Chronicles of the Canongate
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Sir Walter Scott >> Chronicles of the Canongate
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CHAPTER II.
Were ever two such loving friends!--
How could they disagree?
Oh, thus it was, he loved him dear,
And thought how to requite him,
And having no friend left but he,
He did resolve to fight him. DUKE UPON DUKE.
The pair of friends had traversed with their usual cordiality the
grassy wilds of Liddesdale, and crossed the opposite part of
Cumberland, emphatically called The Waste. In these solitary
regions the cattle under the charge of our drovers derived their
subsistence chiefly by picking their food as they went along the
drove-road, or sometimes by the tempting opportunity of a START
AND OWERLOUP, or invasion of the neighbouring pasture, where an
occasion presented itself. But now the scene changed before
them. They were descending towards a fertile and enclosed
country, where no such liberties could be taken with impunity, or
without a previous arrangement and bargain with the possessors of
the ground. This was more especially the case, as a great
northern fair was upon the eve of taking place, where both the
Scotch and English drover expected to dispose of a part of their
cattle, which it was desirable to produce in the market rested
and in good order. Fields were therefore difficult to be
obtained, and only upon high terms. This necessity occasioned a
temporary separation betwixt the two friends, who went to
bargain, each as he could, for the separate accommodation of his
herd. Unhappily it chanced that both of them, unknown to each
other, thought of bargaining for the ground they wanted on the
property of a country gentleman of some fortune, whose estate lay
in the neighbourhood. The English drover applied to the bailiff
on the property, who was known to him. It chanced that the
Cumbrian Squire, who had entertained some suspicions of his
manager's honesty, was taking occasional measures to ascertain
how far they were well founded, and had desired that any
enquiries about his enclosures, with a view to occupy them for a
temporary purpose, should be referred to himself. As however,
Mr. Ireby had gone the day before upon a journey of some miles
distance to the northward, the bailiff chose to consider the
check upon his full powers as for the time removed, and concluded
that he should best consult his master's interest, and perhaps
his own, in making an agreement with Harry Wakefield. Meanwhile,
ignorant of what his comrade was doing, Robin Oig, on his side,
chanced to be overtaken by a good-looking smart little man upon a
pony, most knowingly hogged and cropped, as was then the fashion,
the rider wearing tight leather breeches, and long-necked bright
spurs. This cavalier asked one or two pertinent questions about
markets and the price of stock. So Robin, seeing him a well-
judging civil gentleman, took the freedom to ask him whether he
could let him know if there was any grass-land to be let in that
neighbourhood, for the temporary accommodation of his drove. He
could not have put the question to more willing ears. The
gentleman of the buckskins was the proprietor, with whose bailiff
Harry Wakefield had dealt, or was in the act of dealing.
"Thou art in good luck, my canny Scot," said Mr. Ireby, "to have
spoken to me, for I see thy cattle have done their day's work,
and I have at my disposal the only field within three miles that
is to be let in these parts."
"The drove can pe gang two, three, four miles very pratty weel
indeed"--said the cautious Highlander; "put what would his honour
pe axing for the peasts pe the head, if she was to tak the park
for twa or three days?"
"We won't differ, Sawney, if you let me have six stots for
winterers, in the way of reason."
"And which peasts wad your honour pe for having?"
"Why--let me see--the two black--the dun one--yon doddy--him with
the twisted horn--the brockit--How much by the head?"
"Ah," said Robin, "your honour is a shudge--a real shudge. I
couldna have set off the pest six peasts petter mysel'--me that
ken them as if they were my pairns, puir things."
"Well, how much per head, Sawney?" continued Mr. Ireby.
"It was high markets at Doune and Falkirk," answered Robin.
And thus the conversation proceeded, until they had agreed on the
PRIX JUSTE for the bullocks, the Squire throwing in the temporary
accommodation of the enclosure for the cattle into the boot, and
Robin making, as he thought, a very good bargain, provided the
grass was but tolerable. The Squire walked his pony alongside of
the drove, partly to show him the way, and see him put into
possession of the field, and partly to learn the latest news of
the northern markets.
They arrived at the field, and the pasture seemed excellent. But
what was their surprise when they saw the bailiff quietly
inducting the cattle of Harry Wakefield into the grassy Goshen
which had just been assigned to those of Robin Oig M'Combich by
the proprietor himself! Squire Ireby set spurs to his horse,
dashed up to his servant, and learning what had passed between
the parties, briefly informed the English drover that his bailiff
had let the ground without his authority, and that he might seek
grass for his cattle wherever he would, since he was to get none
there. At the same time he rebuked his servant severely for
having transgressed his commands, and ordered him instantly to
assist in ejecting the hungry and weary cattle of Harry
Wakefield, which were just beginning to enjoy a meal of unusual
plenty, and to introduce those of his comrade, whom the English
drover now began to consider as a rival.
