CHAPTER XVI.
On Fastern's E'en when we war fou.
Scots Song.
The night which sunk down on the sickbed of Ramorny was not doomed to bea quiet one. Two hours had passed since curfew bell, then rung at seveno'clock at night, and in those primitive times all were retired to rest,excepting such whom devotion, or duty, or debauchery made watchers; andthe evening being that of Shrovetide, or, as it was called in Scotland,Fastern's E'en, the vigils of gaiety were by far the most frequented ofthe three.
The common people had, throughout the day, toiled and struggled atfootball; the nobles and gentry had fought cocks, and hearkened to thewanton music of the minstrel; while the citizens had gorged themselvesupon pancakes fried in lard, and brose, or brewis--the fat broth, thatis, in which salted beef had been boiled, poured upon highly toastedoatmeal, a dish which even now is not ungrateful to simple, oldfashioned Scottish palates. These were all exercises and festive dishesproper to the holiday. It was no less a solemnity of the evening thatthe devout Catholic should drink as much good ale and wine as he hadmeans to procure; and, if young and able, that he should dance at thering, or figure among the morrice dancers, who, in the city of Perth,as elsewhere, wore a peculiarly fantastic garb, and distinguishedthemselves by their address and activity. All this gaiety took placeunder the prudential consideration that the long term of Lent, nowapproaching, with its fasts and deprivations, rendered it wise formortals to cram as much idle and sensual indulgence as they could intothe brief space which intervened before its commencement.
The usual revels had taken place, and in most parts of the city weresucceeded by the usual pause. A particular degree of care had beentaken by the nobility to prevent any renewal of discord betwixt theirfollowers and the citizens of the town, so that the revels had proceededwith fewer casualties than usual, embracing only three deaths andcertain fractured limbs, which, occurring to individuals of littlenote, were not accounted worth inquiring into. The carnival was closingquietly in general, but in some places the sport was still kept up.
One company of revellers, who had been particularly noticed andapplauded, seemed unwilling to conclude their frolic. The entry, as itwas called, consisted of thirteen persons, habited in the same manner,having doublets of chamois leather sitting close to their bodies,curiously slashed and laced. They wore green caps with silver tassels,red ribands, and white shoes, had bells hung at their knees and aroundtheir ankles, and naked swords in their hands. This gallant party,having exhibited a sword dance before the King, with much clashing ofweapons and fantastic interchange of postures, went on gallantly torepeat their exhibition before the door of Simon Glover, where, havingmade a fresh exhibition of their agility, they caused wine to be servedround to their own company and the bystanders, and with a loud shoutdrank to the health of the Fair Maid of Perth. This summoned old Simonto the door of his habitation, to acknowledge the courtesy of hiscountrymen, and in his turn to send the wine around in honour of theMerry Morrice Dancers of Perth.
"We thank thee, father Simon," said a voice, which strove to drown in anartificial squeak the pert, conceited tone of Oliver Proudfute. "But asight of thy lovely daughter had been more sweet to us young bloods thana whole vintage of Malvoisie."
"I thank thee, neighbours, for your goodwill," replied the glover. "Mydaughter is ill at ease, and may not come forth into the cold night air;but if this gay gallant, whose voice methinks I should know, will gointo my poor house, she will charge him with thanks for the rest ofyou."
"Bring them to us at the hostelrie of the Griffin," cried the rest ofthe ballet to their favoured companion; "for there will we ring in Lent,and have another rouse to the health of the lovely Catharine."
"Have with you in half an hour," said Oliver, "and see who will quaffthe largest flagon, or sing the loudest glee. Nay, I will be merry inwhat remains of Fastern's Even, should Lent find me with my mouth closedfor ever."
"Farewell, then," cried his mates in the morrice--"fare well, slashingbonnet maker, till we meet again."
The morrice dancers accordingly set out upon their further progress,dancing and carolling as they went along to the sound of four musicians,who led the joyous band, while Simon Glover drew their coryphaeus intohis house, and placed him in a chair by his parlour fire.
"But where is your daughter?" said Oliver. "She is the bait for us braveblades."
