by Walter Scott
CHAPTER V.
Arouse thee, youth!--it is no human call-- God's church is leaguer'd--haste to man the wall; Haste where the Redcross banners wave on high, Signal of honour'd death, or victory! James Duff.
Morton and his companion had attained some distance from the town beforeeither of them addressed the other. There was something, as we haveobserved, repulsive in the manner of the stranger, which prevented Mortonfrom opening the conversation, and he himself seemed to have no desire totalk, until, on a sudden, he abruptly demanded, "What has your father'sson to do with such profane mummeries as I find you this day engaged in?"
"I do my duty as a subject, and pursue my harmless recreations accordingto my own pleasure," replied Morton, somewhat offended.
"Is it your duty, think you, or that of any Christian young man, to beararms in their cause who have poured out the blood of God's saints in thewilderness as if it had been water? or is it a lawful recreation to wastetime in shooting at a bunch of feathers, and close your evening withwinebibbing in public-houses and market-towns, when He that is mighty iscome into the land with his fan in his hand, to purge the wheat from thechaff?"
"I suppose from your style of conversation," said Morton, "that you areone of those who have thought proper to stand out against the government.I must remind you that you are unnecessarily using dangerous language inthe presence of a mere stranger, and that the times do not render it safefor me to listen to it."
"Thou canst not help it, Henry Morton," said his companion; "thy Masterhas his uses for thee, and when he calls, thou must obey. Well wot I thouhast not heard the call of a true preacher, or thou hadst ere now beenwhat thou wilt assuredly one day become."
"We are of the presbyterian persuasion, like yourself," said Morton; forhis uncle's family attended the ministry of one of those numerouspresbyterian clergymen, who, complying with certain regulations, werelicensed to preach without interruption from the government. Thisindulgence, as it was called, made a great schism among thepresbyterians, and those who accepted of it were severely censured by themore rigid sectaries, who refused the proffered terms. The stranger,therefore, answered with great disdain to Morton's profession of faith.
"That is but an equivocation--a poor equivocation. Ye listen on theSabbath to a cold, worldly, time-serving discourse, from one who forgetshis high commission so much as to hold his apostleship by the favour ofthe courtiers and the false prelates, and ye call that hearing the word!Of all the baits with which the devil has fished for souls in these daysof blood and darkness, that Black Indulgence has been the mostdestructive. An awful dispensation it has been, a smiting of the shepherdand a scattering of the sheep upon the mountains--an uplifting of oneChristian banner against another, and a fighting of the wars of darknesswith the swords of the children of light!"
"My uncle," said Morton, "is of opinion, that we enjoy a reasonablefreedom of conscience under the indulged clergymen, and I mustnecessarily be guided by his sentiments respecting the choice of a placeof worship for his family."
"Your uncle," said the horseman, "is one of those to whom the least lambin his own folds at Milnwood is dearer than the whole Christian flock. Heis one that could willingly bend down to the golden-calf of Bethel, andwould have fished for the dust thereof when it was ground to powder andcast upon the waters. Thy father was a man of another stamp."
"My father," replied Morton, "was indeed a brave and gallant man. And youmay have heard, sir, that he fought for that royal family in whose name Iwas this day carrying arms."
"Ay; and had he lived to see these days, he would have cursed the hour heever drew sword in their cause. But more of this hereafter--I promisethee full surely that thy hour will come, and then the words thou hastnow heard will stick in thy bosom like barbed arrows. My road liesthere."
He pointed towards a pass leading up into a wild extent of dreary anddesolate hills; but as he was about to turn his horse's head into therugged path, which led from the high-road in that direction, an old womanwrapped in a red cloak, who was sitting by the cross-way, arose, andapproaching him, said, in a mysterious tone of voice, "If ye be of ourain folk, gangna up the pass the night for your lives. There is a lion inthe path, that is there. The curate of Brotherstane and ten soldiers haebeset the pass, to hae the lives of ony of our puir wanderers thatventure that gate to join wi' Hamilton and Dingwall."
"Have the persecuted folk drawn to any head among themselves?" demandedthe stranger.
"About sixty or seventy horse and foot," said the old dame; "but, ewhow!they are puirly armed, and warse fended wi' victual."
