Rob Roy — Complete

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER FOURTH.

  On the Rialto, every night at twelve, I take my evening's walk of meditation: There we two will meet. Venice Preserved.

  Full of sinister augury, for which, however, I could assign nosatisfactory cause, I shut myself up in my apartment at the inn, andhaving dismissed Andrew, after resisting his importunity to accompany himto St. Enoch's Kirk,* where, he said, "a soul-searching divine was to haudforth," I set myself seriously to consider what were best to be done.

  * This I believe to be an anachronism, as Saint Enoch's Church was notbuilt at the date of the story. [It was founded in 1780, and has sincebeen rebuilt.]

  I never was what is properly called superstitious; but I suppose that allmen, in situations of peculiar doubt and difficulty, when they haveexercised their reason to little purpose, are apt, in a sort of despair,to abandon the reins to their imagination, and be guided altogether bychance, or by those whimsical impressions which take possession of themind, and to which we give way as if to involuntary impulses. There wassomething so singularly repulsive in the hard features of the Scotchtrader, that I could not resolve to put myself into his hands withouttransgressing every caution which could be derived from the rules ofphysiognomy; while, at the same time, the warning voice, the form whichflitted away like a vanishing shadow through those vaults, which might betermed "the valley of the shadow of death," had something captivating forthe imagination of a young man, who, you will farther please to remember,was also a young poet.

  If danger was around me, as the mysterious communication intimated, howcould I learn its nature, or the means of averting it, but by meeting myunknown counsellor, to whom I could see no reason for imputing any otherthan kind intentions. Rashleigh and his machinations occurred more thanonce to my remembrance;--but so rapid had my journey been, that I couldnot suppose him apprised of my arrival in Glasgow, much less prepared toplay off any stratagem against my person. In my temper also I was boldand confident, strong and active in person, and in some measureaccustomed to the use of arms, in which the French youth of all kindswere then initiated. I did not fear any single opponent; assassinationwas neither the vice of the age nor of the country; the place selectedfor our meeting was too public to admit any suspicion of meditatedviolence. In a word, I resolved to meet my mysterious counsellor on thebridge, as he had requested, and to be afterwards guided bycircumstances. Let me not conceal from you, Tresham, what at the time Iendeavoured to conceal from myself--the subdued, yet secretly-cherishedhope, that Diana Vernon might--by what chance I knew not--through whatmeans I could not guess--have some connection with this strange anddubious intimation conveyed at a time and place, and in a manner sosurprising. She alone--whispered this insidious thought--she alone knewof my journey; from her own account, she possessed friends and influencein Scotland; she had furnished me with a talisman, whose power I was toinvoke when all other aid failed me; who then but Diana Vernon possessedeither means, knowledge, or inclination, for averting the dangers, bywhich, as it seemed, my steps were surrounded? This flattering view of myvery doubtful case pressed itself upon me again and again. It insinuateditself into my thoughts, though very bashfully, before the hour ofdinner; it displayed its attractions more boldly during the course of myfrugal meal, and became so courageously intrusive during the succeedinghalf-hour (aided perhaps by the flavour of a few glasses of mostexcellent claret), that, with a sort of desperate attempt to escape froma delusive seduction, to which I felt the danger of yielding, I pushed myglass from me, threw aside my dinner, seized my hat, and rushed into theopen air with the feeling of one who would fly from his own thoughts. Yetperhaps I yielded to the very feelings from which I seemed to fly, sincemy steps insensibly led me to the bridge over the Clyde, the placeassigned for the rendezvous by my mysterious monitor.

  Although I had not partaken of my repast until the hours of eveningchurch-service were over,--in which, by the way, I complied with thereligious scruples of my landlady, who hesitated to dress a hot dinnerbetween sermons, and also with the admonition of my unknown friend, tokeep my apartment till twilight,--several hours had still to pass awaybetwixt the time of my appointment and that at which I reached theassigned place of meeting. The interval, as you will readily credit, waswearisome enough; and I can hardly explain to you how it passed away.Various groups of persons, all of whom, young and old, seemed impressedwith a reverential feeling of the sanctity of the day, passed along thelarge open meadow which lies on the northern bank of the Clyde, andserves at once as a bleaching-field and pleasure-walk for theinhabitants, or paced with slow steps the long bridge which communicateswith the southern district of the county. All that I remember of them wasthe general, yet not unpleasing, intimation of a devotional characterimpressed on each little party--formally assumed perhaps by some, butsincerely characterising the greater number--which hushed the petulantgaiety of the young into a tone of more quiet, yet more interesting,interchange of sentiments, and suppressed the vehement argument andprotracted disputes of those of more advanced age. Notwithstanding thenumbers who passed me, no general sound of the human voice was heard; fewturned again to take some minutes' voluntary exercise, to which theleisure of the evening, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, seemedto invite them: all hurried to their homes and resting-places. To oneaccustomed to the mode of spending Sunday evenings abroad, even among theFrench Calvinists, there seemed something Judaical, yet, at the same timestriking and affecting, in this mode of keeping the Sabbath holy.Insensibly I felt my mode of sauntering by the side of the river, andcrossing successively the various persons who were passing homeward, andwithout tarrying or delay, must expose me to observation at least, if notto censure; and I slunk out of the frequented path, and found a trivialoccupation for my mind in marshalling my revolving walk in such a manneras should least render me obnoxious to observation. The different alleyslined out through this extensive meadow, and which are planted withtrees, like the Park of St. James's in London, gave me facilities forcarrying into effect these childish manoeuvres.

