CHAPTER XIIIJOCK HALL, THE NE'ER-DO-WEELWe must go back for a few days in our story. During the lonely week which we have but very partially and inadequately described--for how few would believe that a man with a good conscience and good sense could suffer so much in such circumstances!--the Sergeant received a visit from Jock Hall, who has been already mentioned, and whom Katie described as "a ne'er-do-weel".Katie's estimate of Jock's character was that of Drumsylie. Most parishes, indeed, have their quota of weaklings in intellect and weaklings in morals. Jock belonged to the latter class. He was a thin, sallow-faced man, of a nervous temperament, and with lank black hair, and sharp piercing unrestful eyes. He might be aged thirty, although he looked liker forty. His jacket was made of fustian, which might have been clean some years before; his corduroy trousers had ragged endings, beneath which were revealed old boots and worn-out stockings; while a tattered bonnet covered his capacious head--a head that, phrenologically, was of a superior type. How Hall lived no one knew, nor cared to know. His lodging, when under a roof, varied with the means at his disposal for paying rent. If any unknown householder in the unknown recesses of the small towns which Jock visited, permitted him to sleep gratis on the floor near the fire, it was a secret known and appreciated by himself only.Jock had never presumed to enter so aristocratic a house as Adam's. But now that public report had brought the Sergeant down somewhat nearer to his own level, and that he had a pair of boots to mend, without having any credit with even the most drunken cobbler in Drumsylie, Jock thought that, under the whole circumstances of the case, moral and commercial, he might visit the Sergeant without any offence. He did so, to the astonishment of Adam, and much more to that of his wife. "What doyewant wi' Mr. Mercer?" was her question, as she opened the door to Jock's knock."Business!" was his short and decided reply. When he entered the small but cleanly kitchen, his only remark was, "Like a new preen!" Looking round with a half-vacant, half-curious gaze, he fixed his eyes on the Sergeant for a moment, then walking up to the starling's cage, he muttered, "Deevils!"This brief exclamation arrested the attention of Adam, who asked, "What do ye mean, my man? D'ye ken what ye're saying?""Fine!" replied Jock. "Deevils! again say I!"The Sergeant rose, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the door."I understan'," said Jock; "ye wad hae me gang oot. Ye're no' the first that has sent Jock Hall that gait! Maist folk like to see his back a hantle better than his face. But I'm no' gaun oot at present, Sergeant. That stirlin' o' yours 'll no' let me. I'm fond o' birds--in fac, they're the only leevin' things I care for. I never liked canaries, they're ower genteel and ower particklar about bein' coodled, to please a tramp like me that never was in that way mysel'. But our ain birds--that's maavies, linties, and laverocks, or even gooldies, that can stan' a' wathers, and sing for a' folk, specially for them that's obleeged to lie oot in wuds, or on the heather--them's the singers for Jock Hall! But I'm no weel acquaint wi' thae stirlin's. I'm telt that yours is no canny, an' that it speaks like an auld-farrant bairn. Eh?" And Jock turned to the cage from which his attention had for a moment been diverted; and while the Sergeant was earnestly studying his strange guest, the guest was as earnestly studying the strange bird. The starling was singularly still, and seemed to sympathise with his master in his study of Hall. He then leaped up to his perch, turned his back to Jock, shook his feathers, turned round and again looked at his visitor with a steady gaze."That's a fearsome bird!" said Hall, without moving. "As sure as I'm leevin, I see'd his ee gettin' bigger and bigger, till it was like a saxpence as it glowered at me. I was frichtened it kent a'things I was doing or thinking aboot!""Let the bird alane!" said the Sergeant, "and come here to the window if ye hae ony business wi' me, Hall."Jock obeyed; but twice, between the cage and the window, he looked over his shoulder at the starling, as if he was afraid of him."What do ye want wi' me?" inquired the Sergeant."Hoo lang," asked Hall, in a low voice, "hae ye had that bird? Hoo auld is he? Whaur did ye get him? What does he say when----""Never heed the bird," interrupted the Sergeant: "he's doin' ye nae ill.""I'm no sae sure but hecoulddo't if he took a thraw at me," said Jock; "I'll wager he has seen me afore, an' kens me--for he's no canny.""Nonsense!" said Adam."If it's nonsense," replied Jock, "what way has he brocht you into this habble? What for do ye loe him sae weel? Why wad ye gie up, as I hear ye wad, yer verra saul and body for this world and the neist, for the sake o' the bird? What way do they say he's a witch?""Haud yer tongue, Hall," said the Sergeant, "and speak aboot yer ain business, no' mine.""Mybusiness!" exclaimed Jock; "at yer service, Mr. Mercer, at yer service!""Oot wi't, then, and be done wi't," said Adam."It's my business, then," said Hall, "to come here an' abuse a' thae deevils,--Porteous, Smellie, and the lave--that abused that bird! that's my business---the chief part o't," continued Hall, in rather an excited manner; "an' the bird kens that, I'm certain,--just see hoo he's glowerin' at me! I'se warrant he has watched me in the woods afore he was catched; an' if he if a witch, and kens aboot me, then----""Haud yer tongue, Hall, this moment," said the Sergeant, with a loud voice of command, "or I'll pit ye oot like a doug! If ye hae a message to deliver, say it and be aff."Jock was suddenly quiet, as if arrested by some strong power. Then in a more natural tone of voice he said, "It's no' worth the while o' an auld sodger to kick a man like me. But let sleepin' dougs lie! Dougs hae teeth, and their bite is bad when mad--when mad!" Then, after a pause, he went on, in a laughing mood, "But Ihaebusiness, important business wi' ye, Sergeant; an' afore we proceed to consider it, ye'll tak' a snuff! It pits brains into a bodie's head;" and Jock produced a small tin snuff-box, and opening the lid he looked into it with an expression of anxiety. "There's twa, I'm sure,--twa snuffs; an' I consider a man is no' poor wha has ae snuff for himsel' and anither for a neebor. Sae tak' a snuff!" and he handed the box to the Sergeant, as he himself leant back in his chair, crossed one leg over another, and pointing to his boots said, "That's some business, since ye insist on it! I want to gie ye a job, Mr. Mercer, for I hear ye're idle." Then turning up the soles of his wretched boots, which looked like a kind of leather vegetable about to rot into earth mould, he said, "They'll be ill to patch, or to fit new soles on, but I ken ye're a gude tradesman. Try."Adam only smiled."Ye'll be like the lave," Jock continued, "ower prood to work for a man like me. I wadna wunner if ye're no sure o' payment. Sae maybe it's as weel to tell ye, that as far as I ken, ye'll never get a bawbee frae me! For Jock Hall is a braw customer to them that'll ser' him--though, faix, there's no mony o' that kind noo!