The Heart of Mid-Lothian, Volume 1

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.

  And some they whistled--and some they sang, And some did loudly say, Whenever Lord Barnard's horn it blew, "Away, Musgrave away!" Ballad of Little Musgrave.

  When the man of office returned to the Heart of Mid-Lothian, he resumedhis conference with Ratcliffe, of whose experience and assistance he nowheld himself secure. "You must speak with this wench, Rat--this EffieDeans--you must sift her a wee bit; for as sure as a tether she will kenRobertson's haunts--till her, Rat--till her without delay."

  "Craving your pardon, Mr. Sharpitlaw," said the turnkey elect, "that'swhat I am not free to do."

  "Free to do, man? what the deil ails ye now?--I thought we had settled a'that?"

  "I dinna ken, sir," said Ratcliffe; "I hae spoken to this Effie--she'sstrange to this place and to its ways, and to a' our ways, Mr.Sharpitlaw; and she greets, the silly tawpie, and she's breaking herheart already about this wild chield; and were she the mean's o' takinghim, she wad break it outright."

  "She wunna hae time, lad," said Sharpitlaw; "the woodie will hae it's aino' her before that--a woman's heart takes a lang time o' breaking."

  "That's according to the stuff they are made o' sir," repliedRatcliffe--"But to make a lang tale short, I canna undertake the job.It gangs against my conscience."

  "_Your_ conscience, Rat?" said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer, which the readerwill probably think very natural upon the occasion.

  "Ou ay, sir," answered Ratcliffe, calmly, "just my conscience; a'body hasa conscience, though it may be ill wunnin at it. I think mine's as weelout o' the gate as maist folk's are; and yet it's just like the noop ofmy elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner."

  "Weel, Rat," replied Sharpitlaw, "since ye are nice, I'll speak to thehussy mysell."

  Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be introduced into the littledark apartment tenanted by the unfortunate Effie Deans. The poor girl wasseated on her little flock-bed, plunged in a deep reverie. Some foodstood on the table, of a quality better than is usually supplied toprisoners, but it was untouched. The person under whose care she was moreparticularly placed, said, "that sometimes she tasted naething from thetae end of the four-and-twenty hours to the t'other, except a drink ofwater."

  Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey to retire, he openedthe conversation, endeavouring to throw into his tone and countenance asmuch commiseration as they were capable of expressing, for the one wassharp and harsh, the other sly, acute, and selfish.

  "How's a' wi' ye, Effie?--How d'ye find yoursell, hinny?"

  A deep sigh was the only answer.

  "Are the folk civil to ye, Effie?--it's my duty to inquire."

  "Very civil, sir," said Effie, compelling herself to answer, yet hardlyknowing what she said.

  "And your victuals," continued Sharpitlaw, in the same condolingtone,--"do you get what you like?--or is there onything you wouldparticularly fancy, as your health seems but silly?"

  "It's a' very weel, sir, I thank ye," said the poor prisoner, in a tonehow different from the sportive vivacity of those of the Lily of St.Leonard's!--"it's a' very gude--ower gude for me."

  "He must have been a great villain, Effie, who brought you to this pass,"said Sharpitlaw.

  The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, of which even hecould not divest himself, though accustomed to practise on the passionsof others, and keep a most heedful guard over his own, and partly by hiswish to introduce the sort of conversation which might, best serve hisimmediate purpose. Indeed, upon the present occasion, these mixed motivesof feeling and cunning harmonised together wonderfully; for, saidSharpitlaw to himself, the greater rogue Robertson is, the more will bethe merit of bringing him to justice. "He must have been a great villain,indeed," he again reiterated; "and I wish I had the skelping o' him."

  "I may blame mysell mair than him," said Effie; "I was bred up to kenbetter; but he, poor fellow,"--(she stopped).

  "Was a thorough blackguard a' his life, I dare say," said Sharpitlaw."A stranger he was in this country, and a companion of that lawlessvagabond, Wilson, I think, Effie?"

  "It wad hae been dearly telling him that he had ne'er seen Wilson'sface."

  "That's very true that you are saying, Effie," said Sharpitlaw. "Wherewas't that Robertson and you were used to howff thegither? Somegate aboutthe Laigh Calton, I am thinking."

