CHAPTER VIII.
Within the bounds of Annandale The gentle Johnstones ride; They have been there a thousand years, A thousand more they'll bide.
Old Ballad.
The character and quality of Sir Patrick Charteris, the Provost ofPerth, being such as we have sketched in the last chapter, let us nowreturn to the deputation which was in the act of rendezvousing at theEast Port, in order to wait upon that dignitary with their complaints atKinfauns.
And first appeared Simon Glover, on a pacing palfrey, which hadsometimes enjoyed the honour of bearing the fairer person as well as thelighter weight of his beautiful daughter. His cloak was muffled roundthe lower part of his face, as a sign to his friends not to interrupthim by any questions while he passed through the streets, and partly,perhaps, on account of the coldness of the weather. The deepest anxietywas seated on his brow, as if the more he meditated on the matter he wasengaged in, the more difficult and perilous it appeared. He only greetedby silent gestures his friends as they came to the rendezvous.
A strong black horse, of the old Galloway breed, of an under size, andnot exceeding fourteen hands, but high shouldered, strong limbed, wellcoupled, and round barrelled, bore to the East Port the gallant smith. Ajudge of the animal might see in his eye a spark of that vicious temperwhich is frequently the accompaniment of the form that is most vigorousand enduring; but the weight, the hand, and the seat of the rider,added to the late regular exercise of a long journey, had subdued hisstubbornness for the present. He was accompanied by the honest bonnetmaker, who being, as the reader is aware, a little round man, andwhat is vulgarly called duck legged, had planted himself like a redpincushion (for he was wrapped in a scarlet cloak, over which he hadslung a hawking pouch), on the top of a great saddle, which he might besaid rather to be perched upon than to bestride. The saddle and the manwere girthed on the ridge bone of a great trampling Flemish mare, witha nose turned up in the air like a camel, a huge fleece of hair at eachfoot, and every hoof full as large in circumference as a frying pan. Thecontrast between the beast and the rider was so extremely extraordinary,that, whilst chance passengers contented themselves with wondering howhe got up, his friends were anticipating with sorrow the perils whichmust attend his coming down again; for the high seated horseman'sfeet did not by any means come beneath the laps of the saddle. He hadassociated himself to the smith, whose motions he had watched for thepurpose of joining him; for it was Oliver Proudfute's opinion that menof action showed to most advantage when beside each other; and he wasdelighted when some wag of the lower class had gravity enough to cryout, without laughing outright: "There goes the pride of Perth--there gothe slashing craftsmen, the jolly Smith of the Wynd and the bold bonnetmaker!"
It is true, the fellow who gave this all hail thrust his tongue in hischeek to some scapegraces like himself; but as the bonnet maker did notsee this byplay, he generously threw him a silver penny to encouragehis respect for martialists. This munificence occasioned their beingfollowed by a crowd of boys, laughing and hallooing, until Henry Smith,turning back, threatened to switch the foremost of them--a resolutionwhich they did not wait to see put in execution.
"Here are we the witnesses," said the little man on the large horse,as they joined Simon Glover at the East Port; "but where are they thatshould back us? Ah, brother Henry! authority is a load for an ass ratherthan a spirited horse: it would but clog the motions of such youngfellows as you and me."
"I could well wish to see you bear ever so little of that same weight,worthy Master Proudfute," replied Henry Gow, "were it but to keep youfirm in the saddle; for you bounce aloft as if you were dancing a jig onyour seat, without any help from your legs."
"Ay--ay; I raise myself in my stirrups to avoid the jolting. She iscruelly hard set this mare of mine; but she has carried me in fieldand forest, and through some passages that were something perilous,so Jezabel and I part not. I call her Jezabel, after the Princess ofCastile."
"Isabel, I suppose you mean," answered the smith.
"Ay--Isabel, or Jezabel--all the same, you know. But here comes BailieCraigdallie at last, with that poor, creeping, cowardly creature thepottingar. They have brought two town officers with their partizans, toguard their fair persons, I suppose. If there is one thing I hate morethan another, it is such a sneaking varlet as that Dwining."