"Why, truly, she keeps her apartment, neighbour Oliver; and, to speakplainly, she keeps her bed."
"Why, then will I upstairs to see her in her sorrow; you have marred myramble, Gaffer Glover, and you owe me amends--a roving blade like me; Iwill not lose both the lass and the glass. Keeps her bed, does she?
"My dog and I we have a trick To visit maids when they are sick; When they are sick and like to die, Oh, thither do come my dog and I.
"And when I die, as needs must hap, Then bury me under the good ale tap; With folded arms there let me lie Cheek for jowl, my dog and I."
"Canst thou not be serious for a moment, neighbour Proudfute?" said theglover; "I want a word of conversation with you."
"Serious!" answered his visitor; "why, I have been serious all thisday: I can hardly open my mouth, but something comes out about death, aburial, or suchlike--the most serious subjects that I wot of."
"St. John, man!" said the glover, "art then fey?"
"No, not a whit: it is not my own death which these gloomy fanciesforetell. I have a strong horoscope, and shall live for fifty years tocome. But it is the case of the poor fellow--the Douglas man, whom Istruck down at the fray of St. Valentine's: he died last night; it isthat which weighs on my conscience, and awakens sad fancies. Ah, fatherSimon, we martialists, that have spilt blood in our choler, have darkthoughts at times; I sometimes wish that my knife had cut nothing butworsted thrums."
"And I wish," said Simon, "that mine had cut nothing but buck's leather,for it has sometimes cut my own fingers. But thou mayst spare thyremorse for this bout: there was but one man dangerously hurt at theaffray, and it was he from whom Henry Smith hewed the hand, and he iswell recovered. His name is Black Quentin, one of Sir John Ramorny'sfollowers. He has been sent privately back to his own country of Fife."
"What, Black Quentin? Why, that is the very man that Henry and I, aswe ever keep close together, struck at in the same moment, only my blowfell somewhat earlier. I fear further feud will come of it, and so doesthe provost. And is he recovered? Why, then, I will be jovial, and sincethou wilt not let me see how Kate becomes her night gear, I will back tothe Griffin to my morrice dancers."
"Nay, stay but one instant. Thou art a comrade of Henry Wynd, and hastdone him the service to own one or two deeds and this last among others.I would thou couldst clear him of other charges with which fame hathloaded him."
"Nay, I will swear by the hilt of my sword they are as false as hell,father Simon. What--blades and targets! shall not men of the sword sticktogether?"
"Nay, neighbour bonnet maker, be patient; thou mayst do the smith a kindturn, an thou takest this matter the right way. I have chosen thee toconsult with anent this matter--not that I hold thee the wisest head inPerth, for should I say so I should lie."
"Ay--ay," answered the self satisfied bonnet maker; "I know where youthink my fault lies: you cool heads think we hot heads are fools--I haveheard men call Henry Wynd such a score of times."
"Fool enough and cool enough may rhyme together passing well," said theglover; "but thou art good natured, and I think lovest this crony ofthine. It stands awkwardly with us and him just now," continued Simon."Thou knowest there hath been some talk of marriage between my daughterCatharine and Henry Gow?"
"I have heard some such song since St. Valentine's Morn. Ah! he thatshall win the Fair Maid of Perth must be a happy man; and yet marriagespoils many a pretty fellow. I myself somewhat regret--"
"Prithee, truce with thy regrets for the present, man," interrupted theglover, somewhat peevishly. "You must know, Oliver, that some of th
esetalking women, who I think make all the business of the world theirown, have accused Henry of keeping light company with glee women andsuchlike. Catharine took it to heart; and I held my child insulted, thathe had not waited upon her like a Valentine, but had thrown himself intounseemly society on the very day when, by ancient custom, he might havehad an opportunity to press his interest with my daughter. Therefore,when he came hither late on the evening of St. Valentine's, I, like ahasty old fool, bid him go home to the company he had left, and deniedhim admittance. I have not seen him since, and I begin to think thatI may have been too rash in the matter. She is my only child, and thegrave should have her sooner than a debauchee, But I have hithertothought I knew Henry Gow as if he were my son. I cannot think he woulduse us thus, and it may be there are means of explaining what is laidto his charge. I was led to ask Dwining, who is said to have saluted thesmith while he was walking with this choice mate. If I am to believe hiswords, this wench was the smith's cousin, Joan Letham. But thou knowestthat the potter carrier ever speaks one language with his visage andanother with his tongue. Now, thou, Oliver, hast too little wit--I mean,too much honesty--to belie the truth, and as Dwining hinted that thoualso hadst seen her--"
"I see her, Simon Glover! Will Dwining say that I saw her?"
