Rob Roy (34 page)

‘Ye are a dauring villain, Rob,' answered the Bailie;'and ye will be hanged, that will be seen and heard tell o'; but I'se ne'er be the ill bird and foul my nest, set apart strong necessity and the skreigh of duty, which no man should hear and be inobedient.—And wha the deevil's this?' he continued, turning to me—'Some gillravager that ye hae listed, I daur say. He looks as if he had a bauld heart to the high-way, and a lang craig for the gibbet.'

‘This, good Mr. Jarvie,' said Owen, who, like myself, had been struck dumb during this strange recognition, and no less strange dialogue, which took place betwixt these extraordinary kinsmen—'This, good Mr. Jarvie, is young Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, only child of the head of our house, who should have been taken into our firm at the time Mr. Rashleigh Osbaldistone, his cousin, had the luck to be taken into it'—(Here Owen could not suppress a groan)—‘But, howsoever'——

‘O, I have heard of that smaik,' said the Scotch merchant, interrupting him;'it is he whom your principal, like an obstinate auld fule, wad make a merchant o', wad he or wad he no, and the lad turned a strolling stage-player, in pure dislike to the labour an honest man should live by.— Weel, sir, what say you to your handiwark? Will Hamlet the Dane, or Hamlet's ghost, be good security for Mr. Owen, sir?'

‘I don't deserve your taunt,' I replied,'though I respect your motive, and am too grateful for the assistance you have afforded Mr. Owen, to resent it. My only business here was to do what I could (it is perhaps very little) to aid Mr. Owen in the management of my father's affairs. My dislike of the commercial profession is a feeling of which I am the best and solejudge.'

‘I protest,' said the Highlander, ‘I had some respect for this callant even before I kend what was in him; but now I honour him for his contempt of weavers and spinners, and sic-like mechanical persons and their pursuits.'

‘Ye're mad, Rob,' said the Bailie—'mad as a March hare,—though wherefore a hare suld be mad at March mair than at Martinmas, is mair than I can weel say. Weavers! Deil shake ye out o' the web the weaver craft made. Spinners!—ye'll spin and wind yourself a bonny pirn. And this young birkie here, that ye're hoying and hounding on the shortest
road to the gallows and the deevil, will his stage-plays and his poetries help me here, d'ye think, ony mair than your deep oaths and drawn dirks, ye reprobate, that ye are?— Will
Tityre tu patulœ,
as they ca' it, tell him where Rashleigh Osbaldistone is? or Macbeth, and all his kernes and galla-glasses, and your awn to boot, Rob, procure him five thousand pounds to answer the bills which fa11 due ten days hence, were they a' rouped at the Cross, basket-hilts, Andra-Ferraras, leather targets, brogues, brochan, and sporrans?'

‘Ten days?' I answered, and instinctively drew out Diana Vernon's packet; and the time being elapsed during which I was to keep the seal sacred, I hastily broke it open. A sealed letter fell from a blank enclosure, owing to the trepidation with which I opened the parcel. A slight current of wind, which found its way through a broken pane of the window, wafted the letter to Mr. Jarvie's feet, who lifted it, examined the address with unceremonious curiosity, and, to my astonishment, handed it to his Highland kinsman, saying, ‘Here's a wind has blown a letter to its right owner, though there were ten thousand chances against its coming to hand.'

The Highlander, having examined the address, broke the letter open without the least ceremony. I endeavoured to interrupt his proceeding.

‘You must satisfy me, sir,' said I, ‘that the letter is intended for you before I can permit you to peruse it.'

‘Make yourself quite easy, Mr. Osbaldistone,' replied the mountaineer, with great composure;—'remember Justice Inglewood, Clerk Jobson, Mr. Morris—above all, remember your vera humble servant, Robert Cawmil, and the beautiful Diana Vernon. Remember all this, and doubt no longer that the letter is for me.'