"Have a care he does not hear you say so," said the smith, "I tell thee,bonnet maker, that there is more danger in yonder slight wasted anatomythan in twenty stout fellows like yourself."
"Pshaw! Bully Smith, you are but jesting with me," said Oliver,softening his voice, however, and looking towards the pottingar, as ifto discover in what limb or lineament of his wasted face and form layany appearance of the menaced danger; and his examination reassuringhim, he answered boldly: "Blades and bucklers, man, I would stand thefeud of a dozen such as Dwining. What could he do to any man with bloodin his veins?"
"He could give him a dose of physic," answered the smith drily.
They had no time for further colloquy, for Bailie Craigdallie called tothem to take the road to Kinfauns, and himself showed the example. Asthey advanced at a leisurely pace, the discourse turned on the receptionwhich they were to expect from their provost, and the interest whichhe was likely to take in the aggression which they complained of. Theglover seemed particularly desponding, and talked more than once ina manner which implied a wish that they would yet consent to let thematter rest. He did not speak out very plainly, however, fearful,perhaps, of the malignant interpretation which might be derived fromany appearance of his flinching from the assertion of his daughter'sreputation. Dwining seemed to agree with him in opinion, but spoke morecautiously than in the morning.
"After all," said the bailie, "when I think of all the propines andgood gifts which have passed from the good town to my Lord Provost's,I cannot think he will be backward to show himself. More than one lustyboat, laden with Bordeaux wine, has left the South Shore to dischargeits burden under the Castle of Kinfauns. I have some right to speak ofthat, who was the merchant importer."
"And," said Dwining, with his squeaking voice, "I could speak ofdelicate confections, curious comfits, loaves of wastel bread, and evencakes of that rare and delicious condiment which men call sugar, thathave gone thither to help out a bridal banquet, or a kirstening feast,or suchlike. But, alack, Bailie Craigdallie, wine is drunk, comfits areeaten, and the gift is forgotten when the flavour is past away. Alas!neighbour, the banquet of last Christmas is gone like the last year'ssnow."
"But there have been gloves full of gold pieces," said the magistrate.
"I should know that who wrought them," said Simon, whose professionalrecollections still mingled with whatever else might occupy his mind."One was a hawking glove for my lady. I made it something wide. Herladyship found no fault, in consideration of the intended lining."
"Well, go to," said Bailie Craigdallie, "the less I lie; and if theseare not to the fore, it is the provost's fault, and not the town's: theycould neither be eat nor drunk in the shape in which he got them."
"I could speak of a brave armour too," said the smith; "but, cogan naschie! [Peace or war, I care not!] as John Highlandman says--I think theknight of Kinfauns will do his devoir by the burgh in peace or war; andit is needless to be reckoning the town's good deeds till we see himthankless for them."
"So say I," cried our friend Proudfute, from the top of his mare. "Weroystering blades never bear so base a mind as to count for wine andwalnuts with a friend like Sir Patrick Charteris. Nay, trust me, a goodwoodsman like Sir Patrick will prize the right of hunting and sportingover the lands of the burgh as an high privilege, and one which, hisMajesty the King's Grace excepted, is neither granted to lord nor loonsave to our provost alone."
As the bonnet maker spoke, there was heard on the left hand the cry of,"So so--waw waw--haw," being the shout of a falconer to his hawk.
"Methinks yonder is a fellow using the privilege you mention, who, fromhis appearance, is neit
her king nor provost," said the smith.
"Ay, marry, I see him," said the bonnet maker, who imagined the occasionpresented a prime opportunity to win honour. "Thou and I, jolly smith,will prick towards him and put him to the question."
"Have with you, then," cried the smith; and his companion spurred hismare and went off, never doubting that Gow was at his heels.
But Craigdallie caught Henry's horse by the reins. "Stand fast by thestandard," he said; "let us see the luck of our light horseman. If heprocures himself a broken pate he will be quieter for the rest of theday."