  The simple and dispirited girl had thus far followed Mr. Sharpitlaw'slead, because he had artfully adjusted his observations to the thoughtshe was pretty certain must be passing through her own mind, so that heranswers became a kind of thinking aloud, a mood into which those who areeither constitutionally absent in mind, or are rendered so by thetemporary pressure of misfortune, may be easily led by a skilful train ofsuggestions. But the last observation of the procurator-fiscal was toomuch of the nature of a direct interrogatory, and it broke the charmaccordingly.

  "What was it that I was saying?" said Effie, starting up from herreclining posture, seating herself upright, and hastily shading herdishevelled hair back from her wasted but still beautiful countenance.She fixed her eyes boldly and keenly upon Sharpitlaw--"You are too muchof a gentleman, sir,--too much of an honest man, to take any notice ofwhat a poor creature like me says, that can hardly ca' my senses myain--God help me!"

  "Advantage!--I would be of some advantage to you if I could," saidSharpitlaw, in a soothing tone; "and I ken naething sae likely to serveye, Effie, as gripping this rascal, Robertson."

  "O dinna misca' him, sir, that never misca'd you!--Robertson?--I am sureI had naething to say against ony man o' the name, and naething will Isay."

  "But if you do not heed your own misfortune, Effie, you should mind whatdistress he has brought on your family," said the man of law.

  "O, Heaven help me!" exclaimed poor Effie--"My poor father--my dearJeanie--O, that's sairest to bide of a'! O, sir, if you hae onykindness--if ye hae ony touch of compassion--for a' the folk I see hereare as hard as the wa'-stanes--If ye wad but bid them let my sisterJeanie in the next time she ca's! for when I hear them put her awa fraethe door, and canna climb up to that high window to see sae muckle asher gown-tail, it's like to pit me out o' my judgment." And she lookedon him with a face of entreaty, so earnest, yet so humble, that shefairly shook the steadfast purpose of his mind.

  "You shall see your sister," he began, "if you'll tell me,"--theninterrupting himself, he added, in a more hurried tone,--"no, d--n it,you shall see your sister whether you tell me anything or no." So saying,he rose up and left the apartment.

  When he had rejoined Ratcliffe, he observed, "You are right, Ratton;there's no making much of that lassie. But ae thing I have cleared--thatis, that Robertson has been the father of the bairn, and so I will wagera boddle it will be he that's to meet wi' Jeanie Deans this night atMuschat's Cairn, and there we'll nail him, Rat, or my name is not GideonSharpitlaw."

  "But," said Ratcliffe, perhaps because he was in no hurry to see anythingwhich was like to be connected with the discovery and apprehension ofRobertson, "an that were the case, Mr. Butler wad hae kend the man in theKing's Park to be the same person wi' him in Madge Wildfire's claise,that headed the mob."

  "That makes nae difference, man," replied Sharpitlaw--"the dress, thelight, the confusion, and maybe a touch o' a blackit cork, or a slake o'paint-hout, Ratton, I have seen ye dress your ainsell, that the deevil yebelang to durstna hae made oath t'ye."

  "And that's true, too," said Ratcliffe.

  "And besides, ye donnard carle," continued Sharpitlaw, triumphantly, "theminister _did_ say that he thought he knew something of the features ofthe birkie that spoke to him in the Park, though he could not charge hismemory where or when he had seen them."

  "It's evident, then, your honour will be right," said Ratcliffe.

  "Then, Rat, you and I will go with the party oursells this night, and seehim in grips or we are done wi' him."

 
"I seena muckle use I can be o' to your honour," said Ratcliffe,reluctantly.

  "Use?" answered Sharpitlaw--"You can guide the party--you ken the ground.Besides, I do not intend to quit sight o' you, my good friend, till Ihave him in hand."

  "Weel, sir," said Ratcliffe, but in no joyful tone of acquiescence; "Yemaun hae it your ain way--but mind he's a desperate man."

  "We shall have that with us," answered Sharpitlaw, "that will settle him,if it is necessary."

  "But, sir," answered Ratcliffe, "I am sure I couldna undertake to guideyou to Muschat's Cairn in the night-time; I ken the place as mony does,in fair day-light, but how to find it by moonshine, amang sae mony cragsand stanes, as like to each other as the collier to the deil, is mairthan I can tell. I might as soon seek moonshine in water."

