Rob Roy (43 page)

Thus saying, he sat down, and fetching one or two deep aspirations, by way of recovering his breath, called to the landlady; ‘I think, Luckie, now that I find that there's nae
hole in my wame, whilk I had muckle reason to doubt frae the doings o' your house, I wad be the better o' something to pit intill't.'

The dame, who was all officiousness so soon as the storm had blown over, immediately undertook to broil something comfortable for our supper. Indeed, nothing surprised me more, in the course of the whole matter, than the extreme calmness with which she and her household seemed to regard the martial tumult that had taken place. The good woman was only heard to call to some of her assistants,'Steek the door—steek the door!—Kill or be killed, let naebody pass out till they hae paid the lawin.' And as for the slumberers in those lairs by the wall, which served the family for beds, they only raised their shirtless bodies to look at the fray, ejaculated, ‘Oigh! oigh!' in the tone suitable to their respective sex and ages, and were, I believe, fast asleep again, ere our swords were well returned to their scabbards.

Our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to get some victuals ready, and, to my surprise, very soon began to prepare for us, in the frying-pan, a savoury mess of venison collops, which she dressed in a manner that might well satisfy hungry men, if not epicures. In the meantime the brandy was placed on the table, to which the Highlanders, however partial to their native strong waters, showed no objection, but much the contrary; and the Lowland gentleman, after the first cup had passed round, became desirous to know our profession, and the object of our journey.

‘We are bits o' Glasgow bodies, if it please your honour,' said the Bailie, with an affectation of great humility, ‘travelling to Stirling to get in some siller that is awing us.'

I was so silly as to feel a little disconcerted at the unassuming account which he chose to give of us; but I recollected my promise to be silent, and allow the Bailie to manage the
matter his own way. And, really, when I recollected, Will, that I had not only brought the honest man a long journey from home, which even in itself had been some inconvenience, (if I were to judge from the obvious pain and reluctance with which he took his seat or arose from it,) but had also put him within a hair's-breadth of the loss of his life, I could hardly refuse him such a compliment. The spokesman of the other party, snuffing up his breath through his nose, repeated the words with a sort of sneer;—‘You Glasgow tradesfolks hae naething to do but to gang frae the tae end o' the west o' Scotland to the ither, to plague honest folks that may chance to be awee ahint the hand, like me.'

‘If our debtors were a' sic honest gentlemen as I believe you to be, Garschattachin,' replied the Bailie, ‘conscience! we might save ourselves a labour, for they wad come to seek us.'

‘Eh! what! how!' exclaimed the person whom he had addressed, ‘as I shall live by bread, (not forgetting beef and brandy,) it's my auld friend Nicol Jarvie, the best man that ever counted doun merks on a band till a distressed gentleman. Were ye na coming up my way?—were ye na coming up the Endrick to Garschattachin?'

‘Troth no, Maister Galbraith,' replied the Bailie, ‘I had other eggs on the spit—and I thought ye wad be saying I cam to look about the annual rent that's due on the bit heritable band that's between us.'

‘Damn the annual rent!' said the laird, with an appearance of great heartiness,—‘Diel a word o' business will you or I speak, now that ye're sae near my country—To see how a trot-cosey and a joseph can disguise a man—that I suldna ken my auld feal friend the deacon!'

‘The bailie, if ye please,' resumed my companion; ‘but I ken what gars ye mistak—the band was granted to my father that's happy, and he was deacon; but his name was Nicol
as weel as mine. I dinna mind that there's been a payment of principal sum or annual rent on it in my day, and doubtless that has made the mistake.'

‘Weel, the devil take the mistake and all that occasioned it!' replied Mr. Galbraith. ‘But I am glad ye are a bailie. Gentlemen, fill a brimmer—this is my excellent friend, Bailie Nicol Jarvie's health—I kend him and his father these twenty years. Are ye a' cleared kelty aff?—Fill anither. Here's to his being sune provost—I say provost—Lord Provost Nicol Jarvie!—and them that affirms there's a man walks the Hie-street o' Glasgow that's fitter for the office, they will do weel not to let me, Duncan Galbraith of Garschattachin, hear them say sae—that's all.' And therewith Duncan Galbraith martially cocked his hat, and placed it on one side of his head with an air of defiance.