"From what I already see," said the smith, "he may easily come by sucha boon. Yonder fellow, who stops so impudently to look at us, as if hewere engaged in the most lawful sport in the world--I guess him, by histrotting hobbler, his rusty head piece with the cock's feather, and longtwo handed sword, to be the follower of some of the southland lords--menwho live so near the Southron, that the black jack is never off theirbacks, and who are as free of their blows as they are light in theirfingers."
Whilst they were thus speculating on the issue of the rencounter thevaliant bonnet maker began to pull up Jezabel, in order that the smith,who he still concluded was close behind, might overtake him, and eitheradvance first or at least abreast of himself. But when he saw him at ahundred yards distance, standing composedly with the rest of the group,the flesh of the champion, like that of the old Spanish general, beganto tremble, in anticipation of the dangers into which his own venturousspirit was about to involve it. Yet the consciousness of beingcountenanced by the neighbourhood of so many friends, the hopes thatthe appearance of such odds must intimidate the single intruder, and theshame of abandoning an enterprise in which he had volunteered, andwhen so many persons must witness his disgrace, surmounted the stronginclination which prompted him to wheel Jezabel to the right about, andreturn to the friends whose protection he had quitted, as fast as herlegs could carry them. He accordingly continued his direction towardsthe stranger, who increased his alarm considerably by putting his littlenag in motion, and riding to meet him at a brisk trot. On observing thisapparently offensive movement, our hero looked over his left shouldermore than once, as if reconnoitring the ground for a retreat, and in themean while came to a decided halt. But the Philistine was upon himere the bonnet maker could decide whether to fight or fly, and a veryominous looking Philistine he was. His figure was gaunt and lathy, hisvisage marked by two or three ill favoured scars, and the whole man hadmuch the air of one accustomed to say, "Stand and deliver," to a trueman.
This individual began the discourse by exclaiming, in tones as sinisteras his looks, "The devil catch you for a cuckoo, why do you ride acrossthe moor to spoil my sport?"
"Worthy stranger," said our friend, in the tone of pacific remonstrance,"I am Oliver Proudfute, a burgess of Perth, and a man of substance;and yonder is the worshipful Adam Craigdallie, the oldest bailie of theburgh, with the fighting Smith of the Wynd, and three or four armedmen more, who desire to know your name, and how you come to take yourpleasure over these lands belonging to the burgh of Perth; although,natheless, I will answer for them, it is not their wish to quarrel witha gentleman, or stranger for any accidental trespass; only it istheir use and wont not to grant such leave, unless it is duly asked;and--and--therefore I desire to know your name, worthy sir."
The grim and loathly aspect with which the falconer had regardedOliver Proudfute during his harangue had greatly disconcerted him, andaltogether altered the character of the inquiry which, with Henry Gow toback him, he would probably have thought most fitting for the occasion.
The stranger replied to it, modified as it was, with a most inauspiciousgrin, which the scars of his visage made appear still more repulsive."You want to know my name? My name is the Devil's Dick of Hellgarth,well known in Annandale for a gentle Johnstone. I follow the stout Lairdof Wamphray, who rides with his kinsman the redoubted Lord of Johnstone,who is banded with the doughty Earl of Douglas; and the earl and thelord, and the laird and I, the esquire, fly our hawks where we find ourgame, and ask no man whose ground we ride over."
"I will do your message, sir," replied Oliver Proudfute, meekly enough;for he began to be very desirous to get free of the embassy which he hadso rashly undertaken, and was in the act of turning his horse's head,when the Annandale man added:
"And take you this to boot, to keep you in mind that you met the Devil'sDick, and to teach you another time to beware how you spoil the sport ofany one who wears the flying spur on his shoulder."
With these words he applied two or three smart blows of his riding rodupon the luckless bonnet maker's head and person. Some of them lightedupon Jezabel, who, turning sharply round, laid her rider upon the moor,and galloped back towards the party of citizens.