  "What's the meaning o' this, Ratcliffe?" said Sharpitlaw, while he fixedhis eye on the recusant, with a fatal and ominous expression,--"Have youforgotten that you are still under sentence of death?"

  "No, sir," said Ratcliffe, "that's a thing no easily put out o' memory;and if my presence be judged necessary, nae doubt I maun gang wi' yourhonour. But I was gaun to tell your honour of ane that has mair skeel o'the gate than me, and that's e'en Madge Wildfire."

  "The devil she has!--Do you think me as mad as she, is, to trust to herguidance on such an occasion?"

  "Your honour is the best judge," answered Ratcliffe; "but I ken I cankeep her in tune, and garr her haud the straight path--she often sleepsout, or rambles about amang thae hills the haill simmer night, the daftlimmer."

  "Weel, Ratcliffe," replied the procurator-fiscal, "if you think she canguide us the right way--but take heed to what you are about--your lifedepends on your behaviour."

  "It's a sair judgment on a man," said Ratcliffe, "when he has ance ganesae far wrang as I hae done, that deil a bit he can be honest, try'twhilk way he will."

  Such was the reflection of Ratcliffe, when he was left for a few minutesto himself, while the retainer of justice went to procure a properwarrant, and give the necessary directions.

  The rising moon saw the whole party free from the walls of the city, andentering upon the open ground. Arthur's Seat, like a couchant lion ofimmense size--Salisbury Crags, like a huge belt or girdle of granite,were dimly visible. Holding their path along the southern side of theCanongate, they gained the Abbey of Holyrood House, and from thence foundtheir way by step and stile into the King's Park. They were at first fourin number--an officer of justice and Sharpitlaw, who were well armed withpistols and cutlasses; Ratcliffe, who was not trusted with weapons, lest,he might, peradventure, have used them on the wrong side; and the female.But at the last stile, when they entered the Chase, they were joined byother two officers, whom Sharpitlaw, desirous to secure sufficient forcefor his purpose, and at the same time to avoid observation, had directedto wait for him at this place. Ratcliffe saw this accession of strengthwith some disquietude, for he had hitherto thought it likely thatRobertson, who was a bold, stout, and active young fellow, might havemade his escape from Sharpitlaw and the single officer, by force oragility, without his being implicated in the matter. But the presentstrength of the followers of justice was overpowering, and the only modeof saving Robertson (which the old sinner was well disposed to do,providing always he could accomplish his purpose without compromising hisown safety), must be by contriving that he should have some signal oftheir approach. It was probably with this view that Ratcliffe hadrequested the addition of Madge to the party, having considerableconfidence in her propensity to exert her lungs. Indeed, she had alreadygiven them so many specimens of her clamorous loquacity, that Sharpitlawhalf determined to send her back with one of the officers, rather thancarry forward in his company a person so extremely ill qualified to be aguide in a secret expedition. It seemed, too, as if the open air, theapproach to the hills, and the ascent of the moon, supposed to be soportentous over those whose brain is infirm, made her spirits rise in adegree tenfold more loquacious than she had hitherto exhibited. Tosilence her by fair means seemed impossible; authoritative commands andcoaxing entreaties she set alike at defiance, and threats only made hersulky and altogether intractable.

  "Is there no one of you," said Sharpitlaw, impatiently, "that knows theway to this accursed place--this Nichol Muschat's Cairn--excepting thismad clavering idiot?"

  "Deil ane o' them kens it except mysell," exclaimed Madge; "how suldthey, the puir fule cowards! But I hae sat on the grave frae batfleeingtime till cook-crow, and had mony a fine crack wi' Muschat and AilieMuschat, that are lying sleeping below."

  "The devil take your crazy brain," said Sharpitlaw; "will you not allowthe men to answer a question?"

  The officers obtaining a moment's audience while Ratcliffe divertedMadge's attention, declared that, though they had a general knowledge ofthe spot, they could not undertake to guide the party to it by theuncertain light of the moon, with such accuracy as to insure success totheir expedition.

