by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XVI.
Whom does time gallop withal? As You Like It.
It is fortunate for tale-tellers that they are not tied down liketheatrical writers to the unities of time and place, but may conducttheir personages to Athens and Thebes at their pleasure, and bring themback at their convenience. Time, to use Rosalind's simile, has hithertopaced with the hero of our tale; for betwixt Morton's first appearance asa competitor for the popinjay and his final departure for Holland hardlytwo months elapsed. Years, however, glided away ere we find it possibleto resume the thread of our narrative, and Time must be held to havegalloped over the interval. Craving, therefore, the privilege of my cast,I entreat the reader's attention to the continuation of the narrative, asit starts from a new era, being the year immediately subsequent to theBritish Revolution.
Scotland had just begun to repose from the convulsion occasioned by achange of dynasty, and, through the prudent tolerance of King William,had narrowly escaped the horrors of a protracted civil war. Agriculturebegan to revive, and men, whose minds had been disturbed by the violentpolitical concussions, and the general change of government in Church andState, had begun to recover their ordinary temper, and to give the usualattention to their own private affairs, in lieu of discussing those ofthe public. The Highlanders alone resisted the newly established order ofthings, and were in arms in a considerable body under the Viscount ofDundee, whom our readers have hitherto known by the name of Grahame ofClaverhouse. But the usual state of the Highlands was so unruly thattheir being more or less disturbed was not supposed greatly to affect thegeneral tranquillity of the country, so long as their disorders wereconfined within their own frontiers. In the Lowlands, the Jacobites, nowthe undermost party, had ceased to expect any immediate advantage by openresistance, and were, in their turn, driven to hold private meetings, andform associations for mutual defence, which the government termedtreason, while they cried out persecution.
The triumphant Whigs, while they re-established Presbytery as thenational religion, and assigned to the General Assemblies of the Kirktheir natural influence, were very far from going the lengths which theCameronians and more extravagant portion of the nonconformists underCharles and James loudly demanded. They would listen to no proposal forre-establishing the Solemn League and Covenant; and those who hadexpected to find in King William a zealous Covenanted Monarch, weregrievously disappointed when he intimated, with the phlegm peculiar tohis country, his intention to tolerate all forms of religion which wereconsistent with the safety of the State. The principles of indulgencethus espoused and gloried in by the Government gave great offence to themore violent party, who condemned them as diametrically contrary toScripture,--for which narrow-spirited doctrine they cited various texts,all, as it may well be supposed, detached from their context, and most ofthem derived from the charges given to the Jews in the Old Testamentdispensation to extirpate idolaters out of the Promised Land. They alsomurmured highly against the influence assumed by secular persons inexercising the rights of patronage, which they termed a rape upon thechastity of the Church. They censured and condemned as Erastian many ofthe measures by which Government after the Revolution showed aninclination to interfere with the management of the Church, and theypositively refused to take the oath of allegiance to King William andQueen Mary until they should, on their part, have sworn to the SolemnLeague--and Covenant, the Magna Charta, as they termed it, of thePresbyterian Church.
This party, therefore, remained grumbling and dissatisfied, and maderepeated declarations against defections and causes of wrath, which, hadthey been prosecuted as in the two former reigns, would have led to thesame consequence of open rebellion. But as the murmurers were allowed tohold their meetings uninterrupted, and to testify as much as they pleasedagainst Socinianism, Erastianism, and all the compliances and defectionsof the time, their zeal, unfanned by persecution, died gradually away,their numbers became diminished, and they sunk into the scattered remnantof serious, scrupulous, and harmless enthusiasts, of whom Old Mortality,whose legends have afforded the groundwork of my tale, may be taken as nobad representative. But in the years which immediately succeeded theRevolution, the Cameronians continued a sect strong in numbers andvehement in their political opinions, whom Government wished todiscourage, while they prudently temporised with them. These men formedone violent party in the State; and the Episcopalian and Jacobiteinterest, notwithstanding their ancient and national animosity, yetrepeatedly endeavoured to intrigue among them, and avail themselves oftheir discontents, to obtain their assistance in recalling the Stewartfamily. The Revolutionary Government in the mean while, was supported bythe great bulk of the Lowland interest, who were chiefly disposed to amoderate Presbytery, and formed in a great measure the party who in theformer oppressive reigns were stigmatized by the Cameronians for havingexercised that form of worship under the declaration of Indulgence issuedby Charles II. Such was the state of parties in Scotland immediatelysubsequent to the Revolution.