"No, not precisely that; but he says you told him you had met the smiththus accompanied."
"He lies, and I will pound him into a gallipot!" said Oliver Proudfute.
"How! Did you never tell him, then, of such a meeting?"
"What an if I did?" said the bonnet maker. "Did not he swear that hewould never repeat again to living mortal what I communicated to him?and therefore, in telling the occurrent to you, he hath made himself aliar."
"Thou didst not meet the smith, then," said Simon, "with such a loosebaggage as fame reports?"
"Lackaday, not I; perhaps I did, perhaps I did not. Think, fatherSimon--I have been a four years married man, and can you expect me toremember the turn of a glee woman's ankle, the trip of her toe, the laceupon her petticoat, and such toys? No, I leave that to unmarried wags,like my gossip Henry."
"The upshot is, then," said the glover, much vexed, "you did meet him onSt. Valentine's Day walking the public streets--"
"Not so, neighbour; I met him in the most distant and dark lane inPerth, steering full for his own house, with bag and baggage, which, asa gallant fellow, he carried in his arms, the puppy dog on one and thejilt herself--and to my thought she was a pretty one--hanging upon theother."
"Now, by good St. John," said the glover, "this infamy would make aChristian man renounce his faith, and worship Mahound in very anger! Buthe has seen the last of my daughter. I would rather she went to the wildHighlands with a barelegged cateran than wed with one who could, at sucha season, so broadly forget honour and decency. Out upon him!"
"Tush--tush! father Simon," said the liberal minded bonnet maker, "youconsider not the nature of young blood. Their company was not long,for--to speak truth, I did keep a little watch on him--I met him beforesunrise, conducting his errant damsel to the Lady's Stairs, that thewench might embark on the Tay from Perth; and I know for certainty, forI made inquiry, that she sailed in a gabbart for Dundee. So you see itwas but a slight escape of youth."
"And he came here," said Simon, bitterly, "beseeching for admittance tomy daughter, while he had his harlot awaiting him at home! I had ratherhe had slain a score of men! It skills not talking, least of all tothee, Oliver Proudfute, who, if thou art not such a one as himself,would fain be thought so. But--"
"Nay, think not of it so seriously," said Oliver, who began to reflecton the mischief his tattling was likely to occasion to his friend, andon the consequences of Henry Gow's displeasure, when he should learnthe disclosure which he had made rather in vanity of heart than in evilintention.
"Consider," he continued, "that there are follies belonging to youth.Occasion provokes men to such frolics, and confession wipes them off. Icare not if I tell thee that, though my wife be as goodly a woman as thecity has, yet I myself--"
"Peace, silly braggart," said the glover in high wrath; "thy loves andthy battles are alike apocryphal. If thou must needs lie, which I thinkis thy nature, canst thou invent no falsehood that may at least do theesome credit? Do I not see through thee, as I could see the light throughthe horn of a base lantern? Do I not know, thou filthy weaver of rottenworsted, that thou durst no more cross the threshold of thy own door, ifthy wife heard of thy making such a boast, than thou darest cross nakedweapons with a boy of twelve years old, who has drawn a sword for thefirst time of his life? By St. John, it were paying you for your talebearing trouble to send thy Maudie word of thy gay brags."
The bonnet maker, at this threat, started as if a crossbow bolt hadwhizzed past his head when least expected. And it was with a tremblingvoice that he replied: "Nay, good father Glover, thou takest too muchcredit for thy grey hairs. Consider, good neighbour, thou art too oldfor a young martialist to wrangle with. And in the matter of my Maudie,I can trust thee, for I know no one who would be less willing than thouto break the peace of families."
