--Cot tam!"
So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier wig, and wiped his
head with an air of easy importance; totally regardless of the look of
well-bred astonishment by which Lady Staunton endeavoured to make him
comprehend that he was assuming too great a liberty.
"It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussel," continued the
Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with an air of gallantry, "that it is
in a fair leddy's service, or in the service of a gentleman whilk has a
fair leddy, whilk is the same thing, since serving the husband is serving
the wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know."
"Really, sir," said Lady Staunton, "as you seem to intend this compliment
for me, I am at a loss to know what interest Sir George or I can have in
your movements this morning."
"O, Cot tam!--this is too cruel, my leddy--as if it was not py special
express from his Grace's honourable agent and commissioner at Edinburgh,
with a warrant conform, that I was to seek for and apprehend Donacha dhu
na Dunaigh, and pring him pefore myself and Sir George Staunton, that he
may have his deserts, that is to say, the gallows, whilk he has doubtless
deserved, py peing the means of frightening your leddyship, as weel as
for something of less importance."
"Frightening me!" said her ladyship; "why, I never wrote to Sir George
about my alarm at the waterfall."
"Then he must have heard it otherwise; for what else can give him sic an
earnest tesire to see this rapscallion, that I maun ripe the haill mosses
and muirs in the country for him, as if I were to get something for
finding him, when the pest o't might pe a pall through my prains?"
"Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George's account that you have
been attempting to apprehend this fellow?"
"Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his honour's pleasure;
for the creature might hae gone on in a decent quiet way for me, sae lang
as he respectit the Duke's pounds--put reason goot he suld be taen, and
hangit to poet, if it may pleasure ony honourable shentleman that is the
Duke's friend--Sae I got the express over night, and I caused warn half a
score of pretty lads, and was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I
garr'd the lads take their kilts and short coats."
"I wonder you did that, Captain," said Mrs. Butler, "when you know the
act of Parliament against wearing the Highland dress."
"Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The law is put twa-three
years auld yet, and is ower young to hae come our length; and pesides,
how is the lads to climb the praes wi' thae tamn'd breekens on them? It
makes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I kend Donacha's haunt
gey and weel, and I was at the place where he had rested yestreen; for I
saw the leaves the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them; by the
same token, there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am thinking they got
some word oat o' the island what was intended--I sought every glen and
clench, as if I had been deer-stalking, but teil a want of his coat-tail
could I see--Cot tam!"
"He'll be away down the Firth to Cowal," said David; and Reuben, who had
been out early that morning a-nutting, observed, "That he had seen a boat
making for the Caird's Cove;" a place well known to the boys, though
their less adventurous father was ignorant of its existence.
"Py Cot," said Duncan, "then I will stay here no longer than to trink
this very horn of prandy and water, for it's very possible they will pe
in the wood. Donacha's a clever fellow, and maype thinks it pest to sit
next the chimley when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would look for
him sae near hand! I peg your leddyship will excuse my aprupt departure,
as I will return forthwith, and I will either pring you Donacha in life,
or else his head, whilk I dare to say will be as satisfactory. And I hope
to pass a pleasant evening with your leddyship; and I hope to have mine
revenges on Mr. Putler at backgammon, for the four pennies whilk he won,
for he will pe surely at home soon, or else he will have a wet journey,
seeing it is apout to pe a scud."
Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apologies for leaving them,
which were very readily received, and reiterated assurances of his speedy
return (of the sincerity whereof Mrs. Butler entertained no doubt, so
long as her best greybeard of brandy was upon duty), Duncan left the
Manse, collected his followers, and began to scour the close and
entangled wood which lay between the little glen and the Caird's Cove.
David, who was a favourite with the Captain, on account of his spirit and
courage, took the opportunity of escaping, to attend the investigations
of that great man.