The feelings which arose in Wakefield's mind would have induced
him to resist Mr. Ireby's decision; but every Englishman has a
tolerably accurate sense of law and justice, and John
Fleecebumpkin, the bailiff, having acknowledged that he had
exceeded his commission, Wakefield saw nothing else for it than
to collect his hungry and disappointed charge, and drive them on
to seek quarters elsewhere. Robin Oig saw what had happened with
regret, and hastened to offer to his English friend to share with
him the disputed possession. But Wakefield's pride was severely
hurt, and he answered disdainfully, "Take it all, man--take it
all; never make two bites of a cherry. Thou canst talk over the
gentry, and blear a plain man's eye. Out upon you, man. I would
not kiss any man's dirty latchets for leave to bake in his oven."
Robin Oig, sorry but not surprised at his comrade's displeasure,
hastened to entreat his friend to wait but an hour till he had
gone to the Squire's house to receive payment for the cattle he
had sold, and he would come back and help him to drive the cattle
into some convenient place of rest, and explain to him the whole
mistake they had both of them fallen into. But the Englishman
continued indignant: "Thou hast been selling, hast thou? Ay,
ay; thou is a cunning lad for kenning the hours of bargaining.
Go to the devil with thyself, for I will ne'er see thy fause
loon's visage again--thou should be ashamed to look me in the
face."
"I am ashamed to look no man in the face," said Robin Oig,
something moved; "and, moreover, I will look you in the face this
blessed day, if you will bide at the Clachan down yonder."
"Mayhap you had as well keep away," said his comrade; and turning
his back on his former friend, he collected his unwilling
associates, assisted by the bailiff, who took some real and some
affected interest in seeing Wakefield accommodated.
After spending some time in negotiating with more than one of the
neighbouring farmers, who could not, or would not, afford the
accommodation desired, Henry Wakefield at last, and in his
necessity, accomplished his point by means of the landlord of the
alehouse at which Robin Oig and he had agreed to pass the night,
when they first separated from each other. Mine host was content
to let him turn his cattle on a piece of barren moor, at a price
little less than the bailiff had asked for the disputed
enclosure; and the wretchedness of the pasture, as well as the
price paid for it, were set down as exaggerations of the breach
of faith and friendship of his Scottish crony. This turn of
Wakefield's passions was encouraged by the bailiff, (who had his
own reasons for being offended against poor Robin, as having been
the unwitting cause of his falling into disgrace with his
master), as well as by the innkeeper, and two or three chance
guests, who stimulated the drover in his resentment against his
quondam associate--some from the ancient grudge against the
Scots, which, when it exists anywhere, is to be found lurking in
the Border counties, and some from the general love of mischief,
which characterises mankind in all ranks of life, to the honour
of Adam's children be it spoken. Good John Barleycorn also, who
always heightens and exaggerates the prevailing passions, be they
angry or kindly, was not wanting in his offices on this occasion,
and confusion to false friends and hard masters was pledged in
more than one tankard.
In the meanwhile Mr. Ireby found some amusement in detaining the
northern drover at his ancient hall. He caused a cold round of
beef to be placed before the Scot in the butler's pantry,
together with a foaming tankard of home-brewed, and took pleasure
in seeing the hearty appetite with which these unwonted edibles
were discussed by Robin Oig M'Combich. The Squire himself
lighting his pipe, compounded between his patrician dignity and
his love of agricultural gossip, by walking up and down while he
conversed with his guest.
"I passed another drove," said the Squire, with one of your
countrymen behind them. They were something less beasts than
your drove--doddies most of them. A big man was with them. None
of your kilts, though, but a decent pair of breeches. D'ye know
who he may be?"
"Hout aye; that might, could, and would be Hughie Morrison. I
didna think he could hae peen sae weel up. He has made a day on
us; but his Argyleshires will have wearied shanks. How far was
he pehind?"
"I think about six or seven miles," answered the Squire, "for I
passed them at the Christenbury Crag, and I overtook you at the
Hollan Bush. If his beasts be leg-weary, he will be maybe
selling bargains."