"God will help his own," said the horseman. "Which way shall I take tojoin them?"
"It's a mere impossibility this night," said the woman, "the trooperskeep sae strict a guard; and they say there's strange news come frae theeast, that makes them rage in their cruelty mair fierce than ever--Yemaun take shelter somegate for the night before ye get to the muirs, andkeep yoursell in hiding till the grey o' the morning, and then you mayfind your way through the Drake Moss. When I heard the awfu' threateningso' the oppressors, I e'en took my cloak about me, and sate down by thewayside, to warn ony of our puir scattered remnant that chanced to comethis gate, before they fell into the nets of the spoilers."
"Have you a house near this?" said the stranger; "and can you give mehiding there?"
"I have," said the old woman, "a hut by the way-side, it may be a milefrom hence; but four men of Belial, called dragoons, are lodged therein,to spoil my household goods at their pleasure, because I will not waitupon the thowless, thriftless, fissenless ministry of that carnal man,John Halftext, the curate."
"Good night, good woman, and thanks for thy counsel," said the stranger,as he rode away.
"The blessings of the promise upon you," returned the old dame; "may Hekeep you that can keep you."
"Amen!" said the traveller; "for where to hide my head this night, mortalskill cannot direct me."
"I am very sorry for your distress," said Morton; "and had I a house orplace of shelter that could be called my own, I almost think I would riskthe utmost rigour of the law rather than leave you in such a strait. Butmy uncle is so alarmed at the pains and penalties denounced by the lawsagainst such as comfort, receive, or consort with intercommuned persons,that he has strictly forbidden all of us to hold any intercourse withthem."
"It is no less than I expected," said the stranger; "nevertheless, Imight be received without his knowledge;--a barn, a hay-loft, acart-shed,--any place where I could stretch me down, would be to myhabits like a tabernacle of silver set about with planks of cedar."
"I assure you," said Morton, much embarrassed, "that I have not the meansof receiving you at Milnwood without my uncle's consent and knowledge;nor, if I could do so, would I think myself justifiable in engaging himunconsciously in danger, which, most of all others, he fears anddeprecates."
"Well," said the traveller, "I have but one word to say. Did you everhear your father mention John Balfour of Burley?"
"His ancient friend and comrade, who saved his life, with almost the lossof his own, in the battle of Longmarston-Moor?--Often, very often."
"I am that Balfour," said his companion. "Yonder stands thy uncle'shouse; I see the light among the trees. The avenger of blood is behindme, and my death certain unless I have refuge there. Now, make thychoice, young man; to shrink from the side of thy father's friend, like athief in the night, and to leave him exposed to the bloody death fromwhich he rescued thy father, or to expose thine uncle's wordly goods tosuch peril, as, in this perverse generation, attends those who give amorsel of bread or a draught of cold water to a Christian man, whenperishing for lack of refreshment!"
A thousand recollections thronged on the mind of Morton at once. Hisfather, whose memory he idolized, had often enlarged upon his obligationsto this man, and regretted, that, after having been long comrades, theyhad parted in some unkindness at the
time when the kingdom of Scotlandwas divided into Resolutioners and Protesters; the former of whom adheredto Charles II. after his father's death upon the scaffold, while theProtesters inclined rather to a union with the triumphant republicans.The stern fanaticism of Burley had attached him to this latter party, andthe comrades had parted in displeasure, never, as it happened, to meetagain. These circumstances the deceased Colonel Morton had oftenmentioned to his son, and always with an expression of deep regret, thathe had never, in any manner, been enabled to repay the assistance, which,on more than one occasion, he had received from Burley.
To hasten Morton's decision, the night-wind, as it swept along, broughtfrom a distance the sullen sound of a kettle-drum, which, seeming toapproach nearer, intimated that a body of horse were upon their marchtowards them.
"It must be Claverhouse, with the rest of his regiment. What can haveoccasioned this night-march? If you go on, you fall into their hands--ifyou turn back towards the borough-town, you are in no less danger fromCornet Grahame's party.--The path to the hill is beset. I must shelteryou at Milnwood, or expose you to instant death;--but the punishment ofthe law shall fall upon myself, as in justice it should, not upon myuncle.--Follow me."