--but he's a bad payer. In fac, he has clean forgot hoo to pay an account."Sorrow softens the hearts of good men; and if it is in any degree occasioned by unjust treatment, it prompts charitable sympathies towards others who are condemned as wicked by society without a fair hearing ever having been afforded them. When the streams of their affection have been frozen by the cold reception given where a warm welcome was anticipated, it is a relief to let them flow into other and dried-up cisterns where, in despair, from a long drought, such blessings were never expected, and are joyfully appreciated.So Adam felt kindly towards Jock, though he only said, "I'll men' your boots for that fine pinch o' snuff, and they'll cost ye nae mair, except guidwill, and that's cheap."Jock Hall looked rather perplexed, and cleared out his box with his long finger, pressing his last snuff vehemently into his nostril. Then resuming, as if with difficulty, his careless manner, he said, "Hae the boots ready by Friday nicht, as I maun fish the East Muir water on Saturday.""Ye may depend on them, Jock! And noo, as yer business is done, ye may gang." The Sergeant did not wish him to resume his wild talk, as he had threatened to do.Jock crossed his arms, and gazed on the Sergeant as if he would look him through. Then grasping his own throat, and looking wildly, he said: "It's come! it's come! The evil speerit is chokin' me! He is here like a cannon ball! I maun speak, or my head will rive! I maun curse Porteous, and the kirk, and religion, and elders, and Sabbath days, and a' thing guid!" and his eyes flashed fire.The Sergeant could not make him out, as they say. He was disposed to think him insane, though he had never heard Jock's name associated with anything save recklessness of character. He therefore did nothing but return the gaze of the excited man. Katie, unwilling to sit in the same room with him, had retired to her bedroom. Mary sat at the fireside with her book in evident alarm."I hate them!" repeated Jock, almost grinding his teeth."What do ye mean, Jock?" asked Adam, quietly but firmly. "Do you want to quarrel wi' me?""I mean," said Jock, bending towards the Sergeant, "that noo the fingers o' religion are grippin'yerwindpipe and chokin' ye, as the evil speerit is grippin' and chokin' me--that noo ye hae ministers an' elders o' religion kicking ye in the glaur, lauchin at ye, bizzin at ye as a blackguard--that noo when e'en Luckie Craigie an' Smellie ca' ye bad, as a' folks hae ca'ed me a' my days--I thocht," he continued, with a sarcastic grin, "that ye wad like ane waur than yersel' to speak wi' ye, and, if ye liked, to curse wi' ye! Aha, lad! I'm ready! Say the word, and Jock Hall's yer man. I ha'e poower noo in me for ony deevilry. Begin!"The Sergeant experienced what is called in Scotland agrew--the sort of shiver one feels in a nightmare--as if a real demoniac was in his presence. Fascinated as by a serpent, he said, "Say awa', Jock, for I dinna understan' ye."On this Jock became apparently more composed. But when with a suppressed vehemence he was again beginning to speak, it struck the Sergeant to interrupt the current of his passionate thoughts, on the plea that he wished to hear Mary her lesson. His object was, not only to calm Jock, but also to get the child out of the room."Mary," he said, after having assured her there was no cause of fear, and placing her between his knees, "wha should we trust?""God!" replied Mary."Why?" asked the Sergeant."Because his name is Love, and He is our Faither.""Richt, Mary; and we ought a' to love our Faither, for He loves us, and to love our neebour as ourselves. Gang awa' ben to your mither noo. Ye hae done weel."When the door of the bedroom was shut, Jock Hall said, "That's Luckie Craigie's lassie? Fine woman, Luckie! Kindly bodie! A gude hoose is hers to sen' a puir orphan to. Ha! ha! ha! Keep us a'!--it's a warld this, far ower guid for me! But Luckie is like the lave, and Smellie, to do him justice, as he has mony a time done tae me, is no waur than Luckie:'When hungry gledds are screichin',An' huntin' for their meat,If they grip a bonnie birdie,What needs the birdie greet?'An' ye're to pay yersel' for the lassie, Smellie says; an' ye're to teach her! A fine lesson yon! Ha! ha! ha! Jock Hall lauchs at baith o' ye!"The Sergeant was getting angry. Hall seemed now to be rather a free-and-easy blackguard, although there was a weird gleam in his eye which Adam did not understand; and in spite of his self-respect, he felt a desire to hear more from Jock. So he only remarked, looking steadily at him, "Jock! tak' care what ye say--tak' care!""Oo ay," said Hall. "I'm lang eneuch in the warld to kenthatadvice! But what care I for the advice o' you or ony man? It was for me, nae doot, ye intended that lesson? I'm as gleg as a fish rising to a flee! The lassock said we should love our faither! Hoo daur you or ony man say that tae me?" Then, leaning forward with staring eyes and clenched fist, he said, "I hated my faither! I hated my mither! They hated me. My faither was a Gospel man; he gaed to the kirk on Sabbath--wha but him!--and he drank when he could get it the rest o' the week; an' he threshed my mither and us time aboot--me warst o' a', as I was the youngest. I focht mony a laddie for lauchin' at him and for ca'in him names when he was fou, and mony a bluidy nose I got; but he threshed me the mair. My mither, tae, gaed to the kirk, and begged claes for me and my brithers and sisters frae guid folk, and said that my faither wasna weel and couldna work. Oh, mony a lee I telt for them baith! And she drank, as weel, and focht wi' my faither and us time aboot. And syne they selt a' their claes and a' their blankets, and left us wi' toom stomachs and toom hearts, cowerin' aboot a toom grate wi' cauld cinders. I never was at skule, but was cuffed and kickit like a doug; and my wee brithers and sisters a' dee'd--I dinna ken hoo: but they were starved and threshed, puir things! But they were waik, and I was strang. Sae I leeved--waes me! I leeved! I hae sat oot in the plantin' mony a nicht greetin' for my brither Jamie, for he had a sair cough and dwined awa', naked and starved. He aye gied me his bit bread that he stealt or beggit"--and Jock cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a scrap of a ragged handkerchief. "But my faither and mither dee'd, thank God! I hate them noo, and they hated me--they hated me, they did"--and he fell into a sort of dream. His vehemence sank into a whisper; and he spoke as one in sleep--"An' a' folks hate me--hate me. An' what for no'? I hatethem!--God forgive me! Na, na! I'll no' saythat. There's nae God! But I believe in the Deevil--that I do, firmly."Jock sank back in his chair, as if wearied, and closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Then opening his eyes, he said in a low tone, "The bird kens that! Wha' telt him?" and his eyes were again closed."Jock, my man," said the Sergeant, perplexed, yet kindly, "Idinna hate ye."But Jock went on as in a dream. "I hae led an awfu' life o't! I hae starved and stealt; I hae poached and robbed; I hae cursed and drank; I hae 'listed and deserted; I hae lain oot on muirs and in mosses. I'm Jock Hall! a'body kens me, and a' hate me as I do them! And what guid did yer ministers and elders, yer Sabbath days and yer preachings, do for me? Curse them a', I say! what's Jock Hall's saul worth! It's no' worth the burnin'! What care I?'Cock-a-Bendy's lying sick,Guess what'll mend him?Hang the blackguard by the throat,And that'll soon end him!""Be quiet, my puir fellow," said the Sergeant, "and listen to me.Inever harmed you, Jock; I couldna harm you! I never wull harm you. I'll feed ye noo; I'll gie ye shoon; I'll stan' yer frien'."Jock looked up, and in a calm tone said, "My head is spinnin' and my heart is sick! I havena eaten a bit since yesterday. Dinna flyte on me e'enoo, I'm no mysel'; wait a wee, Mr. Mercer, and then ye can abuse me, or kick me." With still greater calm he added in a few seconds, and looking round like one waking up more and more into life, "I hae been dreaming or raving! Man, Mercer, I think I tak' fits sometimes--especially when I'm lang wi'oot meat. What was I saying e'enoo?""Naething particular," said Adam, wishing not to rouse him, but to feed him; "never heed, Jock. But bide a wee, I'll gie ye a nice cup of tea and a smoke after it, and we'll hae a crack, and ye'll comfort me in yer ain way, and I'll comfort you in mine."Jock, like a man worn out with some great exertion, sat with his head bent down between his hands--the veins of his forehead swollen. The Sergeant, after some private explanation with Katie, got tea and wholesome food ready for Jock; and that he might take it in peace, Adam said that he had to give Mary another lesson in the bedroom.Hall was thus left alone with his food, of which he ate sparingly. When Adam again entered the kitchen, Jock was calm. The Sergeant soon engaged him in conversation after his own method, beginning by telling some of his soldier stories, and then bit by bit unfolding the Gospel of Peace to the poor man, and seeking to drop a few loving words from his own softened heart to soften the heart of the Prodigal.The only remark Jock made was, "I wish I'd been in a battle, and been shot, or dee'd wi' oor Jamie! But what for did I tellyoua' this? I never spak' this way to mortal man! It's that bird, I tell ye. What's wrang wi't?""Naething!" replied the Sergeant; "it's a' nonsense ye're talking. I'll let ye see the cratur, to convince ye that he is jist as natural and nice as a mavis or laverock.""Stop!" said Jock, "I dinna like him. He is ower guid for me! I tell ye I'm a deevil! But bad as I am--and I'll never be better, nor ever do ae haun's turn o' guid in this world--never, never, never!