  As I walked down one of these avenues, I heard, to my surprise, the sharpand conceited voice of Andrew Fairservice, raised by a sense ofself-consequence to a pitch somewhat higher than others seemed to thinkconsistent with the solemnity of the day. To slip behind the row of treesunder which I walked was perhaps no very dignified proceeding; but it wasthe easiest mode of escaping his observation, and perhaps his impertinentassiduity, and still more intrusive curiosity. As he passed, I heard himcommunicate to a grave-looking man, in a black coat, a slouched hat, andGeneva cloak, the following sketch of a character, which my self-love,while revolting against it as a caricature, could not, nevertheless,refuse to recognise as a likeness.

  "Ay, ay, Mr. Hammorgaw, it's e'en as I tell ye. He's no a'thegither saevoid o' sense neither; he has a gloaming sight o' what's reasonable--thatis anes and awa'--a glisk and nae mair; but he's crack-brained andcockle-headed about his nipperty-tipperty poetry nonsense--He'll glowr atan auld-warld barkit aik-snag as if it were a queezmaddam in fullbearing; and a naked craig, wi' a bum jawing ower't, is unto him as agarden garnisht with flowering knots and choice pot-herbs. Then he wadrather claver wi' a daft quean they ca' Diana Vernon (weel I wet theymight ca' her Diana of the Ephesians, for she's little better than aheathen--better? she's waur--a Roman, a mere Roman)--he'll claver wi'her, or any ither idle slut, rather than hear what might do him gude a'the days of his life, frae you or me, Mr. Hammorgaw, or ony ither soberand sponsible person. Reason, sir, is what he canna endure--he's a' foryour vanities and volubilities; and he ance tell'd me (puir blindedcreature!) that the Psalms of David were excellent poetry! as if the holyPsalmist thought o' rattling rhymes in a blether, like his ain sillyclinkum-clankum things that he ca's verse. Gude help him!--twa lines o'Davie Lindsay would ding a' he ever clerkit."

  While listening to this perverted account of my temper and studies, youwill not be surprised if I meditate
d for Mr. Fairservice the unpleasantsurprise of a broken pate on the first decent opportunity. His friendonly intimated his attention by "Ay, ay!" and "Is't e'en sae?" andsuchlike expressions of interest, at the proper breaks in Mr.Fairservice's harangue, until at length, in answer to some observation ofgreater length, the import of which I only collected from my trustyguide's reply, honest Andrew answered, "Tell him a bit o'my mind, quothye? Wha wad be fule then but Andrew? He's a red-wad deevil, man--He'slike Giles Heathertap's auld boar;--ye need but shake a clout at him tomake him turn and gore. Bide wi' him, say ye?--Troth, I kenna what for Ibide wi' him mysell. But the lad's no a bad lad after a'; and he needssome carefu' body to look after him. He hasna the right grip o' hishand--the gowd slips through't like water, man; and it's no that ill athing to be near him when his purse is in his hand, and it's seldom outo't. And then he's come o' guid kith and kin--My heart warms to the poorthoughtless callant, Mr. Hammorgaw--and then the penny fee"--

  In the latter part of this instructive communication, Mr. Fairservicelowered his voice to a tone better beseeming the conversation in a placeof public resort on a Sabbath evening, and his companion and he were soonbeyond my hearing. My feelings of hasty resentment soon subsided, underthe conviction that, as Andrew himself might have said, "A harkeneralways hears a bad tale of himself," and that whoever should happen tooverhear their character discussed in their own servants'-hall, mustprepare to undergo the scalpel of some such anatomist as Mr. Fairservice.The incident was so far useful, as, including the feelings to which itgave rise, it sped away a part of the time which hung so heavily on myhand.