Proudfute, thus overthrown, began to cry for assistance in no verymanly voice, and almost in the same breath to whimper for mercy; for hisantagonist, dismounting almost as soon as he fell, offered a whinger,or large wood knife, to his throat, while he rifled the pockets of theunlucky citizen, and even examined his hawking bag, swearing two orthree grisly oaths, that he would have what it contained, since thewearer had interrupted his sport. He pulled the belt rudely off,terrifying the prostrate bonnet maker still more by the regardlessviolence which he used, as, instead of taking the pains to unbuckle thestrap, he drew till the fastening gave way. But apparently it containednothing to his mind. He threw it carelessly from him, and at thesame time suffered the dismounted cavalier to rise, while he himselfremounted his hobbler, and looked towards the rest of Oliver's party,who were now advancing.
When they had seen their delegate overthrown, there was some laughter;so much had the vaunting humor of the bonnet maker prepared his friendsto rejoice when, as Henry Smith termed it, they saw the Oliver meet witha Rowland. But when the bonnet maker's adversary was seen to bestridehim, and handle him in the manner described, the armourer could hold outno longer.
"Please you, good Master Bailie, I cannot endure to see our townsmanbeaten and rifled, and like to be murdered before us all. It reflectsupon the Fair Town, and if it is neighbour Proudfute's misfortune, it isour shame. I must to his rescue."
"We will all go to his rescue," answered Bailie Craigdallie; "but let noman strike without order from me. We have more feuds on our hands, it isto be feared, than we have strength to bring to good end. And thereforeI charge you all, more especially you, Henry of the Wynd, in the name ofthe Fair City, that you make no stroke but in self defence."
They all advanced, therefore, in a body; and the appearance of such anumber drove the plunderer from his booty. He stood at gaze, however, atsome distance, like the wolf, which, though it retreats before the dogs,cannot be brought to absolute flight.
Henry, seeing this state of things, spurred his horse and advanced farbefore the rest of the party, up towards the scene of Oliver Proudfute'smisfortune. His first task was to catch Jezabel by the flowing rein, andhis next to lead her to meet her discomfited master, who was cripplingtowards him, his clothes much soiled with his fall, his eyes streamingwith tears, from pain as well as mortification, and altogetherexhibiting an aspect so unlike the spruce and dapper importance ofhis ordinary appearance, that the honest smith felt compassion forthe little man, and some remorse at having left him exposed to suchdisgrace. All men, I believe, enjoy an ill natured joke. The differenceis, that an ill natured person can drink out to the very dregs theamusement which it affords, while the better moulded mind soon loses thesense of the ridiculous in sympathy for the pain of the sufferer.
"Let me pitch you up to your saddle again, neighbour," said the smith,dismounting at the same time, and assisting Oliver to scramble into hiswar saddle, as a monkey might have done.
"May God forgive you, neighbour Smith, for not backing of me! I wouldnot have believed in it, though fifty credible witnesses had sworn it ofyou."
Such were the first words, spoken in sorrow more than anger, by whichthe dismayed Oliver vented his feelings.
"The bailie kept hol
d of my horse by the bridle; and besides," Henrycontinued, with a smile, which even his compassion could not suppress,"I thought you would have accused me of diminishing your honour, if Ibrought you aid against a single man. But cheer up! the villain tookfoul odds of you, your horse not being well at command."
"That is true--that is true," said Oliver, eagerly catching at theapology.
"And yonder stands the faitour, rejoicing at the mischief he has done,and triumphing in your overthrow, like the king in the romance, whoplayed upon the fiddle whilst a city was burning. Come thou with me, andthou shalt see how we will handle him. Nay, fear not that I will desertthee this time."
So saying, he caught Jezabel by the rein, and galloping alongside ofher, without giving Oliver time to express a negative, he rushed towardsthe Devil's Dick, who had halted on the top of a rising ground at somedistance. The gentle Johnstone, however, either that he thought thecontest unequal, or that he had fought enough for the day, snapping hisfingers and throwing his hand out with an air of defiance, spurred hishorse into a neighbouring bog, through which he seemed to flutter likea wild duck, swinging his lure round his head, and whistling to his hawkall the while, though any other horse and rider must have been instantlybogged up to the saddle girths.