----"The Sergeant rose and took down the cage, placing it before Hall, saying, "Jist look at his speckled breest and bonnie ee! Gie him this bit bread yersel', and he'll be cheerie, and mak' us a' cheerie."Jock took the bread and offered it to Charlie, who, seeing the gift, declared "A man's a man for a' that!" "Guid be aboot us!" said Hall, starting back; "hear what he says to me! If that's no' a witch, there's nane on yirth! I said I was a deevil, he says I'm a man!""And sae yearea man for a' that, and no sic a bad ane as ye think. Cheer up, Jock!" said Adam, extending his hand to him.Jock took the proffered hand, and said, "I dinna understan' a' this--but--but--I was gaun to say, God bless ye! But it's no' for me to say that; for I never was in a decent hoose afore--but only in jails, and amang tramps and ne'er-do-weels like mysel'. I'm no' up tae menners, Sergeant--ye maun excuse me."Jock rose to depart. Before doing so he looked again round the comfortable clean room--at the nice fire and polished grate--at Charlie's bed with its white curtains--and at the bird, so happy in its cage--then, as if struck by his own ragged clothes and old boots, he exclaimed, "It wasna for me to hae been in a hoose like this." Passing the bedroom door, he waved his hand, saying, "Fareweel, mistress; fareweel, Mary," and turning to the Sergeant, he added, "and as for you, Sergeant----" There he stopped--but ending with a special farewell to the starling, he went to the door."Come back soon and see me," said the Sergeant. "I'll be yer freen', Jock. I hae 'listed ye this day, and I'll mak' a sodger o' ye yet, an' a better ane, I hope, than mysel'.""Whisht, whisht!" said Jock. "I have mair respec' for ye than to let ye bemyfreen'. But for a' that, mind, I'm no gaun to pay ye for my boots--and ye'll hae them ready 'gin Friday nicht, for Saturday's fishin'--fareweel!""A' richt, Jock," said Adam.No sooner had Hall left the house than the Sergeant said to himself, "God have mercy on me! I to be unhappy after that! I wi' Katie and Mary! I wi' mercies temporal and spiritual mair than can be numbered! Waes me! what have I done! Starling, indeed! that's surely no' the question--but starvation, ignorance, cruelty, hate, despair, hell, at our verra doors! God help puir Jock Hall, and may He forgive Adam Mercer!"Jock got his boots on Friday night, well repaired. He said nothing but "Thank ye," and "Ye'll get naething frae me." But on Saturday evening a fine basket of trout was brought by him to the Sergeant's door. Jock said, "There's beauties! Never saw better trout! splendid day!" But when the Sergeant thanked him, and offered him a sixpence, Jock looked with wonder, saying, "Dinna insult a bodie!"CHAPTER XIVJOCK HALL'S CONSPIRACYOn the Sunday, when the Sergeant went to church, as we have already described, Jock Hall was quartered for the day with Mrs. Craigie. To do Smellie justice, he did not probably know how very worthless this woman was, far less did the Kirk Session. She was cunning and plausible enough to deceive both. Her occasional attendance at church was sufficient to keep up appearances. The custom of boarding out pauper children with widows, except when these are not respectable, has on the whole worked well, and is infinitely superior to the workhouse system. Mrs. Craigie belonged to the exceptional cases. She accommodated any lodger who might turn up.Jock and Mrs. Craigie were at the window, a second story one, criticising the passers-by to church, as one has seen the loungers at a club window do the ordinary passers-by on week-days. The Sergeant and his wife, with Mary following them, suddenly attracted their attention."The auld hypocrite!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "there he gangs, as prood as a peacock, haudin' his head up when it should be bowed doon wi' shame to the dust! An' his wife, tae!--eh! what a ban net! sic a goon! Sirs me! Baith are the waur o' the wear. Ha! ha! ha! And Mary! as I declare, wi' new shoon, a new bannet, and new shawl! The impudent hizzy that she is! It's a' to spite me, for I see'd her keekin' up to the window. But stealt bairns can come to nae guid; confoond them a'!--though I shouldna say't on the Sabbath day."Hall stood behind her, and watched the group over her shoulder. "Ye're richt, Luckie," he said, "heisan auld hypocrite. But they are a' that--like minister, like man. 'Confoond them,'yesay; 'Amen',Isay; but what d'ye mean by stealt bairns?"Ah, Jock, art thou not also a hypocrite!Mrs. Craigie had left the window, and sat down beside the fire, the church-goers having passed, and the church bell having ceased to ring. Jock then lighted his pipe opposite Mrs. Craigie. "What d'ye mean," he asked again, "by stealt bairns?""I mean this," replied she, "that yon auld hypocrite, sodger, and poacher, Adam Mercer, stealt Mary Semple frae me!" and she looked at Hall with an expression which said, "What do ye think of that?" Then having been invited by Hall to tell him all about the theft, she did so, continuing her narrative up to the moment when she was ordered out of the house by Adam; saying now as on that occasion, "But I hae freen's, and I'll pit Smellie to smash him yet! I'll get my revenge oot o' him, the auld bitin' brock that he is. Smellie is my freen, and he has mair power, far, than Adam wi' the minister." So thought Mrs. Craigie."Is Smellie yer freen'?" asked Hall, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, "and doeshehate Adam? and doeshewant Mary back tae you?""That does he," replied Mrs. Craigie; "and he wad gie onything to get Mary back tae me?""Then, my certes, Smelliehaspooer! nae doot o'that," remarked Hall, with a grim smile; "for he has helpit to pit me mony a time into the jail. Wad it obleege him muckle tae get Mary back frae the Sergeant? Wad he befreen' me if I helped him?" asked Jock confidentially."It wad be a real treat till him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "and he wad befreen' ye a' yer life! An', Hall----""But," asked Jock, interrupting her, "what did ye say aboot poachin'? Was Adam in that line?""Him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "I'se warrant he was--notorious!""Hoo d'ye ken?" inquired Jock."Smellie telt me! but mind ye, he said I was to keep it quait till he gied me the wink, ye ken;" and Mrs. Craigie gave a knowing wink. She did not know that Smellie had alreadypeached. "For hoo Smellie kent was this, that he had some sort o' business in the place whaur Mercer leeved--that's north in Bennock parish, afore he was a sodger; and Smellie picked up a' the story o' his poachin', for Smellie is awfu' shairp; but he wad never tell't till he could pit it like a gag into the prood mouth o' Adam; and Smellie says he'll pit it in noo, and let Adam crunch his teeth on't," said Mrs. Craigie, gnashing the few she had herself.Hall manifested a singular inquisitiveness to know as much as possible about those poaching days, and their locality, until at last being satisfied, and having learned that the old keeper of Lord Bennock was still alive, though, as Mrs. Craigie said, "clean superannuat", and that he was, moreover, Adam's cousin, Jock said, "What an awfu' blackguard Adam maun be! If I had kent what I ken noo, I never wad hae gi'en him my boots to men'.""Yer boots to men'!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie, with astonishment; "what for did ye do that?""He had nae wark.""Ser' him richt!" said Mrs. Craigie."And I patroneesed him," continued Jock."Ha! ha! It was far ower guid o' ye, Jock, tae patroneese him," said Mrs. Craigie. "Ye'll no pay him, I houp? But he's sic a greedy fallow, that he micht expec' even a puir sowl like you tae pay.""Me pay him!" said Jock, with a laugh, "maybe--when I hae paid the debt o' natur'; no till then.""But, Jock," asked Mrs. Craigie, almost in a whisper, "didyesee Mary, the wee slut?""I did that," replied Jock, "an' it wad hae broken yer feelin' heart, Luckie, hadyeseen her!--no lying as a puir orphan paid for by the Session ocht to lie, on a shake-doon, wi' a blanket ower her,--my certes, guid eneuch for the like o' her, and for the bawbees paid for her----""Guid?