"Trust thy coxcomb no longer with me," said the incensed glover; "buttake thyself, and the thing thou call'st a head, out of my reach, lest Iborrow back five minutes of my youth and break thy pate!"
"You have had a merry Fastern's Even, neighbour," said the bonnet maker,"and I wish you a quiet sleep; we shall meet better friends tomorrow."
"Out of my doors tonight!" said the glover. "I am ashamed so idle atongue as thine should have power to move me thus."
"Idiot--beast--loose tongued coxcomb," he exclaimed, throwing himselfinto a chair, as the bonnet maker disappeared; "that a fellow made upof lies should not have had the grace to frame one when it might havecovered the shame of a friend! And I--what am I, that I should, in mysecret mind, wish that such a gross insult to me and my child hadbeen glossed over? Yet such was my opinion of Henry, that I would havewillingly believed the grossest figment the swaggering ass could haveinvented. Well, it skills not thinking of it. Our honest name must bemaintained, though everything else should go to ruin."
While the glover thus moralised on the unwelcome confirmation of thetale he wished to think untrue, the expelled morrice dancer had leisure,in the composing air of a cool and dark February night, to meditate onthe consequences of the glover's unrestrained anger.
"But it is nothing," he bethought himself, "to the wrath of Henry Wynd,who hath killed a man for much less than placing displeasure betwixt himand Catharine, as well as her fiery old father. Certainly I were betterhave denied everything. But the humour of seeming a knowing gallant, asin truth I am, fairly overcame me. Were I best go to finish the revelat the Griffin? But then Maudie will rampauge on my return--ay, and thisbeing holiday even, I may claim a privilege. I have it: I will not tothe Griffin--I will to the smith's, who must be at home, since no onehath seen him this day amid the revel. I will endeavour to make peacewith him, and offer my intercession with the glover. Harry is a simple,downright fellow, and though I think he is my better in a broil, yetin discourse I can turn him my own way. The streets are now quiet, thenight, too, is dark, and I may step aside if I meet any rioters. I willto the smith's, and, securing him for my friend, I care little for oldSimon. St. Ringan bear me well through this night, and I will clip mytongue out ere it shall run my head into such peril again! Yonder oldfellow, when his blood was up, looked more like a carver of buff jerkinsthan a clipper of kid gloves."
With these reflections, the puissant Oliver walked swiftly, yet with aslittle noise as possible, towards the wynd in which the smith, as ourreaders are aware, had his habitation. But his evil fortune had notceased to pursue him. As he turned into the High, or principal, Street,he heard a burst of music very near him, followed by a loud shout.
"My merry mates, the morrice dancers," thought he; "I would know oldJeremy's rebeck among an hundred. I will venture across the street erethey pass on; if I am espied, I shall have the renown of some privatequest, which may
do me honour as a roving blade."
With these longings for distinction among the gay and gallant, combated,however, internally, by more prudential considerations, the bonnet makermade an attempt to cross the street. But the revellers, whoever theymight be, were accompanied by torches, the flash of which fell uponOliver, whose light coloured habit made him the more distinctly visible.The general shout of "A prize--a prize" overcame the noise of theminstrel, and before the bonnet maker could determine whether it werebetter to stand or fly, two active young men, clad in fantastic maskinghabits, resembling wild men, and holding great clubs, seized upon him,saying, in a tragical tone: "Yield thee, man of bells and bombast--yieldthee, rescue or no rescue, or truly thou art but a dead morrice dancer."
"To whom shall I yield me?" said the bonnet maker, with a falteringvoice; for, though he saw he had to do with a party of mummers who wereafoot for pleasure, yet he observed at the same time that they were farabove his class, and he lost the audacity necessary to support his partin a game where the inferior was likely to come by the worst.
"Dost thou parley, slave?" answered one of the maskers; "and must Ishow thee that thou art a captive, by giving thee incontinently thebastinado?"
"By no means, puissant man of Ind," said the bonnet maker; "lo, I amconformable to your pleasure."