"There goes a thoroughbred moss trooper," said the smith. "That fellowwill fight or flee as suits his humor, and there is no use to pursuehim, any more than to hunt a wild goose. He has got your purse, I doubtme, for they seldom leave off till they are full handed."
"Ye--ye--yes," said Proudfute, in a melancholy tone, "he has got mypurse; but there is less matter since he hath left the hawking bag."
"Nay, the hawking bag had been an emblem of personal victory, to besure--a trophy, as the minstrels call it."
"There is more in it than that, friend," said Oliver, significantly.
"Why, that is well, neighbour: I love to hear you speak in your ownscholarly tone again. Cheer up, you have seen the villain's back, andregained the trophies you had lost when taken at advantage."
"Ah, Henry Gow--Henry Gow--" said the bonnet maker, and stopped shortwith a deep sigh, nearly amounting to a groan.
"What is the matter?" asked his friend--"what is it you vex yourselfabout now?"
"I have some suspicion, my dearest friend, Henry Smith, that the villainfled for fear of you, not of me."
"Do not think so," replied the armourer: "he saw two men and fled, andwho can tell whether he fled for one or the other? Besides, he knowsby experience your strength and activity: we all saw how you kicked andstruggled when you were on the ground."
"Did I?" said poor Proudfute. "I do not remember it, but I know it is mybest point: I am a strong dog in the loins. But did they all see it?"
"All as much as I," said the smith, smothering an inclination tolaughter.
"But thou wilt remind them of it?"
"Be assured I will," answered Henry, "and of thy desperate rally evennow. Mark what I say to Bailie Craigdallie, and make the best of it."
"It is not that I require any evidence in thy favour, for I am as braveby nature as most men in Perth; but only--" Here the man of valourpaused.
"But only what?" inquired the stout armourer.
"But only I am afraid of being killed. To leave my pretty wife and myyoung family, you know, would be a sad change, Smith. You will know thiswhen it is your own case, and will feel abated in courage."
"It is like that I may," said the armourer, musing.
"Then I am so accustomed to the use of arms, and so well breathed, thatfew men can match me. It's all here," said the little man, expanding hisbreast like a trussed fowl, and patting himself with his hands--"here isroom for all the wind machinery."
"I dare say you are long breathed--long winded; at least your speechbewrays--"
"My speech! You are a wag--But I have got the stern post of a dromondbrought up the river from Dundee."
"The stern post of a Drummond!" exclaimed the armourer; "conscience,man, it will put you in feud with the whole clan--not the least wrathfulin the country, as I take it."
"St. Andrew, man, you put me out! I mean a dromond--that is, a largeship. I have fixed this post in my yard, and had it painted and carvedsomething like a soldan or Saracen, and with him I breathe myself, andwill wield my two handed sword against him, thrust or point, for an hourtogether."
"That must make you familiar with the use of your weapon," said thesmith.
"Ay, marry does it; and sometimes I will place you a bonnet--an old one,most likely--on my soldan's head, and cleave it with such a downrightblow that in troth, the infidel has but little of his skull remaining tohit at."
"That is unlucky, for you will lose your practice," said Henry. "But howsay you, bonnet maker? I will put on my head piece and corselet oneday, and you shall hew at me, allowing me my broadsword to parry and payback? Eh, what say you?"
"By no manner of means, my dear friend. I should do you too much evil;besides, to tell you the truth, I strike far more freely at a helmet orbonnet when it is set on my wooden soldan; then I am sure to fetch itdown. But when there is a plume of feathers in it that nod, and two eyesgleaming fiercely from under the shadow of the visor, and when the wholeis dancing about here and there, I acknowledge it puts out my hand offence."
"So, if men would but stand stock still like your soldan, you would playthe tyrant with them, Master Proudfute?"
"In time, and with practice, I conclude I might," answered Oliver. "Buthere we come up with the rest of them. Bailie Craigdallie looks angry,but it is not his kind of anger that frightens me."