--ower guid!" interpolated Mrs. Craigie."But," continued Hall, with a leer, "she was mair like a leddy, wi' a bed till hersel', an' curtains on't; and sitting in a chair, wi' stockin's and shoon, afore the fire--learning her lesson, too, and coddled and coddled by Adam and his wife. What say ye to that, Luckie? what say ye to that?""Dinna mak' me daft!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "it's eneuch to mak' a bodie swear e'en on the Sabbath day!""Swear awa'!" said Hall; "the day maks nae difference tome. Sae ca' awa', woman, if it wull dae ye ony guid, or gie ye ony comfort."Mrs. Craigie, instead of accepting the advice of her "ne'er-do-weel" lodger, fell into a meditative mood. What could she be thinking about? Her Sabbath thoughts came to this, in their practical results--a proposal to Jock Hall to seize Mary as she was returning from church, and to bring her again under the protection of her dear old motherly friend. She could not, indeed, as yet take her from under the Sergeant's roof by force, but could the Sergeant retake her if by any means she were brought back underherroof?Jock, after some consideration, entertained the proposal, discussed it, and then came to terms. "What wull ye gie me?" he at last asked."A glass o' whuskey and a saxpence!" said Mrs. Craigie."Ba! ba!" said Jock; "I'm nae bairn, but gleg and cannie, like a moudiewart! Saxpence! Ye ken as weel as I do, that if the Shirra--for, losh me! I ken baith him an' the law ower weel!--if he heard ye were plottin' an' plannin' to grip a bairn that way on the Sabbath, and paying me for helpin' ye--my word! you and me wad be pit in jail; and though this micht be a comfort taeme--lodgings and vittals for naething, ye ken, and a visit to an auld hame--it wadna dae for a Christian woman like you, Luckie! Eh, lass? it wad never dae! What wad the minister and Smellie say? no' to speak o' the Sergeant?--hoohewad craw! Sae unless ye keep it as quait as death, an' gie me half-a-crown, I'll no pit my han' on the bairn.""The bargain's made!" said Mrs. Craigie. "But ye maun wait till I get a shilling mair frae Mrs. D'rymple, as I've nae change.""Tell her to come ben," said Jock. "Can ye trust her wi' the secret? Ye should get her tae help ye, and tae swear, if it comes tae a trial, that the bairn cam' tae ye o' her ain free consent, mind. I'm ready, for half-a-crown mair, to gie my aith to the same effec'.""Ye're no far wrang; that's the plan!" said Mrs. Craigie. "I can trust Peggy like steel. An' I'm sure Marydoeswant to come tae me. That's the truth and nae lee. Sae you and Peggy D'rymple may sweer a' that wi' a guid conscience.""Butmyconscience," said Jock, "is no sae guid as yours or Peggy's, an' it'll be the better o' anither half-crown, in case I hae to sweer, to keep it frae botherin' me. But I'll gie ye credit for the money, an' ye'll gie me credit for what I awe ye for my meat and lodgin' sin' Monday.""A' richt, a' richt, Jock; sae be't," replied Mrs. Craigie, as she went to fetch her neighbour, who lived on the same flat.Mrs. Dalrymple was made a member of the privy council which met in a few minutes in Mrs. Craigie's room, the door being bolted."I'm nae hypocrite," confessed Jock. "I scorn to be ane, as ye do; foryedinna preten' to be unco guid, and better than ither folk, like Adam Mercer, or that godly man Smellie. I tell ye, then, I'm up to onything for money or drink. I'll steal, I'll rob, I'll murder, I'll----""Whisht, whisht, Jock! Dinna speak that wild way an' frichten folk!--Be canny, man, be canny, or the neebours 'll hear ye," said the prudent Mrs. Craigie, who forthwith explained her plan to her confidential and trustworthy friend, who highly approved of it as an act of justice to Mrs. Craigie, to Mary, and the Kirk Session. Half-a-crown was to be Mrs. Dalrymple's pay for her valued aid. Hall arranged that the moment the women saw the Sergeant coming from church, they were to give him a sign; and then they--leaving the window, and retiring behind the door--were to be ready to receive Mary and hold her fast when brought to the house. To enable Hall to execute the plot more easily, Mrs. Craigie gave him, at his own suggestion, in order to entice Mary, a few spring flowers she had got the evening before from a neighbour's garden, as a "posey" for the church--which she had not, however attended, being deprived of the privilege, as she meant to assure Smellie, by illness. Jock had already accepted of a glass of whisky. But as the exciting moment approached, and as the two women had helped themselves to a cheerer, as they called it, he got a second glass to strengthen his courage. His courage, however, did not seem to fail him, for he once or twice whistled and hummed some song--to the great horror of his good friends; and, strange to say, he also fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter--at the thought, so he said, of how the old hypocrite and his wife would look when Mary was missed and found to be with Mrs. Craigie! Much hearty sympathy was expressed with his strange humour.The service in the "auld kirk", as the parish church is called, being over, the congregation were walking home. One or two of its members had already passed the window where sat the eager and expectant conspirators. Jock Hall, with a bunch of flowers, was ready to run down-stairs, to the close mouth, the moment the appointed signal was given. Very soon the Sergeant and his wife made their appearance a little way off, while Mary--how fortunate for the plotters!--followed at some distance. No sooner were they discovered, than the two women retired from the window, and gave the signal to Hall to "be off!" They then ensconced themselves, as previously arranged, at the back of the door, with eager and palpitating hearts.Jock sprang out, shutting the door after him, and rattling down-stairs reached the street just as Mary was within a few yards. When she was passing the close, he stepped out, and with a kind voice, said: "I hae a message for your faither, Mary dear! Jist speak to me aff the street." Mary, no longer associating Hall with the thought of a wild man, but of one who had been a guest of the Sergeant's, entered the close. Jock Hall gave her the flowers and said: "Gie this posey to your mither, for the gran' tea she made for me; and gie this half-croon to yer faither for the braw boots he patched for me. Noo run awa', my bonnie lassie, and be guid, and do whatever yer faither and mither bid ye, or Jock Hall wull be angry wi' ye--run!"Mrs. Craigie, in her excitement and curiosity, could not resist the temptation of going again to the window, and no sooner had she seen Mary enter the close than she ran to her retreat behind the door, whispering joyfully to Mrs. Dalrymple, "The wee deevil is catched, and coming!"In a moment Jock was at the door, and while he firmly held the key outside, he opened it so far as to let in his head. Then addressing the women, he said in an under-breath, or rather hiss: "Whisht! dinna speak! I catched her! I gied her the posey for Mrs. Mercer--I gied her the half-croon to pay Mr. Mercer for my boots!--and she's hame!--an' ye'll never get her!--You twa limmers are cheated! If ye cheep, I'll tell the Shirra. Jock Hall is nae hypocrite! Deil tak' ye baith, and Smellie likewise! I'm aff!" and before a word could be spoken by the astonished conspirators, Jock locked the door upon them, and flinging the key along the passage he sprang down-stairs and fled no one knew whither!Mary gave the bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Mercer, whose only remark was: "Wha wad hae thocht it!" and she gave the half-crown to Adam, who said: "I never hae been as thankfu' for a day's wage! Pit it in the drawer, and keep it for Jock. I'm no feared but wi' God's help I'll mak' a sodger o' him yet! For as Charlie's bairn weel remarks: 'A man's a man for a' that'."CHAPTER XVJOCK HALL'S JOURNEYJohn 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'llnoca' Hugh, an' I kenyecanna 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?"
CHAPTER XIII
JOCK HALL, THE NE'ER-DO-WEEL
We must go back for a few days in our story. During the lonely week which we have but very partially and inadequately described--for how few would believe that a man with a good conscience and good sense could suffer so much in such circumstances!--the Sergeant received a visit from Jock Hall, who has been already mentioned, and whom Katie described as "a ne'er-do-weel".