  Evening had now closed, and the growing darkness gave to the broad,still, and deep expanse of the brimful river, first a hue sombre anduniform--then a dismal and turbid appearance, partially lighted by awaning and pallid moon. The massive and ancient bridge which stretchesacross the Clyde was now but dimly visible, and resembled that whichMirza, in his unequalled vision, has described as traversing the valleyof Bagdad. The low-browed arches, seen as imperfectly as the duskycurrent which they bestrode, seemed rather caverns which swallowed up thegloomy waters of the river, than apertures contrived for their passage.With the advancing night the stillness of the scene increased. There wasyet a twinkling light occasionally seen to glide along by the stream,which conducted home one or two of the small parties, who, after theabstinence and religious duties of the day, had partaken of a socialsupper--the only meal at which the rigid Presbyterians made some advanceto sociality on the Sabbath. Occasionally, also, the hoofs of a horsewere heard, whose rider, after spending the Sunday in Glasgow, wasdirecting his steps towards his residence in the country. These soundsand sights became gradually of more rare occurrence; at length theyaltogether ceased, and I was left to enjoy my solitary walk on the shoresof the Clyde in solemn silence, broken only by the tolling of thesuccessive hours from the steeples of the churches.

  But as the night advanced my impatience at the uncertainty of thesituation in which I was placed increased every moment, and became nearlyungovernable. I began to question whether I had been imposed upon by thetrick of a fool, the raving of a madman, or the studied machinations of avillain, and paced the little quay or pier adjoining the entrance to thebridge, in a state of incredible anxiety and vexation. At length the hourof twelve o'clock swung its summons over the city from the belfry of themetropolitan church of St. Mungo, and was answered and vouched by all theothers like dutiful diocesans. The echoes had scarcely ceased to repeatthe last sound, when a human form--the first I had seen for twohours--appeared passing along the bridge from the southern shore of theriver. I advanced to meet him with a feeling as if my fate depended onthe result of the interview, so much had my anxiety been wound up byprotracted expectation. All that I could remark of the passenger as weadvanced towards each other, was that his frame was rather beneath thanabove the middle size, but apparently strong, thick-set, and muscular;his dress a horseman's wrapping coat. I slackened my pace, and almostpaused as I advanced in expectation that he would address me. But to myinexpressible disappointment he passed without speaking, and I had nopretence for being the first to address one who, notwithstanding hisappearance at the very hour of appointment, might nevertheless be anabsolute stranger. I stopped when he had passed me, and looked afterhim, uncertain whether I ought not to follow him. The stranger walked ontill near the northern end of the bridge, then paused, looked back, andturning round, again advanced towards me. I resolved that this time heshould not have the apology for silence proper to apparitions, who, itis vulgarly supposed, cannot speak until they are spoken to. "You walklate, sir," said I, as we met a second time.

  "I bide tryste," was the reply; "and so I think do you, Mr.Osbaldistone."

  "You are then the person who requested to meet me here at this unusualhour?"

  "I am," he replied. "Follow me, and you shall know my reasons."

  "Before following you, I must know your name and purpose," I answered.

  "I am a man," was the reply; "and my purpose is friendly to you."

  "A man!" I repeated;--"that is a very brief description."

  "It will serve for one who has no other to give," said the stranger. "Hethat is without name, without friends, without coin, without country, isstill at least a man; and he that has all these is no more."

  "Yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say the leastof it, to establish your credit with a stranger."

  "It is all I mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to follow me, or toremain without the information I desire to afford you."

  "Can you not give me that information here?" I demanded.

  "You must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue--you must followme, or remain in ignorance of the information which I have to give you."

  There was something short, determined, and even stern, in the man'smanner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubtingconfidence.

  "What is it you fear?" he said impatiently. "To whom, think ye, is yourlife of such consequence, that they should seek to bereave ye of it?"

  "I fear nothing," I replied firmly, though somewhat hastily. "Walk on--Iattend you."

  We proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the town, andglided like mute spectres, side by side, up its empty and silent streets.The high and gloomy stone fronts, with the variegated ornaments andpediments of the windows, looked yet taller and more sable by theimperfect moonshine. Our walk was for some minutes in perfect silence. Atlength my conductor spoke.

  "Are you afraid?"

  "I retort your own words," I replied: "wherefore should I fear?"

  "Because you are with a stranger--perhaps an enemy, in a place where youhave no friends and many enemies."