You are to recollect, gentle reader, that as soon as the bailie andthose who attended him saw that the smith had come up to the forlornbonnet maker, and that the stranger had retreated, they gave themselvesno trouble about advancing further to his assistance, which theyregarded as quite ensured by the presence of the redoubted Henry Gow.They had resumed their straight road to Kinfauns, desirous that nothingshould delay the execution of their mission. As some time hadelapsed ere the bonnet maker and the smith rejoined the party, BailieCraigdallie asked them, and Henry Smith in particular, what they meantby dallying away precious time by riding uphill after the falconer.
"By the mass, it was not my fault, Master Bailie," replied the smith."If ye will couple up an ordinary Low Country greyhound with a Highlandwolf dog, you must not blame the first of them for taking the directionin which it pleases the last to drag him on. It was so, and nototherwise, with my neighbour Oliver Proudfute. He no sooner got up fromthe ground, but he mounted his mare like a flash of lightning, and,enraged at the unknightly advantage which yonder rascal had taken ofhis stumbling horse, he flew after him like a dromedary. I could not butfollow, both to prevent a second stumble and secure our over bold friendand champion from the chance of some ambush at the top of the hill. Butthe villain, who is a follower of some Lord of the Marches, and wears awinged spur for his cognizance, fled from our neighbour like fire fromflint."
The senior bailie of Perth listened with surprise to the legend whichit had pleased Gow to circulate; for, though not much caring for thematter, he had always doubted the bonnet maker's romancing accountof his own exploits, which hereafter he must hold as in some degreeorthodox.
The shrewd old glover looked closer into the matter. "You will drive thepoor bonnet maker mad," he whispered to Henry, "and set him a-ringinghis clapper as if he were a town bell on a rejoicing day, when for orderand decency it were better he were silent."
"Oh, by Our Lady, father," replied the smith, "I love the poor littlebraggadocio, and could not think of his sitting rueful and silent inthe provost's hall, while all the rest of them, and in especial thatvenomous pottingar, were telling their mind."
"Thou art even too good natured a fellow, Henry," answered Simon. "Butmark the difference betwixt these two men. The harmless little bonnetmaker assumes the airs of a dragon, to disguise his natural cowardice;while the pottingar wilfully desires to show himself timid, poorspirited, and humble, to conceal the da
nger of his temper. The adderis not the less deadly that he creeps under a stone. I tell thee, sonHenry, that, for all his sneaking looks and timorous talking, thiswretched anatomy loves mischief more than he fears danger. But here westand in front of the provost's castle; and a lordly place is Kinfauns,and a credit to the city it is, to have the owner of such a gallantcastle for its chief magistrate."
"A goodly fortalice, indeed," said the smith, looking at the broadwinding Tay, as it swept under the bank on which the castle stood, likeits modern successor, and seemed the queen of the valley, although, onthe opposite side of the river, the strong walls of Elcho appeared todispute the pre-eminence. Elcho, however, was in that age a peacefulnunnery, and the walls with which it was surrounded were the barriers ofsecluded vestals, not the bulwarks of an armed garrison.
"'Tis a brave castle," said the armourer, again looking at the towersof Kinfauns, "and the breastplate and target of the bonny course of theTay. It were worth lipping a good blade, before wrong were offered toit."
The porter of Kinfauns, who knew from a distance the persons andcharacters of the party, had already opened the courtyard gate fortheir entrance, and sent notice to Sir Patrick Charteris that the eldestbailie of Perth, with some other good citizens, were approaching thecastle. The good knight, who was getting ready for a hawking party,heard the intimation with pretty much the same feelings that the modernrepresentative of a burgh hears of the menaced visitation of a party ofhis worthy electors, at a time rather unseasonable for their reception.That is, he internally devoted the intruders to Mahound and Termagaunt,and outwardly gave orders to receive them with all decorum and civility;commanded the sewers to bring hot venison steaks and cold baked meatsinto the knightly hall with all despatch, and the butler to broach hiscasks, and do his duty; for if the Fair City of Perth sometimes filledhis cellar, her citizens were always equally ready to assist at emptyinghis flagons.