"Come, then," said those who had arrested him--"come and do homageto the Emperor of Mimes, King of Caperers, and Grand Duke of the DarkHours, and explain by what right thou art so presumptuous as to pranceand jingle, and wear out shoe leather, within his dominions withoutpaying him tribute. Know'st thou not thou hast incurred the pains ofhigh treason?"
"That were hard, methinks," said poor Oliver, "since I knew not that hisGrace exercised the government this evening. But I am willing to redeemthe forfeit, if the purse of a poor bonnet maker may, by the mulct of agallon of wine, or some such matter."
"Bring him before the emperor," was the universal cry; and the morricedancer was placed before a slight, but easy and handsome, figure of ayoung man, splendidly attired, having a cincture and tiara of peacock'sfeathers, then brought from the East as a marvellous rarity; a shortjacket and under dress of leopard's skin fitted closely the rest of hisperson, which was attired in flesh coloured silk, so as to resemble theordinary idea of an Indian prince. He wore sandals, fastened on withribands of scarlet silk, and held in his hand a sort of fan, such asladies then used, composed of the same feathers, assembled into a plumeor tuft.
"What mister wight have we here," said the Indian chief, "who dares totie the bells of a morrice on the ankles of a dull ass? Hark ye, friend,your dress should make you a subject of ours, since our empire extendsover all Merryland, including mimes and minstrels of every description.What, tongue tied? He lacks wine; minister to him our nutshell full ofsack."
A huge calabash full of sack was offered to the lips of the supplicant,while this prince of revellers exhorted him:
"Crack me this nut, and do it handsomely, and without wry faces."
But, however Oliver might have relished a moderate sip of the same goodwine, he was terrified at the quantity he was required to deal with. Hedrank a draught, and then entreated for mercy.
"So please your princedom, I have yet far to go, and if I were toswallow your Grace's bounty, for which accept my dutiful thanks, Ishould not be able to stride over the next kennel."
"Art thou in case to bear thyself like a galliard? Now, cut me acaper--ha! one--two--three--admirable. Again--give him the spur (here asatellite of the Indian gave Oliver a slight touch with his sword). Nay,that is best of all: he sprang like a cat in a gutter. Tender him thenut once more; nay, no compulsion, he has paid forfeit, and deserves notonly free dismissal but reward. Kneel down--kneel, and arise Sir Knightof the Calabash! What is thy name? And one of you lend me a rapier."
"Oliver, may it please your honour--I mean your principality."
"Oliver, man. Nay, then thou art one of the 'douze peers' already, andfate has forestalled our intended promotion. Yet rise up, sweet SirOliver Thatchpate, Knight of the honourable order of the Pumpkin--riseup, in the name of nonsense, and begone about thine own concerns, andthe devil go with thee!"
So saying, the prince of the revels bestowed a smart blow with the flatof the weapon across the bonnet maker's shoulders, who sprung to hisfeet with more alacrity of motion than he had hitherto displayed, and,accelerated by the laugh and halloo which arose behind him, arrived atthe smith's house before he stopped, with the same speed with which ahunted fox makes for his den.
It was not till the affrighted bonnet maker had struck a blow on thedoor that he recollected he ought to have bethought himself beforehandin what manner he was to present himself before Henry, and obtain hisforgiveness for his rash communications to Simon Glover. No one answeredto his first knock, and, perhaps, as these reflections arose in themomentary pause of recollection which circumstances permitted, theperplexed bonnet maker might have flinched from his purpose, and madehis retreat to his own premises, without venturing upon the interviewwhich he had purposed. But a distant strain of minstrelsy revived hisapprehensions of falling once more into the hands of the gay maskersfrom whom he had escaped, and he renewed his summons on the door of thesmith's dwelling with a hurried, though faltering, hand. He was thenappalled by the deep, yet not unmusical, voice of Henry Gow, whoanswered from within: "Who calls at this hour, and what is it that youwant?"
"It is I--Oliver Proudfute," replied the bonnet maker; "I have a merryjest to tell you, gossip Henry."
"Carry thy foolery to some other market. I am in no jesting humour,"said Henry. "Go hence; I will see no one tonight."
"But, gossip--good gossip," answered the martialist with out, "I ambeset with villains, and beg the shelter of your roof!"