"Na, na, Hughie Morrison is no the man for pargains--ye maun come
to some Highland body like Robin Oig hersel' for the like of
these. Put I maun pe wishing you goot night, and twenty of them,
let alane ane, and I maun down to the Clachan to see if the lad
Harry Waakfelt is out of his humdudgeons yet."
The party at the alehouse were still in full talk, and the
treachery of Robin Oig still the theme of conversation, when the
supposed culprit entered the apartment. His arrival, as usually
happens in such a case, put an instant stop to the discussion of
which he had furnished the subject, and he was received by the
company assembled with that chilling silence which, more than a
thousand exclamations, tells an intruder that he is unwelcome.
Surprised and offended, but not appalled by the reception which
he experienced, Robin entered with an undaunted and even a
haughty air, attempted no greeting, as he saw he was received
with none, and placed himself by the side of the fire, a little
apart from a table at which Harry Wakefield, the bailiff, and two
or three other persons, were seated. The ample Cumbrian kitchen
would have afforded plenty of room, even for a larger separation.
Robin thus seated, proceeded to light his pipe, and call for a
pint of twopenny.
"We have no twopence ale," answered Ralph Heskett the landlord;
"but as thou find'st thy own tobacco, it's like thou mayst find
thy own liquor too--it's the wont of thy country, I wot."
"Shame, goodman," said the landlady, a blithe, bustling
housewife, hastening herself to supply the guest with liquor.
"Thou knowest well enow what the strange man wants, and it's thy
trade to be civil, man. Thou shouldst know, that if the Scot
likes a small pot, he pays a sure penny."
Without taking any notice of this nuptial dialogue, the
Highlander took the flagon in his hand, and addressing the
company generally, drank the interesting toast of "Good markets"
to the party assembled.
"The better that the wind blew fewer dealers from the north,"
said one of the farmers, "and fewer Highland runts to eat up the
English meadows."
"Saul of my pody, put you are wrang there, my friend," answered
Robin, with composure; "it is your fat Englishmen that eat up our
Scots cattle, puir things."
"I wish there was a summat to eat up their drovers," said
another; "a plain Englishman canna make bread within a kenning of
them."
"Or an honest servant keep his master's favour but they will come
sliding in between him and the sunshine," said the bailiff.
"If these pe jokes," said Robin Oig, with the same composure,
"there is ower mony jokes upon one man."
"It is no joke, but downright earnest," said the bailiff.
"Harkye, Mr. Robin Ogg, or whatever is your name, it's right we
should tell you that we are all of one opinion, and that is, that
you, Mr. Robin Ogg, have behaved to our friend Mr. Harry
Wakefield here, like a raff and a blackguard."
"Nae doubt, nae doubt," answered Robin, with great composure;
"and you are a set of very pretty judges, for whose prains or
pehaviour I wad not gie a pinch of sneeshing. If Mr. Harry
Waakfelt kens where he is wranged, he kens where he may be
righted."
"He speaks truth," said Wakefield, who had listened to what
passed, divided between the offence which he had taken at Robin's
late behaviour, and the revival of his habitual feelings of
regard.
He now rose, and went towards Robin, who got up from his seat as
he approached, and held out his hand.
"That's right, Harry--go it--serve him out," resounded on all
sides--"tip him the nailer--show him the mill."
"Hold your peace all of you, and be--," said Wakefield; and then
addressing his comrade, he took him by the extended hand, with
something alike of respect and defiance. "Robin," he said, "thou
hast used me ill enough this day; but if you mean, like a frank
fellow, to shake hands, and take a tussle for love on the sod,
why I'll forgie thee, man, and we shall be better friends than
ever."
"And would it not pe petter to pe cood friends without more of
the matter?" said Robin; "we will be much petter friendships
with our panes hale than proken."
Harry Wakefield dropped the hand of his friend, or rather threw
it from him.
"I did not think I had been keeping company for three years with
a coward."
"Coward pelongs to none of my name," said Robin, whose eyes began
to kindle, but keeping the command of his temper. "It was no
coward's legs or hands, Harry Waakfelt, that drew you out of the
fords of Frew, when you was drifting ower the plack rock, and
every eel in the river expected his share of you."
"And that is true enough, too," said the Englishman, struck by
the appeal.
"Adzooks!" exclaimed the bailiff--"sure Harry Wakefield, the
nattiest lad at Whitson Tryste, Wooler Fair, Carlisle Sands, or
Stagshaw Bank, is not going to show white feather? Ah, this
comes of living so long with kilts and bonnets--men forget the
use of their daddles."