It was on a delightful summer evening that a stranger, well mounted, andhaving the appearance of a military man of rank, rode down a windingdescent which terminated in view of the romantic ruins of Bothwell Castleand the river Clyde, which winds so beautifully between rocks and woodsto sweep around the towers formerly built by Aymer de Valence. BothwellBridge was at a little distance, and also in sight. The opposite field,once the scene of slaughter and conflict, now lay as placid and quiet asthe surface of a summer lake. The trees and bushes, which grew around inromantic variety of shade, were hardly seen to stir under the influenceof the evening breeze. The very murmur of the river seemed to softenitself into unison with the stillness of the scene around.
The path through which the traveller descended was occasionally shaded bydetached trees of great size, and elsewhere by the hedges and boughs offlourishing orchards, now laden with summer fruits.
The nearest object of consequence was a farmhouse, or, it might be, theabode of a small proprietor, situated on the side of a sunny bank whichwas covered by apple and pear trees. At the foot of the path which led upto this modest mansion was a small cottage, pretty much in the situationof a porter's lodge, though obviously not designed for such a purpose.The hut seemed comfortable, and more neatly arranged than is usual inScotland. It had its little garden, where some fruit-trees and busheswere mingled with kitchen herbs; a cow and six sheep fed in a paddockhard by; the cock strutted and crowed, and summoned his family around himbefore the door; a heap of brushwood and turf, neatly made up, indicatedthat the winter fuel was provided; and the thin blue smoke which ascendedfrom the straw-bound chimney, and winded slowly out from among the greentrees, showed that the evening meal was in the act of being made ready.To complete the little scene of rural peace and comfort, a girl of aboutfive years old was fetching water in a pitcher from a beautiful fountainof the purest transparency, which bubbled up at the root of a decayed oldoak-tree about twenty yards from the end of the cottage.
The stranger reined up his horse and called to the little nymph, desiringto know the way to Fairy Knowe. The child set down her water-pitcher,hardly understanding what was said to her, put her fair flaxen hair aparton her brows, and opened her round blue eyes with the wondering "What'syour wull?" which is usually a peasant's first answer, if it can becalled one, to all questions whatever.
"I wish to know the way to Fairy Knowe."
"Mammie, mammie," exclaimed the little rustic, running towards the doorof the hut, "come out and speak to the gentleman."
Her mother appeared,--a handsome young country-woman, to whose features,originally sly and espiegle in expression, matrimony had given thatdecent matronly air which peculiarly marks the peasant's wife ofScotland. She had an infant in one arm, and with the other she smootheddown her apron, to which hung a chubby child of two years old. The eldergirl, whom the traveller had first seen, fell back behind her mother assoon as she appeared, and kept that station, occasionally peeping out tolook at
the stranger.
"What was your pleasure, sir?" said the woman, with an air of respectfulbreeding not quite common in her rank of life, but without anythingresembling forwardness.
The stranger looked at her with great earnestness for a moment, and thenreplied, "I am seeking a place called Fairy Knowe, and a man calledCuthbert Headrigg. You can probably direct me to him?"
"It's my gudeman, sir," said the young woman, with a smile of welcome."Will you alight, sir, and come into our puir dwelling?--Cuddie,Cuddie,"--a white-headed rogue of four years appeared at the door of thehut--"rin awa, my bonny man, and tell your father a gentleman wants him.Or, stay,--Jenny, ye'll hae mair sense: rin ye awa and tell him; he'sdown at the Four-acres Park.--Winna ye light down and bide a blink, sir?Or would ye take a mouthfu' o' bread and cheese, or a drink o' ale, tillour gudeman comes. It's gude ale, though I shouldna say sae that brewsit; but ploughmanlads work hard, and maun hae something to keep theirhearts abune by ordinar, sae I aye pit a gude gowpin o' maut to thebrowst."