"Fool that thou art!" replied Henry; "no dunghill cock, the mostrecreant that has fought this Fastern's Eve, would ruffle his feathersat such a craven as thou!"
At this moment another strain of minstrelsy, and, as the bonnet makerconceited, one which approached much nearer, goaded his apprehensionsto the uttermost; and in a voice the tones of which expressed theundisguised extremity of instant fear he exclaimed:
"For the sake of our old gossipred, and for the love of Our BlessedLady, admit me, Henry, if you would not have me found a bloody corpse atthy door, slain by the bloody minded Douglasses!"
"That would be a shame to me," thought the good natured smith, "andsooth to say, his peril may be real. There are roving hawks that willstrike at a sparrow as soon as a heron."
With these reflections, half muttered, half spoken, Henry undid his wellfastened door, proposing to reconnoitre the reality of the danger beforehe permitted his unwelcome guest to enter the house. But as he lookedabroad to ascertain how matters stood, Oliver bolted in like a scareddeer into a thicket, and harboured himself by the smith's kitchen firebefore Henry could look up and down the lane, and satisfy himself therewere no enemies in pursuit of the apprehensive fugitive. He secured hisdoor, therefore, and returned into the kitchen, displeased that he hadsuffered his gloomy solitude to be intruded upon by sympathising withapprehensions which he thought he might have known were so easilyexcited as those of his timid townsman.
"How now!" he said, coldly enough, when he saw the bonnet maker calmlyseated by his hearth. "What foolish revel is this, Master Oliver? I seeno one near to harm you."
"Give me a drink, kind gossip," said Oliver: "I am choked with the hasteI have made to come hither."
"I have sworn," said Henry, "that this shall be no revel night in thishouse: I am in my workday clothes, as you see, and keep fast, as I havereason, instead of holiday. You have had wassail enough for the holidayevening, for you speak thick already. If you wish more ale or wine youmust go elsewhere."
"I have had overmuch wassail already," said poor Oliver, "and have beenwell nigh drowned in it. That accursed calabash! A draught of water,kind gossip--you will not surely let me ask for that in vain? or, if itis your will, a cup of cold small ale."
"Nay, if that be all," said Henry, "it shall not be lacking. But it musthave been much which brought thee to the pass of asking for either."
So saying, he filled a quart flagon from a barrel that stood nigh, andpresented it to his guest. Oliver eagerly accepted it, raised it tohis head with a trembling hand, imbibed the contents with lips whichquivered with emotion, and, though the potation was as thin as he hadrequested, so much was he exhausted with the combined fears of alarm andof former revelry, that, when he placed the flagon on the oak table, heuttered a deep sigh of satisfaction, and remained silent.
"Well, now you have had your draught, gossip," said the smith, "what isit you want? Where are those that threatened you? I could see no one."
"No--but there were twenty chased me into the wynd," said Oliver. "Butwhen they saw us together, you know they lost the courage that broughtall of them upon one of us."
"Nay, do not trifle, friend Oliver," replied his host; "my mood lies notthat way."
"I jest not, by St. John of Perth. I have been stayed and foullyoutraged (gliding his hand sensitively over the place affected) by madDavid of Rothsay, roaring Ramorny, and the rest of them. They made medrink a firkin of Malvoisie."
"Thou speakest folly, man. Ramorny is sick nigh to death, as the pottercarrier everywhere reports: they and he cannot surely rise at midnightto do such frolics."
"I cannot tell," replied Oliver; "but I saw the party by torchlight,and I can make bodily oath to the bonnets I made for them since lastInnocents'. They are of a quaint device, and I should know my ownstitch."
"Well, thou mayst have had wrong," answered Henry. "If thou art in realdanger, I will cause them get a bed for thee here. But you must fill itpresently, for I am not in the humour of talking."
"Nay, I would thank thee for my quarters for a night, only my Maudiewill be angry--that is, not angry, for that I care not for--but thetruth is, she is overanxious on a revel night like this, knowing myhumour is like thine for a word and a blow."