Katie's estimate of Jock's character was that of Drumsylie. Most parishes, indeed, have their quota of weaklings in intellect and weaklings in morals. Jock belonged to the latter class. He was a thin, sallow-faced man, of a nervous temperament, and with lank black hair, and sharp piercing unrestful eyes. He might be aged thirty, although he looked liker forty. His jacket was made of fustian, which might have been clean some years before; his corduroy trousers had ragged endings, beneath which were revealed old boots and worn-out stockings; while a tattered bonnet covered his capacious head--a head that, phrenologically, was of a superior type. How Hall lived no one knew, nor cared to know. His lodging, when under a roof, varied with the means at his disposal for paying rent. If any unknown householder in the unknown recesses of the small towns which Jock visited, permitted him to sleep gratis on the floor near the fire, it was a secret known and appreciated by himself only.
Jock had never presumed to enter so aristocratic a house as Adam's. But now that public report had brought the Sergeant down somewhat nearer to his own level, and that he had a pair of boots to mend, without having any credit with even the most drunken cobbler in Drumsylie, Jock thought that, under the whole circumstances of the case, moral and commercial, he might visit the Sergeant without any offence. He did so, to the astonishment of Adam, and much more to that of his wife. "What doyewant wi' Mr. Mercer?" was her question, as she opened the door to Jock's knock.
"Business!" was his short and decided reply. When he entered the small but cleanly kitchen, his only remark was, "Like a new preen!" Looking round with a half-vacant, half-curious gaze, he fixed his eyes on the Sergeant for a moment, then walking up to the starling's cage, he muttered, "Deevils!"
This brief exclamation arrested the attention of Adam, who asked, "What do ye mean, my man? D'ye ken what ye're saying?"
"Fine!" replied Jock. "Deevils! again say I!"
The Sergeant rose, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to the door.
"I understan'," said Jock; "ye wad hae me gang oot. Ye're no' the first that has sent Jock Hall that gait! Maist folk like to see his back a hantle better than his face. But I'm no' gaun oot at present, Sergeant. That stirlin' o' yours 'll no' let me. I'm fond o' birds--in fac, they're the only leevin' things I care for. I never liked canaries, they're ower genteel and ower particklar about bein' coodled, to please a tramp like me that never was in that way mysel'. But our ain birds--that's maavies, linties, and laverocks, or even gooldies, that can stan' a' wathers, and sing for a' folk, specially for them that's obleeged to lie oot in wuds, or on the heather--them's the singers for Jock Hall! But I'm no weel acquaint wi' thae stirlin's. I'm telt that yours is no canny, an' that it speaks like an auld-farrant bairn. Eh?" And Jock turned to the cage from which his attention had for a moment been diverted; and while the Sergeant was earnestly studying his strange guest, the guest was as earnestly studying the strange bird. The starling was singularly still, and seemed to sympathise with his master in his study of Hall. He then leaped up to his perch, turned his back to Jock, shook his feathers, turned round and again looked at his visitor with a steady gaze.
"That's a fearsome bird!" said Hall, without moving. "As sure as I'm leevin, I see'd his ee gettin' bigger and bigger, till it was like a saxpence as it glowered at me. I was frichtened it kent a'things I was doing or thinking aboot!"
"Let the bird alane!" said the Sergeant, "and come here to the window if ye hae ony business wi' me, Hall."
Jock obeyed; but twice, between the cage and the window, he looked over his shoulder at the starling, as if he was afraid of him.
"What do ye want wi' me?" inquired the Sergeant.
"Hoo lang," asked Hall, in a low voice, "hae ye had that bird? Hoo auld is he? Whaur did ye get him? What does he say when----"
"Never heed the bird," interrupted the Sergeant: "he's doin' ye nae ill."
"I'm no sae sure but hecoulddo't if he took a thraw at me," said Jock; "I'll wager he has seen me afore, an' kens me--for he's no canny."
"Nonsense!" said Adam.
"If it's nonsense," replied Jock, "what way has he brocht you into this habble? What for do ye loe him sae weel? Why wad ye gie up, as I hear ye wad, yer verra saul and body for this world and the neist, for the sake o' the bird? What way do they say he's a witch?"
"Haud yer tongue, Hall," said the Sergeant, "and speak aboot yer ain business, no' mine."
"Mybusiness!" exclaimed Jock; "at yer service, Mr. Mercer, at yer service!"
"Oot wi't, then, and be done wi't," said Adam.
"It's my business, then," said Hall, "to come here an' abuse a' thae deevils,--Porteous, Smellie, and the lave--that abused that bird! that's my business---the chief part o't," continued Hall, in rather an excited manner; "an' the bird kens that, I'm certain,--just see hoo he's glowerin' at me! I'se warrant he has watched me in the woods afore he was catched; an' if he if a witch, and kens aboot me, then----"
"Haud yer tongue, Hall, this moment," said the Sergeant, with a loud voice of command, "or I'll pit ye oot like a doug! If ye hae a message to deliver, say it and be aff."
Jock was suddenly quiet, as if arrested by some strong power. Then in a more natural tone of voice he said, "It's no' worth the while o' an auld sodger to kick a man like me. But let sleepin' dougs lie! Dougs hae teeth, and their bite is bad when mad--when mad!" Then, after a pause, he went on, in a laughing mood, "But Ihaebusiness, important business wi' ye, Sergeant; an' afore we proceed to consider it, ye'll tak' a snuff! It pits brains into a bodie's head;" and Jock produced a small tin snuff-box, and opening the lid he looked into it with an expression of anxiety. "There's twa, I'm sure,--twa snuffs; an' I consider a man is no' poor wha has ae snuff for himsel' and anither for a neebor. Sae tak' a snuff!" and he handed the box to the Sergeant, as he himself leant back in his chair, crossed one leg over another, and pointing to his boots said, "That's some business, since ye insist on it! I want to gie ye a job, Mr. Mercer, for I hear ye're idle." Then turning up the soles of his wretched boots, which looked like a kind of leather vegetable about to rot into earth mould, he said, "They'll be ill to patch, or to fit new soles on, but I ken ye're a gude tradesman. Try."
Adam only smiled.
"Ye'll be like the lave," Jock continued, "ower prood to work for a man like me. I wadna wunner if ye're no sure o' payment. Sae maybe it's as weel to tell ye, that as far as I ken, ye'll never get a bawbee frae me! For Jock Hall is a braw customer to them that'll ser' him--though, faix, there's no mony o' that kind noo!--but he's a bad payer. In fac, he has clean forgot hoo to pay an account."
Sorrow softens the hearts of good men; and if it is in any degree occasioned by unjust treatment, it prompts charitable sympathies towards others who are condemned as wicked by society without a fair hearing ever having been afforded them. When the streams of their affection have been frozen by the cold reception given where a warm welcome was anticipated, it is a relief to let them flow into other and dried-up cisterns where, in despair, from a long drought, such blessings were never expected, and are joyfully appreciated.
So Adam felt kindly towards Jock, though he only said, "I'll men' your boots for that fine pinch o' snuff, and they'll cost ye nae mair, except guidwill, and that's cheap."
Jock Hall looked rather perplexed, and cleared out his box with his long finger, pressing his last snuff vehemently into his nostril. Then resuming, as if with difficulty, his careless manner, he said, "Hae the boots ready by Friday nicht, as I maun fish the East Muir water on Saturday."
"Ye may depend on them, Jock! And noo, as yer business is done, ye may gang." The Sergeant did not wish him to resume his wild talk, as he had threatened to do.
Jock crossed his arms, and gazed on the Sergeant as if he would look him through. Then grasping his own throat, and looking wildly, he said: "It's come! it's come! The evil speerit is chokin' me! He is here like a cannon ball! I maun speak, or my head will rive! I maun curse Porteous, and the kirk, and religion, and elders, and Sabbath days, and a' thing guid!" and his eyes flashed fire.