  "What shall we do, Ratcliffe?" said Sharpitlaw, "if he sees us before wesee him,--and that's what he is certain to do, if we go strolling about,without keeping the straight road,--we may bid gude day to the job, and Iwould rather lose one hundred pounds, baith for the credit of the police,and because the provost says somebody maun be hanged for this job o'Porteous, come o't what likes."

  "I think," said Ratcliffe, "we maun just try Madge; and I'll see if I canget her keepit in ony better order. And at ony rate, if he suld hear herskirting her auld ends o' sangs, he's no to ken for that that there'sonybody wi' her."

  "That's true," said Sharpitlaw; "and if he thinks her alone, he's as liketo come towards her as to rin frae her. So set forward--we hae lost owermuckle time already--see to get her to keep the right road."

  "And what sort o' house does Nichol Muschat and his wife keep now?" saidRatcliffe to the mad woman, by way of humouring her vein of folly; "theywere but thrawn folk lang syne, an a' tales be true."

  "Ou, ay, ay, ay--but a's forgotten now," replied Madge, in theconfidential tone of a gossip giving the history of her next-doorneighbour--"Ye see, I spoke to them mysell, and tauld them byganes suldbe byganes--her throat's sair misguggled and mashackered though; shewears her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that canna hinderthe bluid seiping through, ye ken. I wussed her to wash it in St.Anthony's Well, and that will cleanse if onything can--But they say bluidnever bleaches out o' linen claith--Deacon Sanders's new cleansing drapswinna do't--I tried them mysell on a bit rag we hae at hame that wasmailed wi' the bluid of a bit skirting wean that was hurt some gate, butout it winna come--Weel, yell say that's queer; but I will bring it outto St. Anthony's blessed Well some braw night just like this, and I'llcry up Ailie Muschat, and she and I will hae a grand bouking-washing, andbleach our claes in the beams of the bonny Lady Moon, that's farpleasanter to me than the sun--the sun's ower het, and ken ye, cummers,my brains are het eneugh already. But the moon, and the dew, and thenight-wind, they are just like a caller kail-blade laid on my brow; andwhiles I think the moon just shines on purpose to pleasure me, whennaebody sees her but mysell."

  This raving discourse she continued with prodigious volubility, walkingon at a great pace, and dragging Ratcliffe along with her, while heendeavoured, in appearance at least, if not in reality, to induce her tomoderate her voice.

  All at once she stopped short upon the top of a little hillock, gazedupward fixedly, and said not one word for the space of five minutes."What the devil is the matter with her now?" said Sharpitlaw toRatcliffe--"Can you not get her forward?"

  "Ye maun just take a grain o' patience wi' her, sir," said Ratcliffe."She'll no gae a foot faster than she likes herself."

  "D--n her," said Sharpitlaw, "I'll take care she has her time in Bedlamor Bridewell, or both, for she's both mad and mischievous."

  In the meanwhile, Madge, who had looked very pensive when she firststopped, suddenly burst into a vehement fit of laughter, then paused andsighed bitterly,--then was seized with a second fit of laughter--then,fixing her eyes on the
moon, lifted up her voice and sung,--

  "Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee; I prithee, dear moon, now show to me The form and the features, the speech and degree, Of the man that true lover of mine shall be.

  But I need not ask that of the bonny Lady Moon--I ken that weel eneughmysell--_true_-love though he wasna--But naebody shall sae that I evertauld a word about the matter--But whiles I wish the bairn hadlived--Weel, God guide us, there's a heaven aboon us a',"--(here shesighed bitterly), "and a bonny moon, and sterns in it forby" (and hereshe laughed once more).

  "Are we to stand, here all night!" said Sharpitlaw, very impatiently."Drag her forward."

  "Ay, sir," said Ratcliffe, "if we kend whilk way to drag her, that wouldsettle it at ance.--Come, Madge, hinny," addressing her, "we'll no be intime to see Nichol and his wife, unless ye show us the road."

  "In troth and that I will, Ratton," said she, seizing him by the arm, andresuming her route with huge strides, considering it was a female whotook them. "And I'll tell ye, Ratton, blithe will Nichol Muschat be tosee ye, for he says he kens weel there isna sic a villain out o' hell asye are, and he wad be ravished to hae a crack wi' you--like to like yeken--it's a proverb never fails--and ye are baith a pair o' the deevil'speats I trow--hard to ken whilk deserves the hettest corner o' hisingle-side."