The good burghers were reverently marshalled into the hall, where theknight, who was in a riding habit, and booted up to the middle ofhis thighs, received them with a mixture of courtesy and patronisingcondescension; wishing them all the while at the bottom of the Tay, onaccount of the interruption their arrival gave to his proposed amusementof the morning. He met them in the midst of the hall, with bare head andbonnet in hand, and some such salutation as the following:
"Ha, my Master Eldest Bailie, and you, worthy Simon Glover, fathers ofthe Fair City, and you, my learned pottingar, and you, stout smith, andmy slashing bonnet maker too, who cracks more skulls than he covers, howcome I to have the pleasure of seeing so many friends so early? I wasthinking to see my hawks fly, and your company will make the sport morepleasant--(Aside, I trust in Our Lady they may break their necks!)--thatis, always, unless the city have any commands to lay on me. ButlerGilbert, despatch, thou knave. But I hope you have no more grave errandthan to try if the malvoisie holds its flavour?"
The city delegates answered to their provost's civilities byinclinations and congees, more or less characteristic, of which thepottingar's bow was the lowest and the smith's the least ceremonious.Probably he knew his own value as a fighting man upon occasion. To thegeneral compliment the elder bailie replied.
"Sir Patrick Charteris, and our noble Lord Provost," said Craigdallie,gravely, "had our errand been to enjoy the hospitality with which wehave been often regaled here, our manners would have taught us to tarrytill your lordship had invited us, as on other occasions. And as tohawking, we have had enough on't for one morning; since a wild fellow,who was flying a falcon hard by on the moor, unhorsed and cudgelled ourworthy friend Oliver Bonnet Maker, or Proudfute, as some men call him,merely because he questioned him, in your honour's name, and the town ofPerth's, who or what he was that took so much upon him."
"And what account gave he of himself?" said the provost. "By St. John! Iwill teach him to forestall my sport!"
"So please your lordship," said the bonnet maker, "he did take me atdisadvantage. But I got on horseback again afterwards, and pricked afterhim gallantly. He calls himself Richard the Devil."
"How, man! he that the rhymes and romances are made on?" said theprovost. "I thought that smaik's name had been Robert."
"I trow they be different, my lord. I only graced this fellow with thefull title, for indeed he called himself the Devil's Dick, and said hewas a Johnstone, and a follower of the lord of that name. But I put himback into the bog, and recovered my hawking bag, which he had taken whenI was at disadvantage."
Sir Patrick paused for an instant. "We have heard," said he, "of theLord of Johnstone, and of his followers. Little is to be had by meddlingwith them. Smith, tell me, did you endure this?"
"Ay, faith did I, Sir Patrick, having command from my betters not tohelp."
"Well, if thou satst down with it," said the provost, "I see not why weshould rise up; especially as Master Oliver Proudfute, though taken atadvantage at first, has, as he has told us; recovered his reputation andthat of the burgh. But here comes the wine at length. Fill round to mygood friends and guests till the wine leap over the cup. Prosperity toSt. Johnston, and a merry welcome to you all, my honest friends! Andnow sit you to eat a morsel, for the sun is high up, and it must be longsince you thrifty men have broken your fast."
"Before we eat, my Lord Provost," said the bailie, "let us tell you thepressing cause of our coming, which as yet we have not touched upon."
"Nay, prithee, bailie," said the provost, "put it off till thou hasteaten. Some complaint against the rascally jackmen and retainers of thenobles, for playing at football on the streets of the burgh, or somesuch goodly matter."
"No, my lord," said Craigdallie, stoutly and firmly. "It is thejackmen's masters of whom we complain, for playing at football with thehonour of our families, and using as little ceremony with our daughters'sleeping chambers as if they were in a bordel at Paris. A party ofreiving night walkers--courtiers and men of rank, as there is but toomuch reason to believe--attempted to scale the windows of Simon Glover'shouse last night; they stood in their defence with drawn weapons whenthey were interrupted by Henry Smith, and fought till they were drivenoff by the rising of the citizens."