The Sergeant could not make him out, as they say. He was disposed to think him insane, though he had never heard Jock's name associated with anything save recklessness of character. He therefore did nothing but return the gaze of the excited man. Katie, unwilling to sit in the same room with him, had retired to her bedroom. Mary sat at the fireside with her book in evident alarm.
"I hate them!" repeated Jock, almost grinding his teeth.
"What do ye mean, Jock?" asked Adam, quietly but firmly. "Do you want to quarrel wi' me?"
"I mean," said Jock, bending towards the Sergeant, "that noo the fingers o' religion are grippin'yerwindpipe and chokin' ye, as the evil speerit is grippin' and chokin' me--that noo ye hae ministers an' elders o' religion kicking ye in the glaur, lauchin at ye, bizzin at ye as a blackguard--that noo when e'en Luckie Craigie an' Smellie ca' ye bad, as a' folks hae ca'ed me a' my days--I thocht," he continued, with a sarcastic grin, "that ye wad like ane waur than yersel' to speak wi' ye, and, if ye liked, to curse wi' ye! Aha, lad! I'm ready! Say the word, and Jock Hall's yer man. I ha'e poower noo in me for ony deevilry. Begin!"
The Sergeant experienced what is called in Scotland agrew--the sort of shiver one feels in a nightmare--as if a real demoniac was in his presence. Fascinated as by a serpent, he said, "Say awa', Jock, for I dinna understan' ye."
On this Jock became apparently more composed. But when with a suppressed vehemence he was again beginning to speak, it struck the Sergeant to interrupt the current of his passionate thoughts, on the plea that he wished to hear Mary her lesson. His object was, not only to calm Jock, but also to get the child out of the room.
"Mary," he said, after having assured her there was no cause of fear, and placing her between his knees, "wha should we trust?"
"God!" replied Mary.
"Why?" asked the Sergeant.
"Because his name is Love, and He is our Faither."
"Richt, Mary; and we ought a' to love our Faither, for He loves us, and to love our neebour as ourselves. Gang awa' ben to your mither noo. Ye hae done weel."
When the door of the bedroom was shut, Jock Hall said, "That's Luckie Craigie's lassie? Fine woman, Luckie! Kindly bodie! A gude hoose is hers to sen' a puir orphan to. Ha! ha! ha! Keep us a'!--it's a warld this, far ower guid for me! But Luckie is like the lave, and Smellie, to do him justice, as he has mony a time done tae me, is no waur than Luckie:
'When hungry gledds are screichin',An' huntin' for their meat,If they grip a bonnie birdie,What needs the birdie greet?'
'When hungry gledds are screichin',
An' huntin' for their meat,
An' huntin' for their meat,
If they grip a bonnie birdie,
What needs the birdie greet?'
What needs the birdie greet?'
An' ye're to pay yersel' for the lassie, Smellie says; an' ye're to teach her! A fine lesson yon! Ha! ha! ha! Jock Hall lauchs at baith o' ye!"
The Sergeant was getting angry. Hall seemed now to be rather a free-and-easy blackguard, although there was a weird gleam in his eye which Adam did not understand; and in spite of his self-respect, he felt a desire to hear more from Jock. So he only remarked, looking steadily at him, "Jock! tak' care what ye say--tak' care!"
"Oo ay," said Hall. "I'm lang eneuch in the warld to kenthatadvice! But what care I for the advice o' you or ony man? It was for me, nae doot, ye intended that lesson? I'm as gleg as a fish rising to a flee! The lassock said we should love our faither! Hoo daur you or ony man say that tae me?" Then, leaning forward with staring eyes and clenched fist, he said, "I hated my faither! I hated my mither! They hated me. My faither was a Gospel man; he gaed to the kirk on Sabbath--wha but him!--and he drank when he could get it the rest o' the week; an' he threshed my mither and us time aboot--me warst o' a', as I was the youngest. I focht mony a laddie for lauchin' at him and for ca'in him names when he was fou, and mony a bluidy nose I got; but he threshed me the mair. My mither, tae, gaed to the kirk, and begged claes for me and my brithers and sisters frae guid folk, and said that my faither wasna weel and couldna work. Oh, mony a lee I telt for them baith! And she drank, as weel, and focht wi' my faither and us time aboot. And syne they selt a' their claes and a' their blankets, and left us wi' toom stomachs and toom hearts, cowerin' aboot a toom grate wi' cauld cinders. I never was at skule, but was cuffed and kickit like a doug; and my wee brithers and sisters a' dee'd--I dinna ken hoo: but they were starved and threshed, puir things! But they were waik, and I was strang. Sae I leeved--waes me! I leeved! I hae sat oot in the plantin' mony a nicht greetin' for my brither Jamie, for he had a sair cough and dwined awa', naked and starved. He aye gied me his bit bread that he stealt or beggit"--and Jock cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a scrap of a ragged handkerchief. "But my faither and mither dee'd, thank God! I hate them noo, and they hated me--they hated me, they did"--and he fell into a sort of dream. His vehemence sank into a whisper; and he spoke as one in sleep--"An' a' folks hate me--hate me. An' what for no'? I hatethem!--God forgive me! Na, na! I'll no' saythat. There's nae God! But I believe in the Deevil--that I do, firmly."
Jock sank back in his chair, as if wearied, and closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Then opening his eyes, he said in a low tone, "The bird kens that! Wha' telt him?" and his eyes were again closed.
"Jock, my man," said the Sergeant, perplexed, yet kindly, "Idinna hate ye."
But Jock went on as in a dream. "I hae led an awfu' life o't! I hae starved and stealt; I hae poached and robbed; I hae cursed and drank; I hae 'listed and deserted; I hae lain oot on muirs and in mosses. I'm Jock Hall! a'body kens me, and a' hate me as I do them! And what guid did yer ministers and elders, yer Sabbath days and yer preachings, do for me? Curse them a', I say! what's Jock Hall's saul worth! It's no' worth the burnin'! What care I?
'Cock-a-Bendy's lying sick,Guess what'll mend him?Hang the blackguard by the throat,And that'll soon end him!"
'Cock-a-Bendy's lying sick,
Guess what'll mend him?
Guess what'll mend him?
Hang the blackguard by the throat,
And that'll soon end him!"
And that'll soon end him!"
"Be quiet, my puir fellow," said the Sergeant, "and listen to me.Inever harmed you, Jock; I couldna harm you! I never wull harm you. I'll feed ye noo; I'll gie ye shoon; I'll stan' yer frien'."
Jock looked up, and in a calm tone said, "My head is spinnin' and my heart is sick! I havena eaten a bit since yesterday. Dinna flyte on me e'enoo, I'm no mysel'; wait a wee, Mr. Mercer, and then ye can abuse me, or kick me." With still greater calm he added in a few seconds, and looking round like one waking up more and more into life, "I hae been dreaming or raving! Man, Mercer, I think I tak' fits sometimes--especially when I'm lang wi'oot meat. What was I saying e'enoo?"
"Naething particular," said Adam, wishing not to rouse him, but to feed him; "never heed, Jock. But bide a wee, I'll gie ye a nice cup of tea and a smoke after it, and we'll hae a crack, and ye'll comfort me in yer ain way, and I'll comfort you in mine."
Jock, like a man worn out with some great exertion, sat with his head bent down between his hands--the veins of his forehead swollen. The Sergeant, after some private explanation with Katie, got tea and wholesome food ready for Jock; and that he might take it in peace, Adam said that he had to give Mary another lesson in the bedroom.
Hall was thus left alone with his food, of which he ate sparingly. When Adam again entered the kitchen, Jock was calm. The Sergeant soon engaged him in conversation after his own method, beginning by telling some of his soldier stories, and then bit by bit unfolding the Gospel of Peace to the poor man, and seeking to drop a few loving words from his own softened heart to soften the heart of the Prodigal.
The only remark Jock made was, "I wish I'd been in a battle, and been shot, or dee'd wi' oor Jamie! But what for did I tellyoua' this? I never spak' this way to mortal man! It's that bird, I tell ye. What's wrang wi't?"