"I may teach you, Master Fleecebumpkin, that I have not lost the
use of mine," said Wakefield and then went on. "This will never
do, Robin. We must have a turn-up, or we shall be the talk of
the country-side. I'll be d--d if I hurt thee--I'll put on the
gloves gin thou like. Come, stand forward like a man."
"To be peaten like a dog," said Robin; "is there any reason in
that? If you think I have done you wrong, I'll go before your
shudge, though I neither know his law nor his language."
A general cry of "No, no--no law, no lawyer! a bellyful and be
friends," was echoed by the bystanders.
"But," continued Robin, "if I am to fight, I have no skill to
fight like a jackanapes, with hands and nails."
"How would you fight then?" said his antagonist; "though I am
thinking it would be hard to bring you to the scratch anyhow."
"I would fight with proadswords, and sink point on the first
plood drawn--like a gentlemans."
A loud shout of laughter followed the proposal, which indeed had
rather escaped from poor Robin's swelling heart, than been the
dictate of his sober judgment.
"Gentleman, quotha!" was echoed on all sides, with a shout of
unextinguishable laughter; "a very pretty gentleman, God wot.
--Canst get two swords for the gentleman to fight with, Ralph
Heskett?"
"No, but I can send to the armoury at Carlisle, and lend them two
forks, to be making shift with in the meantime."
"Tush, man," said another, "the bonny Scots come into the world
with the blue bonnet on their heads, and dirk and pistol at their
belt."
"Best send post," said Mr. Fleecebumpkin, "to the Squire of Corby
Castle, to come and stand second to the GENTLEMAN."
In the midst of this torrent of general ridicule, the Highlander
instinctively griped beneath the folds of his plaid,
"But it's better not," he said in his own language. "A hundred
curses on the swine-eaters, who know neither decency nor
civility!"
"Make room, the pack of you," he said, advancing to the door.
But his former friend interposed his sturdy bulk, and opposed his
leaving the house; and when Robin Oig attempted to make his way
by force, he hit him down on the floor, with as much ease as a
boy bowls down a nine-pin.
"A ring, a ring!" was now shouted, until the dark rafters, and
the hams that hung on them, trembled again, and the very platters
on the BINK clattered against each other. "Well done, Harry"
--"Give it him home, Harry"--"Take care of him now--he sees his
own blood!"
Such were the exclamations, while the Highlander, starting from
the ground, all his coldness and caution lost in frantic rage,
sprung at his antagonist with the fury, the activity, and the
vindictive purpose of an incensed tiger-cat. But when could rage
encounter science and temper? Robin Oig again went down in the
unequal contest; and as the blow was necessarily a severe one, he
lay motionless on the floor of the kitchen. The landlady ran to
offer some aid, but Mr. Fleecebumpkin would not permit her to
approach.
"Let him alone," he said, "he will come to within time, and come
up to the scratch again. He has not got half his broth yet."
"He has got all I mean to give him, though," said his antagonist,
whose heart began to relent towards his old associate; "and I
would rather by half give the rest to yourself, Mr.
Fleecebumpkin, for you pretend to know a thing or two, and Robin
had not art enough even to peel before setting to, but fought
with his plaid dangling about him.--Stand up, Robin, my man! All
friends now; and let me hear the man that will speak a word
against you, or your country, for your sake."
Robin Oig was still under the dominion of his passion, and eager
to renew the onset; but being withheld on the one side by the
peacemaking Dame Heskett, and on the other, aware that Wakefield
no longer meant to renew the combat, his fury sunk into gloomy
sullenness.
"Come, come, never grudge so much at it, man," said the brave-
spirited Englishman, with the placability of his country; "shake
hands, and we will be better friends than ever."
"Friends!" exclaimed Robin Oig with strong emphasis--"friends!
Never. Look to yourself, Harry Waakfelt."
"Then the curse of Cromwell on your proud Scots stomach, as the
man says in the play, and you may do your worst, and be d--d; for
one man can say nothing more to another after a tussle, than that
he is sorry for it."
On these terms the friends parted. Robin Oig drew out, in
silence, a piece of money, threw it on the table, and then left
the alehouse. But turning at the door, he shook his hand at
Wakefield, pointing with his forefinger upwards, in a manner
which might imply either a threat or a caution. He then
disappeared in the moonlight.