"How!" said Sir Patrick, setting down the cup which he was about toraise to his head. "Cock's body, make that manifest to me, and, bythe soul of Thomas of Longueville, I will see you righted with my bestpower, were it to cost me life and land. Who attests this? Simon Glover,you are held an honest and a cautious man--do you take the truth of thischarge upon your conscience?"
"My lord," said Simon, "understand I am no willing complainer in thisweighty matter. No damage has arisen, save to the breakers of the peacethemselves. I fear only great power could have encouraged such lawlessaudacity; and I were unwilling to put feud between my native town andsome powerful nobleman on my account. But it has been said that, if Ihang back in prosecuting this complaint, it will be as much as admittingthat my daughter expected such a visit, which is a direct falsehood.Therefore, my lord, I will tell your lordship what happened, so far as Iknow, and leave further proceeding to your wisdom."
He then told, from point to point, all that he had seen of the attack.
Sir Patrick Charteris, listening with much attention, seemedparticularly struck with the escape of the man who had been madeprisoner.
"Strange," he said, "that you did not secure him when you had him. Didyou not look at him so as to know him again?"
"I had but the light of a lantern, my Lord Provost; and as to sufferinghim to escape, I was alone," said the glover, "and old. But yet I mighthave kept him, had I not heard my daughter shriek in the upper room;and ere I had returned from her chamber the man had escaped through thegarden."
"Now, armourer, as a true man and a good soldier," said Sir Patrick,"tell me what you know of this matter."
Henry Gow, in his own decided style, gave a brief but clear narrative ofthe whole affair.
Honest Proudfute being next called upon, began his statement with an airof more importance. "Touching this awful and astound
ing tumult withinthe burgh, I cannot altogether, it is true, say with Henry Gow that Isaw the very beginning. But it will not be denied that I beheld a greatpart of the latter end, and especially that I procured the evidence mosteffectual to convict the knaves."
"And what is it, man?" said Sir Patrick Charteris. "Never lose timefumbling and prating about it. What is it?"
"I have brought your lordship, in this pouch, what one of the roguesleft behind him," said the little man. "It is a trophy which, in goodfaith and honest truth, I do confess I won not by the blade, but Iclaim the credit of securing it with that presence of mind which few menpossess amidst flashing torches and clashing weapons. I secured it, mylord, and here it is."
So saying, he produced, from the hawking pouch already mentioned, thestiffened hand which had been found on the scene of the skirmish.
"Nay, bonnet maker," said the provost, "I'll warrant thee man enough tosecure a rogue's hand after it is cut from the body. What do you look sobusily for in your bag?"
"There should have been--there was--a ring, my lord, which was on theknave's finger. I fear I have been forgetful, and left it at home, forI took it off to show to my wife, as she cared not to look upon the deadhand, as women love not such sights. But yet I thought I had put it onthe finger again. Nevertheless, it must, I bethink me, be at home. Iwill ride back for it, and Henry Smith will trot along with me."
"We will all trot with thee," said Sir Patrick Charteris, "since Iam for Perth myself. Look you, honest burghers and good neighbours ofPerth; you may have thought me unapt to be moved by light complaints andtrivial breaches of your privileges, such as small trespasses onyour game, the barons' followers playing football in the street, andsuchlike. But, by the soul of Thomas of Longueville, you shall not findPatrick Charteris slothful in a matter of this importance. This hand,"he continued, holding up the severed joint, "belongs to one who hathworked no drudgery. We will put it in a way to be known and claimed ofthe owner, if his comrades of the revel have but one spark of honour inthem. Hark you, Gerard; get me some half score of good men instantly tohorse, and let them take jack and spear. Meanwhile, neighbours, iffeud arise out of this, as is most likely, we must come to each other'ssupport. If my poor house be attacked, how many men will you bring to mysupport?"
The burghers looked at Henry Gow, to whom they instinctively turned whensuch matters were discussed.
"I will answer," said he, "for fifty good fellows to be assembled erethe common bell has rung ten minutes; for a thousand, in the space of anhour."
"It is well," answered the gallant provost; "and in the case of need,I will come to aid the Fair City with such men as I can make. And now,good friends, let us to horse."