"Naething!" replied the Sergeant; "it's a' nonsense ye're talking. I'll let ye see the cratur, to convince ye that he is jist as natural and nice as a mavis or laverock."
"Stop!" said Jock, "I dinna like him. He is ower guid for me! I tell ye I'm a deevil! But bad as I am--and I'll never be better, nor ever do ae haun's turn o' guid in this world--never, never, never!----"
The Sergeant rose and took down the cage, placing it before Hall, saying, "Jist look at his speckled breest and bonnie ee! Gie him this bit bread yersel', and he'll be cheerie, and mak' us a' cheerie."
Jock took the bread and offered it to Charlie, who, seeing the gift, declared "A man's a man for a' that!" "Guid be aboot us!" said Hall, starting back; "hear what he says to me! If that's no' a witch, there's nane on yirth! I said I was a deevil, he says I'm a man!"
"And sae yearea man for a' that, and no sic a bad ane as ye think. Cheer up, Jock!" said Adam, extending his hand to him.
Jock took the proffered hand, and said, "I dinna understan' a' this--but--but--I was gaun to say, God bless ye! But it's no' for me to say that; for I never was in a decent hoose afore--but only in jails, and amang tramps and ne'er-do-weels like mysel'. I'm no' up tae menners, Sergeant--ye maun excuse me."
Jock rose to depart. Before doing so he looked again round the comfortable clean room--at the nice fire and polished grate--at Charlie's bed with its white curtains--and at the bird, so happy in its cage--then, as if struck by his own ragged clothes and old boots, he exclaimed, "It wasna for me to hae been in a hoose like this." Passing the bedroom door, he waved his hand, saying, "Fareweel, mistress; fareweel, Mary," and turning to the Sergeant, he added, "and as for you, Sergeant----" There he stopped--but ending with a special farewell to the starling, he went to the door.
"Come back soon and see me," said the Sergeant. "I'll be yer freen', Jock. I hae 'listed ye this day, and I'll mak' a sodger o' ye yet, an' a better ane, I hope, than mysel'."
"Whisht, whisht!" said Jock. "I have mair respec' for ye than to let ye bemyfreen'. But for a' that, mind, I'm no gaun to pay ye for my boots--and ye'll hae them ready 'gin Friday nicht, for Saturday's fishin'--fareweel!"
"A' richt, Jock," said Adam.
No sooner had Hall left the house than the Sergeant said to himself, "God have mercy on me! I to be unhappy after that! I wi' Katie and Mary! I wi' mercies temporal and spiritual mair than can be numbered! Waes me! what have I done! Starling, indeed! that's surely no' the question--but starvation, ignorance, cruelty, hate, despair, hell, at our verra doors! God help puir Jock Hall, and may He forgive Adam Mercer!"
Jock got his boots on Friday night, well repaired. He said nothing but "Thank ye," and "Ye'll get naething frae me." But on Saturday evening a fine basket of trout was brought by him to the Sergeant's door. Jock said, "There's beauties! Never saw better trout! splendid day!" But when the Sergeant thanked him, and offered him a sixpence, Jock looked with wonder, saying, "Dinna insult a bodie!"
CHAPTER XIV
JOCK HALL'S CONSPIRACY
On the Sunday, when the Sergeant went to church, as we have already described, Jock Hall was quartered for the day with Mrs. Craigie. To do Smellie justice, he did not probably know how very worthless this woman was, far less did the Kirk Session. She was cunning and plausible enough to deceive both. Her occasional attendance at church was sufficient to keep up appearances. The custom of boarding out pauper children with widows, except when these are not respectable, has on the whole worked well, and is infinitely superior to the workhouse system. Mrs. Craigie belonged to the exceptional cases. She accommodated any lodger who might turn up.
Jock and Mrs. Craigie were at the window, a second story one, criticising the passers-by to church, as one has seen the loungers at a club window do the ordinary passers-by on week-days. The Sergeant and his wife, with Mary following them, suddenly attracted their attention.
"The auld hypocrite!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "there he gangs, as prood as a peacock, haudin' his head up when it should be bowed doon wi' shame to the dust! An' his wife, tae!--eh! what a ban net! sic a goon! Sirs me! Baith are the waur o' the wear. Ha! ha! ha! And Mary! as I declare, wi' new shoon, a new bannet, and new shawl! The impudent hizzy that she is! It's a' to spite me, for I see'd her keekin' up to the window. But stealt bairns can come to nae guid; confoond them a'!--though I shouldna say't on the Sabbath day."
Hall stood behind her, and watched the group over her shoulder. "Ye're richt, Luckie," he said, "heisan auld hypocrite. But they are a' that--like minister, like man. 'Confoond them,'yesay; 'Amen',Isay; but what d'ye mean by stealt bairns?"
Ah, Jock, art thou not also a hypocrite!
Mrs. Craigie had left the window, and sat down beside the fire, the church-goers having passed, and the church bell having ceased to ring. Jock then lighted his pipe opposite Mrs. Craigie. "What d'ye mean," he asked again, "by stealt bairns?"
"I mean this," replied she, "that yon auld hypocrite, sodger, and poacher, Adam Mercer, stealt Mary Semple frae me!" and she looked at Hall with an expression which said, "What do ye think of that?" Then having been invited by Hall to tell him all about the theft, she did so, continuing her narrative up to the moment when she was ordered out of the house by Adam; saying now as on that occasion, "But I hae freen's, and I'll pit Smellie to smash him yet! I'll get my revenge oot o' him, the auld bitin' brock that he is. Smellie is my freen, and he has mair power, far, than Adam wi' the minister." So thought Mrs. Craigie.
"Is Smellie yer freen'?" asked Hall, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, "and doeshehate Adam? and doeshewant Mary back tae you?"
"That does he," replied Mrs. Craigie; "and he wad gie onything to get Mary back tae me?"
"Then, my certes, Smelliehaspooer! nae doot o'that," remarked Hall, with a grim smile; "for he has helpit to pit me mony a time into the jail. Wad it obleege him muckle tae get Mary back frae the Sergeant? Wad he befreen' me if I helped him?" asked Jock confidentially.
"It wad be a real treat till him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "and he wad befreen' ye a' yer life! An', Hall----"
"But," asked Jock, interrupting her, "what did ye say aboot poachin'? Was Adam in that line?"
"Him!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "I'se warrant he was--notorious!"
"Hoo d'ye ken?" inquired Jock.
"Smellie telt me! but mind ye, he said I was to keep it quait till he gied me the wink, ye ken;" and Mrs. Craigie gave a knowing wink. She did not know that Smellie had alreadypeached. "For hoo Smellie kent was this, that he had some sort o' business in the place whaur Mercer leeved--that's north in Bennock parish, afore he was a sodger; and Smellie picked up a' the story o' his poachin', for Smellie is awfu' shairp; but he wad never tell't till he could pit it like a gag into the prood mouth o' Adam; and Smellie says he'll pit it in noo, and let Adam crunch his teeth on't," said Mrs. Craigie, gnashing the few she had herself.
Hall manifested a singular inquisitiveness to know as much as possible about those poaching days, and their locality, until at last being satisfied, and having learned that the old keeper of Lord Bennock was still alive, though, as Mrs. Craigie said, "clean superannuat", and that he was, moreover, Adam's cousin, Jock said, "What an awfu' blackguard Adam maun be! If I had kent what I ken noo, I never wad hae gi'en him my boots to men'."
"Yer boots to men'!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie, with astonishment; "what for did ye do that?"
"He had nae wark."
"Ser' him richt!" said Mrs. Craigie.
"And I patroneesed him," continued Jock.
"Ha! ha! It was far ower guid o' ye, Jock, tae patroneese him," said Mrs. Craigie. "Ye'll no pay him, I houp? But he's sic a greedy fallow, that he micht expec' even a puir sowl like you tae pay."
"Me pay him!" said Jock, with a laugh, "maybe--when I hae paid the debt o' natur'; no till then."