The brandy was probably the best recommendation of these complimentary toasts to the two Highlanders, who drank them without appearing anxious to comprehend their purport. They commenced a conversation with Mr. Galbraith in Gaelic, which he talked with perfect fluency, being, as I afterwards learned, a near neighbour to the Highlands.

‘I kend that Scant-o'-grace weel eneugh frae the very outset,' said the Bailie, in a whisper to me; ‘but when blude was warm, and swords were out at ony rate, wha kens what way he might hae thought o' paying his debts? it will be lang or he does it in common form. But he's a honest lad, and has a warm heart too; he disna come often to the Cross o' Glasgow, but mony a buck and blackcock he sends us doun frae the hills. And I can want my siller weel eneugh. My father the deacon had a great regard for the family of Garschattachin.'

Supper being now nearly ready, I looked round for Andrew Fairservice; but that trusty follower had not been
seen by any one since the beginning of the rencontre. The hostess, however, said that she believed our servant had gone into the stable, and offered to light me to the place, saying that ‘no entreaties of the bairns or hers could make him give any answer; and that truly she caredna to gang into the stable hersell at this hour. She was a lone woman, and it was weel kend how the Brownie of Ben-ye-gask guided the gudewife of Ardnagowan; and it was aye judged there was a Brownie in our stable, which was just what garr'd me gie ower keeping an hostler.'

As, however, she lighted me towards the miserable hovel into which they had crammed our unlucky steeds, to regale themselves on hay, every fibre of which was as thick as an ordinary goose quill, she plainly showed me that she had another reason for drawing me aside from the company than that which her words implied. ‘Read that,' she said, slipping a piece of paper into my hand as we arrived at the door of the shed; ‘I bless God I am rid o't. Between sogers and Saxons, and caterans and cattle-lifters, and hership and bluidshed, an honest woman wad live quieter in hell than on the Highland line.'

So saying, she put the pine-torch into my hand, and returned into the house.

Bagpipes, not lyres, the Highland hills adom,
MacLean's loud hollo, and MacGregor's horn.

John Cooper's Reply to Allan Ramsay

I
STOPPED
in the entrance of the stable, if indeed a place be entitled to that name where horses were stowed away along with goats, poultry, pigs, and cows, under the same roof with the mansion–house; although, by a degree of refinement unknown to the rest of the hamlet, and which I after
wards heard was imputed to an overpride on the part of Jeanie MacAlpine, our landlady, the apartment was accommodated with an entrance different from that used by her biped customers. By the light of my torch, I deciphered the following billet, written on a wet, crumpled, and dirty piece of paper, and addressed, ‘For the honoured hands of Mr. F. O., a Saxon young gentleman—These.' The contents were as follows:

‘S
IR,

‘There are night-hawks abroad, so that I cannot give you and my respected kinsman, B. N. J., the meeting at the Clachan of Aberfoil, whilk was my purpose. I pray you to avoid unnecessary communication with those you may find there, as it may give future trouble. The person who gives you this is faithful, and may be trusted, and will guide you to a place where, God willing, I may safely give you the meeting, when I trust my kinsman and you will visit my poor house, where, in despite of my enemies, I can still promise sic cheer as ane Hielandman may gie his friends, and where we will drink a solemn health to a certain D. V. and look to certain affairs whilk I hope to be your aidance in; and I rest, as is wont among gentlemen, your servant to command, R. M. C.'

I was a good deal mortified at the purport of this letter, which seemed to adjourn to a more distant place and date the service which I had hoped to receive from this man Campbell. Still, however, it was some comfort to know that he continued to be in my interest, since without him I could have no hope of recovering my father's papers. I resolved, therefore, to obey his instructions; and, observing all caution before the guests, to take the first good opportunity I could find to procure from the landlady directions how I was to obtain a meeting with this mysterious person.

My next business was to seek out Andrew Fairservice, whom I called several times by name, without receiving any answer, surveying the stable all round, at the same time, not without risk of setting the premises on fire, had not the quantity of wet litter and mud so greatly counterbalanced two or three bunches of straw and hay. At length my repeated cries of ‘Andrew Fairservice—Andrew! Fool— Ass, where are you?' produced a doleful ‘Here,' in a groaning tone, which might have been that of the Brownie itself. Guided by this sound, I advanced to the corner of a shed, where, ensconced in the angle of the wall, behind a barrel full of the feathers of all the fowls which had died in the cause of the public for a month past, I found the manful Andrew; and partly by force, partly by command and exhortation, compelled him forth into the open air. The first words he spoke were, ‘I am an honest lad, sir.'