Some words passed after his departure, between the bailiff, who
piqued himself on being a little of a bully, and Harry Wakefield,
who, with generous inconsistency, was now not indisposed to begin
a new combat in defence of Robin Oig's reputation, "although he
could not use his daddles like an Englishman, as it did not come
natural to him." But Dame Heskett prevented this second quarrel
from coming to a head by her peremptory interference. "There
should be no more fighting in her house," she said; "there had
been too much already.--And you, Mr. Wakefield, may live to
learn," she added, "what it is to make a deadly enemy out of a
good friend."
"Pshaw, dame! Robin Oig is an honest fellow, and will never keep
malice."
"Do not trust to that; you do not know the dour temper of the
Scots, though you have dealt with them so often. I have a right
to know them, my mother being a Scot."
"And so is well seen on her daughter," said Ralph Heskett.
This nuptial sarcasm gave the discourse another turn. Fresh
customers entered the tap-room or kitchen, and others left it.
The conversation turned on the expected markets, and the report
of prices from different parts both of Scotland and England.
Treaties were commenced, and Harry Wakefield was lucky enough to
find a chap for a part of his drove, and at a very considerable
profit--an event of consequence more than sufficient to blot out
all remembrances of the unpleasant scuffle in the earlier part of
the day. But there remained one party from whose mind that
recollection could not have been wiped away by the possession of
every head of cattle betwixt Esk and Eden.
This was Robin Oig M'Combich. "That I should have had no
weapon," he said, "and for the first time in my life! Blighted
be the tongue that bids the Highlander part with the dirk. The
dirk--ha! the English blood! My Muhme's word! When did her
word fall to the ground?"
The recollection of the fatal prophecy confirmed the deadly
intention which instantly sprang up in his mind.
"Ha! Morrison cannot be many miles behind; and if it were an
hundred, what then?"
His impetuous spirit had now a fixed purpose and motive of
action, and he turned the light foot of his country towards the
wilds, through which he knew, by Mr. Ireby's report, that
Morrison was advancing. His mind was wholly engrossed by the
sense of injury--injury sustained from a friend; and by the
desire of vengeance on one whom he now accounted his most bitter
enemy. The treasured ideas of self-importance and self-opinion
--of ideal birth and quality, had become more precious to him,
(like the hoard to the miser) because he could only enjoy them in
secret. But that hoard was pillaged--the idols which he had
secretly worshipped had been desecrated and profaned. Insulted,
abused, and beaten, he was no longer worthy, in his own opinion,
of the name he bore, or the lineage which he belonged to.
Nothing was left to him--nothing but revenge; and as the
reflection added a galling spur to every step, he determined it
should be as sudden and signal as the offence.
When Robin Oig left the door of the alehouse, seven or eight
English miles at least lay betwixt Morrison and him. The advance
of the former was slow, limited by the sluggish pace of his
cattle; the latter left behind him stubble-field and hedgerow,
crag and dark heath, all glittering with frost-rime in the broad
November moonlight, at the rate of six miles an hour. And now
the distant lowing of Morrison's cattle is heard; and now they
are seen creeping like moles in size and slowness of motion on
the broad face of the moor; and now he meets them--passes them,
and stops their conductor.
"May good betide us," said the Westlander. "Is this you, Robin
M'Combich, or your wraith?"
"It is Robin Oig M'Combich," answered the Highlander, "and it is
not. But never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu."
"What! you are for back to the Highlands! The devil! Have you
selt all off before the fair? This beats all for quick markets!"
"I have not sold--I am not going north--maype I will never go
north again. Give me pack my dirk, Hugh Morrison, or there will
pe words petween us."
"Indeed, Robin, I'll be better advised before I gie it back to
you; it is a wanchancy weapon in a Highlandman's hand, and I am
thinking you will be about some harns-breaking."
"Prutt, trutt! let me have my weapon," said Robin Oig
impatiently.
"Hooly and fairly," said his well-meaning friend. "I'll tell you
what will do better than these dirking doings. Ye ken
Highlander, and Lowlander, and Border-men are a' ae man's bairns
when you are over the Scots dyke. See, the Eskdale callants, and
fighting Charlie of Liddesdale, and the Lockerby lads, and the
four Dandies of Lustruther, and a wheen mair grey plaids, are
coming up behind; and if you are wranged, there is the hand of a
Manly Morrison, we'll see you righted, if Carlisle and Stanwix
baith took up the feud."
"To tell you the truth," said Robin Oig, desirous of eluding the
suspicions of his friend, "I have enlisted with a party of the
Black Watch, and must march off to-morrow morning."
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