"Why, then, go home," said the smith, "and show her that her treasure isin safety, Master Oliver; the streets are quiet, and, to speak a bluntword, I would be alone."
"Nay, but I have things to speak with thee about of moment," repliedOliver, who, afraid to stay, seemed yet unwilling to go. "There has beena stir in our city council about the affair of St. Valentine's Even. Theprovost told me not four hours since, that the Douglas and he had agreedthat the feud should be decided by a yeoman on either party and that ouracquaintance, the Devil's Dick, was to wave his gentry, and take up thecause for Douglas and the nobles, and that you or I should fight for theFair City. Now, though I am the elder burgess, yet I am willing, for thelove and kindness we have always borne to each other, to give thee theprecedence, and content myself with the humbler office of stickler."
Henry Smith, though angry, could scarce forbear a smile.
"If it is that which breaks thy quiet, and keeps thee out of thy bed atmidnight, I will make the matter easy. Thou shalt not lose the advantageoffered thee. I have fought a score of duels--far, far too many.Thou hast, I think, only encountered with thy wooden soldan: it wereunjust--unfair--unkind--in me to abuse thy friendly offer. So go home,good fellow, and let not the fear of losing honour disturb thy slumbers.Rest assured that thou shalt answer the challenge, as good right thouhast, having had injury from this rough rider."
"Gramercy, and thank thee kindly," said Oliver much embarrassed by hisfriend's unexpected deference; "thou art the good friend I have alwaysthought thee. But I have as much friendship for Henry Smith as he forOliver Proudfute. I swear by St. John, I will not fight in thisquarrel to thy prejudice; so, having said so, I am beyond the reach oftemptation, since thou wouldst not have me mansworn, though it were tofight twenty duels."
"Hark thee," said the smith, "acknowledge thou art afraid, Oliver: tellthe honest truth, at once, otherwise I leave thee to make the best ofthy quarrel."
"Nay, good gossip," replied the bonnet maker, "thou knowest I am neverafraid. But, in sooth, this is a desperate ruffian; and as I have awife--poor Maudie, thou knowest--and a small family, and thou--"
"And I," interrupted Henry, hastily, "have none, and never shall have."
"Why, truly, such being the case, I would rather thou fought'st thiscombat than I."
"Now, by our halidome, gossip," answered the smith, "thou art easilygored! Know, thou silly fellow, that Sir Patrick Charteris, who is evera merry man, hath but jested with thee. Dost thou think he would venturethe honour of the city on thy head, or that I would yield thee theprecedence in which such a matter was to be disputed? Lackaday, go home,let Maudie tie a warm nightcap on thy head, get thee a warm breakfastand a cup of distilled waters, and thou wilt be in ease tomorrow tofight thy wooden dromond, or soldan, as thou call'st him, the only thingthou wilt ever lay downright blow upon."
"Ay, say'st thou so, comrade?" answered Oliver, much relieved, yetdeeming it necessary to seem in part offended. "I care not for thydogged humour; it is well for thee thou canst not wake my patience tothe point of falling foul. Enough--we are gossips, and this house isthine. Why should the two best blades in Perth clash with each other?What! I know thy rugged humour, and can forgive it. But is the feudreally soldered up?"
"As completely as ever hammer fixed rivet," said the smith. "The townhath given the Johnstone a purse of gold, for not ridding them of atroublesome fellow called Oliver Proudfute, when he had him at hismercy; and this purse of gold buys for the provost the Sleepless Isle,which the King grants him, for the King pays all in the long run. Andthus Sir Patrick gets the comely inch which is opposite to his dwelling,and all honour is saved on both sides, for what is given to the provostis given, you understand, to the town. Besides all this, the Douglashath left Perth to march against the Southron, who, men say, are calledinto the marches by the false Earl of March. So the Fair City is quit ofhim and his cumber."
"But, in St. John's name, how came all that about," said Oliver, "and noone spoken to about it?"
"Why, look thee, friend Oliver, this I take to have been the case. Thefellow whom I cropped of a hand is now said to have been a servant ofSir John Ramorny's, who hath fled to his motherland of Fife, to whichSir John himself is also to be banished, with full consent of everyhonest man. Now, anything which brings in Sir John Ramorny touchesa much greater man--I think Simon Glover told as much to Sir PatrickCharteris. If it be as I guess, I have reason to thank Heaven and allthe saints I stabbed him not upon the ladder when I made him prisoner."