  "I neither fear you nor them; I am young, active, and armed."

  "I am not armed," replied my conductor: "but no matter, a willing handnever lacked weapon. You say you fear nothing; but if you knew who was byyour side, perhaps you might underlie a tremor."

  "And why should I?" replied I. "I again repeat, I fear nought that youcan do."

  "Nought that I can do?--Be it so. But do you not fear the consequences ofbeing found with one whose very name whispered in this lonely streetwould make the stones themselves rise up to apprehend him--on whose headhalf the men in Glasgow would build their fortune as on a found treasure,had they the luck to grip him by the collar--the sound of whoseapprehension were as welcome at the Cross of Edinburgh as ever the newsof a field stricken and won in Flanders?"

  "And who then are you, whose name should create so deep a feeling ofterror?" I replied.

  "No enemy of yours, since I am conveying you to a place, where, were Imyself recognised and identified, iron to the heels and hemp to the craigwould be my brief dooming."

  I paused and stood still on the pavement, drawing back so as to have themost perfect view of my companion which the light afforded me, and whichwas sufficient to guard against any sudden motion of assault.

  "You have said," I answered, "either too much o
r too little--too much toinduce me to confide in you as a mere stranger, since you avow yourself aperson amenable to the laws of the country in which we are--and toolittle, unless you could show that you are unjustly subjected to theirrigour."

  As I ceased to speak, he made a step towards me. I drew backinstinctively, and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword.

  "What!" said he--"on an unarmed man, and your friend?"

  "I am yet ignorant if you are either the one or the other," I replied;"and to say the truth, your language and manner might well entitle me todoubt both."

  "It is manfully spoken," replied my conductor; "and I respect him whosehand can keep his head.--I will be frank and free with you--I amconveying you to prison."

  "To prison!" I exclaimed--"by what warrant or for what offence?--Youshall have my life sooner than my liberty--I defy you, and I will notfollow you a step farther."

  "I do not," he said, "carry you there as a prisoner; I am," he added,drawing himself haughtily up, "neither a messenger nor sheriff's officer.I carry you to see a prisoner from whose lips you will learn the risk inwhich you presently stand. Your liberty is little risked by the visit;mine is in some peril; but that I readily encounter on your account, forI care not for risk, and I love a free young blood, that kens noprotector but the cross o' the sword."

  While he spoke thus, we had reached the principal street, and werepausing before a large building of hewn stone, garnished, as I thought Icould perceive, with gratings of iron before the windows.

  "Muckle," said the stranger, whose language became more broadly nationalas he assumed a tone of colloquial freedom--"Muckle wad the provost andbailies o' Glasgow gie to hae him sitting with iron garters to his hosewithin their tolbooth that now stands wi' his legs as free as thered-deer's on the outside on't. And little wad it avail them; for an ifthey had me there wi' a stane's weight o' iron at every ankle, I wouldshow them a toom room and a lost lodger before to-morrow--But come on,what stint ye for?"

  As he spoke thus, he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered by a sharpvoice, as of one awakened from a dream or reverie,--"Fa's tat?--Wha'sthat, I wad say?--and fat a deil want ye at this hour at e'en?--Cleanagain rules--clean again rules, as they ca' them."

  The protracted tone in which the last words were uttered, betokened thatthe speaker was again composing himself to slumber. But my guide spoke ina loud whisper--"Dougal, man! hae ye forgotten Ha nun Gregarach?"

  "Deil a bit, deil a bit," was the ready and lively response, and I heardthe internal guardian of the prison-gate bustle up with great alacrity. Afew words were exchanged between my conductor and the turnkey in alanguage to which I was an absolute stranger. The bolts revolved, butwith a caution which marked the apprehension that the noise might beoverheard, and we stood within the vestibule of the prison of Glasgow,--asmall, but strong guard-room, from which a narrow staircase led upwards,and one or two low entrances conducted to apartments on the same levelwith the outward gate, all secured with the jealous strength of wickets,bolts, and bars. The walls, otherwise naked, were not unsuitablygarnished with iron fetters, and other uncouth implements, which might bedesigned for purposes still more inhuman, interspersed with partisans,guns, pistols of antique manufacture, and other weapons of defence andoffence.

  At finding myself so unexpectedly, fortuitously, and, as it were, bystealth, introduced within one of the legal fortresses of Scotland, Icould not help recollecting my adventure in Northumberland, and frettingat the strange incidents which again, without any demerits of my own,threatened to place me in a dangerous and disagreeable collision with thelaws of a country which I visited only in the capacity of a stranger.