I remained astonished at my own stupidity. Through the
whole night, the voice, and even the features of this man, though imperfectly seen, haunted me with recollections to which I could now assign no exact local or personal associations. But now the light dawned on me at once,—this man was Campbell himself. His whole peculiarities flashed on me at once,—the deep strong voice,—the inflexible stern, yet considerate cast of features,—the Scottish brogue, with its corresponding dialect and imagery, which, although he possessed the power at times of laying them aside, recurred at every moment of emotion, and gave pith to his sarcasm, or vehemence to his expostulation. Rather beneath the middle size than above it, his limbs were formed upon the very strongest model that is consistent with agility, while, from the remarkable ease and freedom of his movements, you could not doubt his possessing the latter quality in a high degree of perfection. Two points in his person interfered with the rules of symmetry—his shoulders were so broad in proportion to his height, as, notwithstanding the lean and lathy appearance of his frame, gave him something the air of being too square in respect to his stature; and his arms, though round, sinewy, and strong, were so very long as to be rather a deformity. I afterwards heard that this length of arm was a circumstance on which he prided himself; that when he wore his native Highland garb, he could tie the garters of his hose without stooping; and mat it gave him great advantage in the use of the broadsword, at which he was very dexterous. But certainly this want of symmetry destroyed the claim he might otherwise have set up, to be accounted a very handsome man; it gave something wild, irregular, and, as it were, unearthly, to his appearance, and reminded me involuntarily, of the tales which Mabel used to tell of the old Picts who ravaged Northumberland in ancient times, who, according to her tradition, were a sort of half-goblin, half-human beings, distinguished, like this
man, for courage, cunning, ferocity, the length of their arms, and the squareness of their shoulders.

When, however, I recollected the circumstances in which we formerly met, I could not doubt that the billet was most probably designed for him. He had made a marked figure among those mysterious personages over whom Diana seemed to exercise an influence, and from whom she experienced an influence in her turn. It was painful to think that the fate of a being so amiable was involved in that of desperadoes of this man's description; yet it seemed impossible to doubt it. Of what use, however, could this person be to my father's affairs?—I could think only of one. Rashleigh Osbaldistone had, at the instigation of Miss Vernon, certainly found means to produce Mr. Campbell when his presence was necessary to exculpate me from Morris's accusation—Was it not possible that her influence, in like manner, might prevail on Campbell to produce Rashleigh? Speaking on this supposition, I requested to know where my dangerous kinsman was, and when Mr. Campbell had seen him. The answer was indirect.

‘It's a kittle cast she has gien me to play; but yet it's fan-play, and I winna baulk her. Mr. Osbaldistone, I dwell not very far from hence—my kinsman can show you the way— Leave Mr. Owen to do the best he can in Glasgow—do you come and see me in the glens, and it's like I may pleasure you, and stead your father in his extremity. I am but a poor man; but wit's better than wealth—and cousin,' (turning from me to address Mr. Jarvie,) ‘if ye daur venture sae muckle as to eat a dish of Scotch collops, and a leg o' red-deer venison wi' me, come ye wi' this Sassenach gentleman as far as Drymen or Bucklivie, or the Clachan of Aberfoil will be better than ony o' them, and I'll hae somebody waiting to weise ye the gate to the place where I may be for
the time—What say ye, man?—There's my thumb, I'll ne‘er beguile thee.'

‘Na, na, Robin,' said the cautious burgher, ‘I seldom Eke to leave the Gorbals; I have nae freedom to gang among your wild hills, Robin, and your kilted red-shanks—it disna become my place, man.'

‘The devil damn your place and you baith!' reiterated Campbell. ‘The only drap o' gentle bluid that's in your body was our great grand-uncle's that was justified at Dumbarton, and you set yourself up to say ye wad derogate frae your place to visit me!—Hark thee, man, I owe thee a day in harst—I'll pay up your thousan pund Scots, plack and bawbee, gin ye‘ll be an honest fallow for anes, and just daiker up the gate wi'this Sassenach.'

‘Hout awa' wi' your gentility,' replied the Bailie; ‘carry your gentle bluid to the Cross, and see what ye'll buy wi't.—But, if I
were
to come, wad ye really and soothfastly pay me the siller?'

‘I swear to ye,' said the Highlander, ‘upon the halidome of him that sleeps beneath the grey stane at Inch-Cailleach.'
¹

‘Say nae mair,—Robin,—sae nae mair—We'll see what may be dune.—But ye maunna expect me to gang ower the Highland line—I'll gae beyond the line at no rate. Ye maun meet me about Bucklivie or the Clachan of Aberfoil, and dinna forget the needful.'

‘Nae fear—nae fear,' said Campbell, ‘I'll be as true as the steel blade that never failed its master.—But I must be budging, cousin, for the air o' Glasgow tolbooth is no that ower salutary to a Highlander's constitution.'

‘Troth,' replied the merchant, ‘and if my duty were to be dune, ye couldna change your atmosphere, as the minister
ca's it, this ae wee while.—Ochon, that I sud ever be concerned in aiding and abetting an escape frae justice! it will be a shame and disgrace to me and mine, and my very father's memory, for ever.'