  Ratcliffe was conscience-struck, and could not forbear making aninvoluntary protest against this classification. "I never shed blood," hereplied.

  "But ye hae sauld it, Ratton--ye hae sauld blood mony a time. Folk killwi' the tongue as weel as wi' the hand--wi' the word as weel as wi' thegulley!--

  It is the 'bonny butcher lad, That wears the sleeves of blue, He sells the flesh on Saturday, On Friday that he slew."

  "And what is that I ain doing now?" thought Ratcliffe. "But I'll hae naewyte of Robertson's young bluid, if I can help it;" then speaking apartto Madge, he asked her, "Whether she did not remember ony o' her auldSangs?"

  "Mony a dainty ane," said Madge; "and blithely can I sing them, forlightsome sangs make merry gate." And she sang,--

  "When the glede's in the blue cloud, The lavrock lies still; When the hound's in the greenwood. The hind keeps the hill."

  "Silence her cursed noise, if you should throttle her," said Sharpitlaw;"I see somebody yonder.--Keep close, my boys, and creep round theshoulder of the height. George Poinder, stay you with Ratcliffe and thamad yelling bitch; and you other two, come with me round under the shadowof the brae."

  And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an Indian savage, wholeads his band to surprise an unsuspecting party of some hostile tribe.Ratcliffe saw them glide of, avoiding the moonlight, and keeping as muchin: the shade as possible.

  "Robertson's done up," said he to himself; "thae young lads are aye saethoughtless. What deevil could he hae to say to Jeanie Deans, or to onywoman on earth, that he suld gang awa and get his neck raxed for her? Andthis mad quean, after cracking like a pen-gun, and skirling like apea-hen for the haill night, behoves just to hae hadden her tongue whenher clavers might have dune some gude! But it's aye the way wi' women; ifthey ever hand their tongues ava', ye may swear it's for mischief. I wishI could set her on again without this blood-sucker kenning what I amdoing. But he's as gleg as MacKeachan's elshin,* that ran through saxplies of bendleather and half-an-inch into the king's heel."

  * [_Elshin,_ a shoemaker's awl.]

  He then began to hum, but in a very low and suppressed tone, the firststanza of a favourite ballad of Wildfire's, the words of which bore somedistant analogy with the situation of Robertson, trusting that the powerof association would not fail to bring the rest to her mind:--

  "There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, There's harness glancing sheen: There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, And she sings loud between."

  Madge had no sooner received the catch-word, than she vindicatedRatcliffe's sagacity by setting off at score with the song:--

  "O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, When ye suld rise and ride? There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, Are seeking where ye hide."

  Though Ratcliffe was at a considerable distance from the spot calledMuschat's Cairn, yet his eyes, practised like those of a cat to penetratedarkness, could mark that Robertson had caught the alarm. George Poinder,less keen of sight, or less attentive, was not aware of his flight anymore than Sharpitlaw and his assistants, whose view, though they wereconsiderably nearer to the cairn, was intercepted by the broken nature ofthe ground under which they were screening themselves. At length,however, after the interval of five or six minutes, they also perceivedthat Robertson had fled, and rushed hastily towards the place, whileSharpitlaw called out aloud, in the harshest tones of a voice whichresembled a saw-mill at work, "Chase, lads--chase--haud the brae--I seehim on the edge of the hill!" Then hollowing back to the rear-guard ofhis detachment, he issued his farther orders: "Ratcliffe, come here, anddetain the woman--George, run and kepp the stile at the Duke'sWalk--Ratcliffe, come here directly--but first knock out that madbitch's brains!"

  "Ye had better rin for it, Madge," said Ratcliffe, "for it's ill dealingwi' an angry man."

  Madge Wildfire was not so absolutely void of common sense as not tounderstand this innuendo; and while Ratcliffe, in seemingly anxious hasteof obedience, hastened to the spot where Sharpitlaw waited to deliver upJeanie Deans to his custody, she fled with all the despatch she couldexert in an opposite direction. Thus the whole party were separated, andin rapid motion of flight or pursuit, excepting Ratcliffe and Jeanie,whom, although making no attempt to escape, he held fast by the cloak,and who remained standing by Muschat's Cairn.