Burley, who had awaited his resolution with great composure, now followedhim in silence.
The house of Milnwood, built by the father of the present proprietor, wasa decent mansion, suitable to the size of the estate, but, since theaccession of this owner, it had been suffered to go considerably intodisrepair. At some little distance from the house stood the court ofoffices. Here Morton paused.
"I must leave you here for a little while," he whispered, "until I canprovide a bed for you in the house."
"I care little for such delicacy," said Burley; "for thirty years thishead has rested oftener on the turf, or on the next grey stone, than uponeither wool or down. A draught of ale, a morsel of bread, to say myprayers, and to stretch me upon dry hay, were to me as good as a paintedchamber and a prince's table."
It occurred to Morton at the same moment, that to attempt to introducethe fugitive within the house, would materially increase the danger ofdetection. Accordingly, having struck a light with implements left in thestable for that purpose, and having fastened up their horses, he assignedBurley, for his place of repose, a wooden bed, placed in a loft half-fullof hay, which an out-of-door domestic had occupied until dismissed by hisuncle in one of those fits of parsimony which became more rigid from dayto day. In this untenanted loft Morton left his companion, with a cautionso to shade his light that no reflection might be seen from the window,and a promise that he would presently return with such refreshments as hemight be able to procure at that late hour. This last, indeed, was asubject on which he felt by no means confident, for the power ofobtaining even the most ordinary provisions depended entirely upon thehumour in which he might happen to find his uncle's sole confidant, theold housekeeper. If she chanced to be a-bed, which was very likely, orout of humour, which was not less so, Morton well knew the case to be atleast problematical.
Cursing in his heart the sordid parsimony which pervaded every part ofhis uncle's establishment, he gave the usual gentle knock at the bolteddoor, by which he was accustomed to seek admittance, when accident haddetained him abroad beyond the early and established hours of rest at thehouse of Milnwood. It was a sort of hesitating tap, which carried anacknowledgment of transgression in its very sound, and seemed rather tosolicit than command attention. After it had been repeated again andagain, the housekeeper, grumbling betwixt her teeth as she rose from thechimney corner in the hall, and wrapping her checked handkerchief roundher head to secure her from the cold air, paced across the stone-passage,and repeated a careful "Wha's there at this time o' night?" more thanonce before she undid the bolts and bars, and cautiously opened the door.
"This is a fine time o' night, Mr Henry," said the old dame, with thetyrannic insolence of a spoilt and favourite domestic;--"a braw time o'night and a bonny, to disturb a peaceful house in, and to keep quiet folkout o' their beds waiting for you. Your uncle's been in his maist threehours syne, and Robin's ill o' the rheumatize, and he's to his bed too,and sae I had to sit up for ye mysell, for as sair a hoast as I hae."
Here she coughed once or twice, in further evidence of the egregiousinconvenience which she had sustained.
"Much obliged to you, Alison, and many kind thanks."
"Hegh, sirs, sae fair-fashioned as we are! Mony folk ca' me MistressWilson, and Milnwood himsell is the only ane about this town thinks o'ca'ing me Alison, and indeed he as aften says Mrs Alison as ony otherthing."
"Well, then, Mistress Alison," said Morton, "I really am sorry to havekept you up waiting till I came in."
"And now that you are come in, Mr Henry," said the cross old woman, "whatfor do you no tak up your candle and gang to your bed? and mind ye dinnalet the candle sweal as ye gang alang the wainscot parlour, and haud a'the house scouring to get out the grease again."
"But, Alison, I really must have something to eat, and a draught of ale,before I go to bed."
"Eat?--and ale, Mr Henry?--My certie, ye're ill to serve! Do ye think wehavena heard o' your grand popinjay wark yonder, and how ye bleezed awayas muckle pouther as wad hae shot a' the wild-fowl that we'll want atweenand Candlemas--and then ganging majoring to the piper's Howff wi' a' theidle loons in the country, and sitting there birling, at your pooruncle's cost, nae doubt, wi' a' the scaff and raff o' the water-side,till sun-down, and then coming hame and crying for ale, as if ye weremaister and mair!"