‘Hout tout, man, let that flee stick in the wa',' answered his kinsman; ‘when the dirt's dry it will rub out—Your father, honest man, could look ower a friend's fault as weel as anither.'

‘Ye may be right, Robin,' replied the Bailie, after a moment's reflection; ‘he was a considerate man the deacon; he kend we had a' our frailties, and he lo‘ed his friends—Ye'll no hae forgotten him, Robin?' This question he put in a softened tone, conveying as much at least of the ludicrous as the pathetic.

‘Forgotten him!' replied his kinsman, ‘what suld ail me to forget him?—a wapping weaver he was, and wrought my first pair o' hose.—But come awa‘, kinsman,

‘Come fill up my cap, come fill up my cann,
Come saddle my horses, and call up my man;
Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee.'

‘Whisht, sir!' said the magistrate, in an authoritative tone —‘Hiring and singing sae near the latter end o' the Sabbath! This house may hear ye sing anither tune yet—Aweel, we hae a' backslidings to answer for—Stanchells, open the door.'

The jailor obeyed, and we all sallied forth. Stanchells looked with some surprise at the two strangers, wondering, doubtless, how they came into these premises, without his knowledge; but Mr. Jarvie's ‘Friends o' mine, Stanchells—friends o' mine,' silenced all disposition to enquiries. We now descended into the lower vestibule, and hollowed more than once for Dougal, to which summons no answer
was returned; when Campbell observed, with a sardonic smile, ‘That if Dougal was the lad he kent him, he would scarce wait to get thanks for his ain share of the night's wark, but was in all probability on the full trot to the pass of Ballamaha——'

‘And left us—and, abune a', me, mysell, locked up in the tolbooth a' night!' exclaimed the Bailie, in ire and perturbation. ‘Ca' for fore-hammers, sledge-hammers, pinches, and coulters; send for Deacon Yetdin, the smith, and let him ken that Bailie Jarvie's shut up in the tolbooth by a Hieland blackguard, whom he'll hang up as high as Haman——'

‘When ye catch him,' said Campbell gravely; ‘but stay, the door is surely not locked.'

Indeed, on examination, we found that the door was not only left open, but that Dougal in his retreat had, by carrying off the keys along with him, taken care that no one should exercise his office of porter in a hurry.

‘He has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature Dougal,' said Campbell; ‘he kend an open door might hae served me at a pinch.'

We were by this time in die street.

‘I tell you Robin,' said the magistrate, ‘in my puir mind, if ye live the life ye do, ye shuld hae ane o' your gillies door-keeper in every jail in Scotland, in case o' the warst.'

‘Ane o' my kinsmen a bailie in ilka burgh will just do as weel, cousin Nicol—so, gude-night or gude-morning to ye; and forget not the Clachan of Aberfoil.'

And without waiting for an answer, he sprung to the other side of die street, and was lost in the darkness. Immediately on his disappearance, we heard him give a low whistle of peculiar modulation; which was instantly replied to.

‘Hear to die Hieland deevils,' said Mr. Jarvie;' they think diemselves on die skirts of Ben Lomond already, where they
may gang whewing and whistling about without minding Sunday or Saturday.' Here he was interrupted by something which fell with a heavy clash on the street before us—‘Gude guide us! what's this mair o‘t—Mattie, haud up the lantern—Conscience! if it isna the keys—Weel, that's just as weel—they cost the burgh siller, and there might hae been some clavers about the loss o' them—O, an Bailie Grahame were to get word o' this night's job, it wad be a sair hair in my neck!'

As we were still but a few steps from the tolbooth door, we carried back these implements of office, and consigned them to the head jailor, who, in lieu of the usual mode of making good his post by turning the keys, was keeping sentry in the vestibule till the arrival of some assistant, whom he had summoned in order to replace the Celtic fugitive Dougal.

Having discharged this piece of duty to the burgh, and my road lying the same way with the honest magistrate's I profited by the light of his lantern, and he by my arm, to find our way through the streets, which, whatever they may now be, were then dark, uneven, and ill-paved. Age is easily propitiated by attentions from the young. The Bailie expressed himself interested in me, and added, ‘That since I was nane o' that play-acting and play-ganging generation, whom his saul hated, he wad be glad if I wad eat a reisted haddock, or a fresh herring, at breakfast wi' him the morn, and meet my friend, Mr. Owen, whom, by that time, he would place at liberty.'