"But, Jock," asked Mrs. Craigie, almost in a whisper, "didyesee Mary, the wee slut?"
"I did that," replied Jock, "an' it wad hae broken yer feelin' heart, Luckie, hadyeseen her!--no lying as a puir orphan paid for by the Session ocht to lie, on a shake-doon, wi' a blanket ower her,--my certes, guid eneuch for the like o' her, and for the bawbees paid for her----"
"Guid?--ower guid!" interpolated Mrs. Craigie.
"But," continued Hall, with a leer, "she was mair like a leddy, wi' a bed till hersel', an' curtains on't; and sitting in a chair, wi' stockin's and shoon, afore the fire--learning her lesson, too, and coddled and coddled by Adam and his wife. What say ye to that, Luckie? what say ye to that?"
"Dinna mak' me daft!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "it's eneuch to mak' a bodie swear e'en on the Sabbath day!"
"Swear awa'!" said Hall; "the day maks nae difference tome. Sae ca' awa', woman, if it wull dae ye ony guid, or gie ye ony comfort."
Mrs. Craigie, instead of accepting the advice of her "ne'er-do-weel" lodger, fell into a meditative mood. What could she be thinking about? Her Sabbath thoughts came to this, in their practical results--a proposal to Jock Hall to seize Mary as she was returning from church, and to bring her again under the protection of her dear old motherly friend. She could not, indeed, as yet take her from under the Sergeant's roof by force, but could the Sergeant retake her if by any means she were brought back underherroof?
Jock, after some consideration, entertained the proposal, discussed it, and then came to terms. "What wull ye gie me?" he at last asked.
"A glass o' whuskey and a saxpence!" said Mrs. Craigie.
"Ba! ba!" said Jock; "I'm nae bairn, but gleg and cannie, like a moudiewart! Saxpence! Ye ken as weel as I do, that if the Shirra--for, losh me! I ken baith him an' the law ower weel!--if he heard ye were plottin' an' plannin' to grip a bairn that way on the Sabbath, and paying me for helpin' ye--my word! you and me wad be pit in jail; and though this micht be a comfort taeme--lodgings and vittals for naething, ye ken, and a visit to an auld hame--it wadna dae for a Christian woman like you, Luckie! Eh, lass? it wad never dae! What wad the minister and Smellie say? no' to speak o' the Sergeant?--hoohewad craw! Sae unless ye keep it as quait as death, an' gie me half-a-crown, I'll no pit my han' on the bairn."
"The bargain's made!" said Mrs. Craigie. "But ye maun wait till I get a shilling mair frae Mrs. D'rymple, as I've nae change."
"Tell her to come ben," said Jock. "Can ye trust her wi' the secret? Ye should get her tae help ye, and tae swear, if it comes tae a trial, that the bairn cam' tae ye o' her ain free consent, mind. I'm ready, for half-a-crown mair, to gie my aith to the same effec'."
"Ye're no far wrang; that's the plan!" said Mrs. Craigie. "I can trust Peggy like steel. An' I'm sure Marydoeswant to come tae me. That's the truth and nae lee. Sae you and Peggy D'rymple may sweer a' that wi' a guid conscience."
"Butmyconscience," said Jock, "is no sae guid as yours or Peggy's, an' it'll be the better o' anither half-crown, in case I hae to sweer, to keep it frae botherin' me. But I'll gie ye credit for the money, an' ye'll gie me credit for what I awe ye for my meat and lodgin' sin' Monday."
"A' richt, a' richt, Jock; sae be't," replied Mrs. Craigie, as she went to fetch her neighbour, who lived on the same flat.
Mrs. Dalrymple was made a member of the privy council which met in a few minutes in Mrs. Craigie's room, the door being bolted.
"I'm nae hypocrite," confessed Jock. "I scorn to be ane, as ye do; foryedinna preten' to be unco guid, and better than ither folk, like Adam Mercer, or that godly man Smellie. I tell ye, then, I'm up to onything for money or drink. I'll steal, I'll rob, I'll murder, I'll----"
"Whisht, whisht, Jock! Dinna speak that wild way an' frichten folk!--Be canny, man, be canny, or the neebours 'll hear ye," said the prudent Mrs. Craigie, who forthwith explained her plan to her confidential and trustworthy friend, who highly approved of it as an act of justice to Mrs. Craigie, to Mary, and the Kirk Session. Half-a-crown was to be Mrs. Dalrymple's pay for her valued aid. Hall arranged that the moment the women saw the Sergeant coming from church, they were to give him a sign; and then they--leaving the window, and retiring behind the door--were to be ready to receive Mary and hold her fast when brought to the house. To enable Hall to execute the plot more easily, Mrs. Craigie gave him, at his own suggestion, in order to entice Mary, a few spring flowers she had got the evening before from a neighbour's garden, as a "posey" for the church--which she had not, however attended, being deprived of the privilege, as she meant to assure Smellie, by illness. Jock had already accepted of a glass of whisky. But as the exciting moment approached, and as the two women had helped themselves to a cheerer, as they called it, he got a second glass to strengthen his courage. His courage, however, did not seem to fail him, for he once or twice whistled and hummed some song--to the great horror of his good friends; and, strange to say, he also fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter--at the thought, so he said, of how the old hypocrite and his wife would look when Mary was missed and found to be with Mrs. Craigie! Much hearty sympathy was expressed with his strange humour.
The service in the "auld kirk", as the parish church is called, being over, the congregation were walking home. One or two of its members had already passed the window where sat the eager and expectant conspirators. Jock Hall, with a bunch of flowers, was ready to run down-stairs, to the close mouth, the moment the appointed signal was given. Very soon the Sergeant and his wife made their appearance a little way off, while Mary--how fortunate for the plotters!--followed at some distance. No sooner were they discovered, than the two women retired from the window, and gave the signal to Hall to "be off!" They then ensconced themselves, as previously arranged, at the back of the door, with eager and palpitating hearts.
Jock sprang out, shutting the door after him, and rattling down-stairs reached the street just as Mary was within a few yards. When she was passing the close, he stepped out, and with a kind voice, said: "I hae a message for your faither, Mary dear! Jist speak to me aff the street." Mary, no longer associating Hall with the thought of a wild man, but of one who had been a guest of the Sergeant's, entered the close. Jock Hall gave her the flowers and said: "Gie this posey to your mither, for the gran' tea she made for me; and gie this half-croon to yer faither for the braw boots he patched for me. Noo run awa', my bonnie lassie, and be guid, and do whatever yer faither and mither bid ye, or Jock Hall wull be angry wi' ye--run!"
Mrs. Craigie, in her excitement and curiosity, could not resist the temptation of going again to the window, and no sooner had she seen Mary enter the close than she ran to her retreat behind the door, whispering joyfully to Mrs. Dalrymple, "The wee deevil is catched, and coming!"
In a moment Jock was at the door, and while he firmly held the key outside, he opened it so far as to let in his head. Then addressing the women, he said in an under-breath, or rather hiss: "Whisht! dinna speak! I catched her! I gied her the posey for Mrs. Mercer--I gied her the half-croon to pay Mr. Mercer for my boots!--and she's hame!--an' ye'll never get her!--You twa limmers are cheated! If ye cheep, I'll tell the Shirra. Jock Hall is nae hypocrite! Deil tak' ye baith, and Smellie likewise! I'm aff!" and before a word could be spoken by the astonished conspirators, Jock locked the door upon them, and flinging the key along the passage he sprang down-stairs and fled no one knew whither!
Mary gave the bouquet of flowers to Mrs. Mercer, whose only remark was: "Wha wad hae thocht it!" and she gave the half-crown to Adam, who said: "I never hae been as thankfu' for a day's wage! Pit it in the drawer, and keep it for Jock. I'm no feared but wi' God's help I'll mak' a sodger o' him yet! For as Charlie's bairn weel remarks: 'A man's a man for a' that'."
CHAPTER XV
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'llnoca' Hugh, an' I kenyecanna 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?"