"And I too thank Heaven and all the saints, most devoutly," said Oliver."I was behind thee, thou knowest, and--"
"No more of that, if thou be'st wise. There are laws against strikingprinces," said the smith: "best not handle the horseshoe till it cools.All is hushed up now."
"If this be so," said Oliver, partly disconcerted, but still morerelieved, by the intelligence he received from his better informedfriend, "I have reason to complain of Sir Patrick Charteris for jestingwith the honour of an honest burgess, being, as he is, provost of ourtown."
"Do, Oliver; challenge him to the field, and he will bid his yeomanloose his dogs on thee. But come, night wears apace, will you beshogging?"
"Nay, I had one word more to say to thee, good gossip. But first,another cup of your cold ale."
"Pest on thee for a fool! Thou makest me wish thee where told liquorsare a scarce commodity. There, swill the barrelful an thou wilt."
Oliver took the second flagon, but drank, or rather seemed to drink,very slowly, in order to gain time for considering how he shouldintroduce his second subject of conversation, which seemed ratherdelicate for the smith's present state of irritability. At length,nothing better occurred to him than to plunge into the subject at once,with, "I have seen Simon Glover today, gossip."
"Well," said the smith, in a low, deep, and stern tone of voice, "and ifthou hast, what is that to me?"
"Nothing--nothing," answered the appalled bonnet maker. "Only I thoughtyou might like to know that he questioned me close if
I had seen theeon St. Valentine's Day, after the uproar at the Dominicans', and in whatcompany thou wert."
"And I warrant thou told'st him thou met'st me with a glee woman in themirk loaning yonder?"
"Thou know'st, Henry, I have no gift at lying; but I made it all up withhim."
"As how, I pray you?" said the smith.
"Marry, thus: 'Father Simon,' said I, 'you are an old man, and know notthe quality of us, in whose veins youth is like quicksilver. You think,now, he cares about this girl,' said I, 'and, perhaps, that he has hersomewhere here in Perth in a corner? No such matter; I know,' said I,'and I will make oath to it, that she left his house early next morningfor Dundee.' Ha! have I helped thee at need?"
"Truly, I think thou hast, and if anything could add to my grief andvexation at this moment, it is that, when I am so deep in the mire,an ass like thee should place his clumsy hoof on my head, to sink meentirely. Come, away with thee, and mayst thou have such luck as thymeddling humour deserves; and then I think, thou wilt be found with abroken neck in the next gutter. Come, get you out, or I will put you tothe door with head and shoulders forward."
"Ha--ha!" exclaimed Oliver, laughing with some constraint, "thou artsuch a groom! But in sadness, gossip Henry, wilt thou not take a turnwith me to my own house, in the Meal Vennel?"
"Curse thee, no," answered the smith.
"I will bestow the wine on thee if thou wilt go," said Oliver.
"I will bestow the cudgel on thee if thou stay'st," said Henry.
"Nay, then, I will don thy buff coat and cap of steel, and walk with thyswashing step, and whistling thy pibroch of 'Broken Bones at Loncarty';and if they take me for thee, there dare not four of them come near me."
"Take all or anything thou wilt, in the fiend's name! only be gone."
"Well--well, Hal, we shall meet when thou art in better humour," saidOliver, who had put on the dress.
"Go; and may I never see thy coxcombly face again."
Oliver at last relieved his host by swaggering off, imitating as well ashe could the sturdy step and outward gesture of his redoubted companion,and whistling a pibroch composed on the rout of the Danes at Loncarty,which he had picked up from its being a favourite of the smith's, whomhe made a point of imitating as far as he could. But as the innocent,though conceited, fellow stepped out from the entrance of the wynd,where it communicated with the High Street, he received a blow frombehind, against which his headpiece was no defence, and he fell deadupon the spot, an attempt to mutter the name of Henry, to whom he alwayslooked for protection, quivering upon his dying tongue.