As the stranger declined her courteous offers, Cuddie, the reader's oldacquaintance, made his appearance in person. His countenance stillpresented the same mixture of apparent dulness with occasional sparkles,which indicated the craft so often found in the clouted shoe. He lookedon the rider as on one whom he never had before seen, and, like hisdaughter and wife, opened the conversation with the regular query,"What's your wull wi' me, sir?"
"I have a curiosity to ask some questions about this country," said thetraveller, "and I was directed to you as an intelligent man who cananswer them."
"Nae doubt, sir," said Cuddie, after a moment's hesitation. "But I wouldfirst like to ken what sort of questions they are. I hae had sae monyquestions speered at me in my day, and in sic queer ways, that if ye kenda', ye wadna wonder at my jalousing a' thing about them. My mother gar 'dme learn the Single Carritch, whilk was a great vex; then I behoved tolearn about my godfathers and godmothers to please the auld leddy; andwhiles I jumbled them thegether and pleased nane o' them; and when I camto man's yestate, cam another kind o' questioning in fashion that I likedwaur than Effectual Calling; and the 'did promise and vow' of the tapewere yokit to the end o' the tother. Sae ye see, sir, I aye like to hearquestions asked befor I answer them."
"You have nothing to apprehend from mine, my good friend; they onlyrelate to the state of the country."
"Country?" replied Cuddie; "ou, the country's weel eneugh, an it werenathat dour deevil, Claver'se (they ca' him Dundee now), that's stirringabout yet in the Highlands, they say, wi' a' the Donalds and Duncans andDugalds, that ever wore bottomless breeks, driving about wi' him, to setthings asteer again, now we hae gotten them a' reasonably weel settled.But Mackay will pit him down, there's little doubt o' that; he'll gie himhis fairing, I'll be caution for it."
"What makes you so positive of that, my friend?" asked the horseman.
"I heard it wi' my ain lugs," answered Cuddie, foretauld to him by a manthat had been three hours stane dead, and came back to this earth againjust to tell him his mind. It was at a place they ca' Drumshinnel."
"Indeed?" said the stranger. "I can hardly believe you, my friend."
"Ye might ask my mither, then, if she were in life," said Cuddie; "it washer explained it a' to me, for I thought the man had only been wounded.At ony rate, he spake of the casting out of the Stewarts by their verynames, and the vengeance that was brewing for Claver'se and his dragoons.They ca'd the man Habakkuk Mucklewrath; his brain was a wee ajee, but hewas a braw preacher for a' that."
"You seem," said the stranger, "to live in a rich and peaceful country."
"It's no to compleen o', sir, an we get the crap weel in," quoth Cuddie;"but if ye had seen the blude rinnin' as fast on the tap o' that briggyonder as ever the water ran below it, ye wadna hae thought it sae bonniea spectacle."
"You mean the battle some years since? I was waiting upon Monmouth thatmorning, my good friend, and did see some part of the action," said thestranger.
"Then ye saw a bonny stour," said Cuddie, "that sail serve me forfighting a' the days o' my life. I judged ye wad be a trooper, by yourred scarlet lace-coat and your looped hat."
"And which side were you upon, my friend?" continued the inquisitivestranger.
"Aha, lad?" retorted Cuddie, with a knowing look, or what he designed forsuch,--"there 's nae use in telling that, unless I kend wha was askingme."
"I commend your prudence, but it is unnecessary; I know you acted on thatoccasion as servant to Henry Morton."
"Ay!" said Cuddie, in surprise, "how came ye by that secret? No that Ineed care a bodee about it, for the sun's on our side o' the hedge now. Iwish my master were living to get a blink o't"
"And what became of him?" said the rider.
"He was lost in the vessel gaun to that weary Holland,--clean lost; anda' body perished, and my poor master amang them. Neither man nor mousewas ever heard o' mair." Then Cuddie uttered a groan.