Extremely vexed, yet anxious, on account of his guest, to procurerefreshments if possible, Morton suppressed his resentment, andgood-humouredly assured Mrs Wilson, that he was really both hungry andthirsty; "and as for the shooting at the popinjay, I have heard you sayyou have been there yourself, Mrs Wilson--I wish you had come to look atus."
"Ah, Maister Henry," said the old dame, "I wish ye binna beginning tolearn the way of blawing in a woman's lug wi' a' your whilly-wha's!--Aweel, sae ye dinna practise them but on auld wives like me, the lessmatter. But tak heed o' the young queans, lad.--Popinjay--ye thinkyoursell a braw fellow enow; and troth!" (surveying him with the candle,)"there's nae fault to find wi' the outside, if the inside be conforming.But I mind, when I was a gilpy of a lassock, seeing the Duke, that washim that lost his head at London--folk said it wasna a very gude ane, butit was aye a sair loss to him, puir gentleman--Aweel, he wan thepopinjay, for few cared to win it ower his Grace's head--weel, he had acomely presence, and when a' the gentles mounted to show their capers,his Grace was as near to me as I am to you; and he said to me, 'Tak tento' yoursell, my bonny lassie, (these were his very words,) for my horseis not very chancy.'--And now, as ye say ye had sae little to eat ordrink, I'll let you see that I havena been sae unmindfu' o' you; for Idinna think it's safe for young folk to gang to their bed on an emptystamach."
To do Mrs Wilson justice, her nocturnal harangues upon such occasions notunfrequently terminated with this sage apophthegm, which always prefacedthe producing of some provision a little better than ordinary, such asshe now placed before him. In fact, the principal object of hermaundering was to display her consequence and love of power; for MrsWilson was not, at the bottom, an illtempered woman, and certainly lovedher old and young master (both of whom she tormented extremely) betterthan any one else in the world. She now eyed Mr Henry, as she called him,with great complacency, as he partook of her good cheer.
"Muckle gude may it do ye, my bonny man. I trow ye dinna get sic askirl-in-the-pan as that at Niel Blane's. His wife was a canny body, andcould dress things very weel for ane in her line o' business, but no likea gentleman's housekeeper, to be sure. But I doubt the daughter's a sillything--an unco cockernony she had busked on her head at the kirk lastSunday. I am doubting that there will be news o' a' thae braws. But myauld een's drawing thegither--dinna hurry yoursell, my bonny man, takmind about the putting out the candle, and there's a horn of ale, and aglass of clow-gillie-flower water; I dinna gie ilka
body that; I keep itfor a pain I hae whiles in my ain stamach, and it's better for your youngblood than brandy. Sae, gude-night to ye, Mr Henry, and see that ye takgude care o' the candle."
Morton promised to attend punctually to her caution, and requested hernot to be alarmed if she heard the door opened, as she knew he mustagain, as usual, look to his horse, and arrange him for the night. MrsWilson then retreated, and Morton, folding up his provisions, was aboutto hasten to his guest, when the nodding head of the old housekeeper wasagain thrust in at the door, with an admonition, to remember to take anaccount of his ways before he laid himself down to rest, and to pray forprotection during the hours of darkness.
Such were the manners of a certain class of domestics, once common inScotland, and perhaps still to be found in some old manor-houses in itsremote counties. They were fixtures in the family they belonged to; andas they never conceived the possibility of such a thing as dismissal tobe within the chances of their lives, they were, of course, sincerelyattached to every member of it. [Note: A masculine retainer of this kind,having offended his master extremely, was commanded to leave his serviceinstantly. "In troth and that will I not," answered the domestic; "ifyour honour disna ken when ye hae a gude servant, I ken when I hae a gudemaster, and go away I will not." On another occasion of the same nature,the master said, "John, you and I shall never sleep under the same roofagain;" to which John replied, with much, "Whare the deil can your honourbe ganging?"] On the other hand, when spoiled by the indulgence orindolence of their superiors, they were very apt to become ill-tempered,self-sufficient, and tyrannical; so much so, that a mistress or masterwould sometimes almost have wished to exchange their crossgrainedfidelity for the smooth and accommodating duplicity of a modern menial.