‘Who the devil questions your honesty?' said I; ‘or what have we to do with it at present? I desire you to come and attend us at supper.'

‘Yes,' reiterated Andrew, without apparently understanding what I said to him, ‘I am an honest lad, whatever the Bailie may say to the contrary. I grant the warld and the warld's gear sits ower near my heart whiles, as if does to mony a ane—But I am an honest lad; and, though I spak' leaving ye in the muir, yet God knows it was far frae my purpose, but just like idle things folk says when they're driving a bargain, to get it as far to their ain side as they can —And I like your honour weel for sae young a lad, and I wadna part wi' ye lightly.'

‘What the deuce are you driving at now?' I replied. ‘Has not every thing been settled again and again to your satisfaction? And are you to talk of leaving me every hour, without either rhyme or reason?'

‘Ay, but I was only making fashion before,' replied
Andrew; ‘but it's come on me in sair earnest now—Lose or win, I daur gae nae farther wi' your honour; and if ye'll tak my foolish advice, ye'll bide by a broken tryste, rather than gang forward yoursell—I hae a sincere regard for ye, and I'm sure ye'll be a credit to your friends if ye live to saw out your wild aits, and get some mair sense and steadiness—But I can follow ye nae farther, even if ye suld founder and perish from the way for lack of guidance and counsel—to gang into Rob Roy's country is a mere tempting o' Providence.'

‘Rob Roy?' said I, in some surprise; ‘I know no such person. What new trick is this, Andrew?'

‘It's hard,' said Andrew—‘very hard, that a man canna be believed when he speaks Heaven's truth, just because he's whiles owercome, and tells lees a little when there is necessary occasion. You needna ask whae Rob Roy is, the reiving lifter that he is—God forgie me! I hope naebody hears us— when ye hae a letter frae him in your pouch. I heard ane o' his gillies bid that auld rudas jaud of a gudewife gie ye that. They thought I didna understand their gibberish; but, though I canna speak it muckle, I can gie a gude guess at what I hear them say—I never thought to hae tauld ye that, but in a fright a' things come out that suld be keepit in. O, Maister Frank, a' your uncle's follies, and a' your cousin's pliskies, were naething to this!—Drink clean cap-out, like Sir Hildebrand; begin the blessed morning with brandy sops, like Squire Percy; swagger, like Squire Thorncliffe; rin wud amang the lassies, like Squire John; gamble, like Richard; win souls to the pope and the deevil, like Rash-leigh; rive, rant, break the Sabbath, and do the pope's bidding, hice them a' put thegither—But, merciful Providence! take care o' your young bluid, and gang nae near Rob Roy!'

Andrew's alarm was too sincere to permit me to suppose
he counterfeited. I contented myself, however, with telling him that I meant to remain in the alehouse that night, and desired to have the horses well looked after. As to the rest, I charged him to observe the strictest silence upon the subject of his alarm, and he might rely upon it I would not incur any serious danger without due precaution. He followed me with a dejected air into the house, observing between his teeth, ‘Man suld be served afore beast—I haena had a morsel in my mouth, but the rough legs o' that auld muircock, this haill blessed day.'

The harmony of the company seemed to have suffered some interruption since my departure, for I found Mr. Galbraith and my friend the Bailie high in dispute.

‘I'll hear nae sic language,' said Mr. Jarvie, as I entered, ‘respecting the Duke o' Argyle and the name o' Campbell. He's a worthy public-spirited nobleman, and a credit to the country, and a friend and benefactor to the trade o' Glasgow.'

‘I'll sae naething against MacCallum More and the Sliochnan-Diarmid,' said the lesser Highlander, laughing. ‘I live on the wrang side of Glencroe to quarrel with Inverara.'

‘Our loch ne'er saw the Cawmill lymphads,'
¹
said the bigger Highlander. ‘She'll speak her mind and fear naebody —She doesna value a Cawmil mair as a Cowan, and ye may tell MacCallum More that Allan Iverach said sae—It's a far cry to Lochow.'
²