"You had some regard for him, then?" continued the stranger.
"How could I help it? His face was made of a fiddle, as they say, for a'body that looked on him liked him. And a braw soldier he was. Oh, an yehad but seen him down at the brigg there, fleeing about like a fleeingdragon to gar folk fight that had unto little will till 't! There was heand that sour Whigamore they ca'd Burley: if twa men could hae won afield, we wadna hae gotten our skins paid that day."
"You mention Burley: do you know if he yet lives?"
"I kenna muckle about him. Folk say he was abroad, and our sufferers wadhold no communion wi' him, because o' his having murdered the archbishop.Sae he cam hame ten times dourer than ever, and broke aff wi' mony o' thePresbyterians; and at this last coming of the Prince of Orange he couldget nae countenance nor command for fear of his deevilish temper, and hehasna been heard of since; only some folk say that pride and anger haedriven him clean wud."
"And--and," said the traveller, after considerable hesitation,--"do youknow anything of Lord Evan dale?"
"Div I ken onything o' Lord Evandale? Div I no? Is not my young leddy upby yonder at the house, that's as gude as married to him?"
"And are they not married, then?" said the rider, hastily.
"No, only what they ca' betrothed,--me and my wife were witnesses. It'sno mony months bypast; it was a lang courtship,--few folk kend the reasonby Jenny and mysell. But will ye no light down? I downa bide to see yesitting up there, and the clouds are casting up thick in the west owerGlasgow-ward, and maist skeily folk think that bodes rain."
In fact, a deep black cloud had already surmounted the setting sun; a fewlarge drops of rain fell, and the murmurs of distant thunder were heard.
"The deil's in this man," said Cuddie to himself; "I wish he would eitherlight aff or ride on, that he may quarter himsell in Hamilton or theshower begin."
But the rider sate motionless on his horse for two or three moments afterhis last question, like one exhausted by some uncommon effort. At length,recovering himself as if with a sudden and painful effort, he askedCuddie "if Lady Margaret Bellenden still lived."
"She does," replied Cuddie, "but in a very sma' way. They hae been a sadchanged family since thae rough times began; they hae suffered eneughfirst and last,--and to lose the auld Tower and a' the bonny barony andthe holms that I hae pleughed sae often, and the Mains, and my kale-yard,that I suld hae gotten back again, and a' for naething, as 'a body maysay, but just the want o' some bits of sheep-skin that were lost in theconfusion of the taking of Tillietudlem."
"I have heard something of this," said the stranger, deepening his voiceand averting his head. "I have some interest in the family, and wouldwillingly help them if I could. Can you give me a bed in your houseto-night, my friend?"
"It's but a corner of a place, sir," said Cuddie, "but we'se try, ratherthan ye suld ride on in the rain and thunner; for, to be free wi' ye,sir, I think ye seem no that ower weel."
"I am liable to a dizziness," said the stranger, but it will soon wearoff."
"I ken we c
an gie ye a decent supper, sir," said Cuddie; "and we'll seeabout a bed as weel as we can. We wad be laith a stranger suld lack whatwe have, though we are jimply provided for in beds rather; for Jenny hassae mony bairns (God bless them and her) that troth I maun speak to LordEvandale to gie us a bit eik, or outshot o' some sort, to the onstead."
"I shall be easily accommodated," said the stranger, as he entered thehouse.
"And ye may rely on your naig being weel sorted," said Cuddie; "I kenweel what belangs to suppering a horse, and this is a very gude ane."Cuddie took the horse to the little cow-house, and called to his wife toattend in the mean while to the stranger's accommodation. The officerentered, and threw himself on a settle at some distance from the fire,and carefully turning his back to the little lattice window. Jenny, orMrs. Headrigg, if the reader pleases, requested him to lay aside thecloak, belt, and flapped hat which he wore upon his journey, but heexcused himself under pretence of feeling cold, and, to divert the timetill Cuddie's return, he entered into some chat with the children,carefully avoiding, during the interval, the inquisitive glances of hislandlady.