Redgauntlet: A Tale Of The Eighteenth Century
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‘I wad by no means,’ said Peter Peebles, ‘do any substantial harm to the poor lad Fairford, who has had mony a gowd guinea of mine, as weel as his father before him; but I wad hae him brought back to the minding of my business and his ain; and maybe I wadna insist further in my action of damages against him, than for refunding the fees, and for some annual rent on the principal sum due frae the day on which he should have recovered it for me, plack and bawbee, at the great advising; for ye are aware, that is the least that I can ask NOMINE DAMNI; and I have nae thought to break down the lad bodily a’thegither – we maun live and let live – forgie and forget.’
‘The deuce take me, friend Broadbrim,’ said Nanty Ewart, looking to the Quaker, ‘if I can make out what this old scarecrow means. If I thought it was fitting that Master Fairford should see him, why perhaps it is a matter that could be managed. Do you know anything about the old fellow? – you seemed to take some charge of him just now.’
‘No more than I should have done by any one in distress,’ said Geddes, not sorry to be appealed to; ‘but I will try what I can do to find out who he is, and what he is about in this country. But are we not a little too public in this open room?’
‘It’s well thought of,’ said Nanty; and at his command the barmaid ushered the party into a side-booth, Peter attending them in the instinctive hope that there would be more liquor drunk among them before parting. They had scarce sat down in their new apartment, when the sound of a violin was heard in the room which they had just left.
‘I’ll awa back yonder,’ said Peter, rising up again; ‘yon’s the sound of a fiddle, and when there is music, there’s ay something ganging to eat or drink.’
‘I am just going to order something here,’ said the Quaker; ‘but in the meantime, have you any objection, my good friend, to tell us your name?’
‘None in the world, if you are wanting to drink to me by name and surname,’ answered Peebles; ‘but, otherwise, I would rather evite your interrogatories.’
‘Friend,’ said the Quaker, ‘it is not for thine own health, seeing thou hast drunk enough already – however – here, handmaiden – bring me a gill of sherry.’
‘Sherry’s but shilpit drink, and a gill’s a sma’ measure for twa gentlemen to crack ower at their first acquaintance. But let us see your sneaking gill of sherry,’ said Poor Peter, thrusting forth his huge hand to seize on the diminutive pewter measure, which, according to the fashion of the time, contained the generous liquor freshly drawn from the butt.
‘Nay, hold, friend,’ said Joshua, ‘thou hast not yet told me what name and surname I am to call thee by.’
‘D – d sly in the Quaker,’ said Nanty, apart, ‘to make him pay for his liquor before he gives it him. Now, I am such a fool, that I should have let him get too drunk to open his mouth, before I thought of asking him a question.’
‘My name is Peter Peebles, then,’ said the litigant, rather sulkily, as one who thought his liquor too sparingly meted out to him; ‘and what have you to say to that?’
‘Peter Peebles?’ repeated Nanty Ewart and seemed to muse upon something which the words brought to his remembrance, while the Quaker pursued his examination.
‘But I prithee, Peter Peebles, what is thy further designation? Thou knowest, in our country, that some men are distinguished by their craft and calling, as cordwainers, fishers, weavers, or the like, and some by their titles as proprietors of land (which savours of vanity) – now, how may you be distinguished from others of the same name?’
‘As Peter Peebles of the great plea of Poor Peter Peebles against Plainstanes, ET PER CONTRA – if I am laird of naething else, I am ay a DOMINUS LITIS.’
‘It’s but a poor lairdship, I doubt,’ said Joshua.
‘Pray, Mr. Peebles,’ said Nanty, interrupting the conversation abruptly, ‘were not you once a burgess of Edinburgh?’
‘WAS I a burgess!’ said Peter indignantly, ‘and AM I not a burgess even now? I have done nothing to forfeit my right, I trow – once provost and ay my lord.’
‘Well, Mr. Burgess, tell me further, have you not some property in the Gude Town?’ continued Ewart.
‘Troth have I – that is, before my misfortunes, I had twa or three bonny bits of mailings amang the closes and wynds, forby the shop and the story abune it. But Plainstanes has put me to the causeway now. Never mind though, I will be upsides with him yet.’
‘Had not you once a tenement in the Covenant Close?’ again demanded Nanty.
‘You have hit it, lad, though ye look not like a Covenanter,’ said Peter; ‘we’ll drink to its memory – (Hout! the heart’s at the mouth o’ that ill-faur’d bit stoup already!) – it brought a rent, reckoning from the crawstep to the groundsill, that ye might ca’ fourteen punds a year, forby the laigh cellar that was let to Lucky Littleworth.’
‘And do you not remember that you had a poor old lady for your tenant, Mrs. Cantrips of Kittlebasket?’ said Nanty, suppressing his emotion with difficulty.
‘Remember! G – d, I have gude cause to remember her,’ said Peter, ‘for she turned a dyvour on my hands, the auld besom! and after a’ that the law could do to make me satisfied and paid, in the way of poinding and distrenzieing and sae forth, as the law will, she ran awa to the charity workhouse, a matter of twenty punds Scots in my debt – it’s a great shame and oppression that charity workhouse, taking in bankrupt dyvours that canna, pay their honest creditors.’
‘Methinks, friend,’ said the Quaker, ‘thine own rags might teach thee compassion for other people’s nakedness.’
‘Rags!’ said Peter, taking Joshua’s words literally; ‘does ony wise body put on their best coat when they are travelling, and keeping company with Quakers, and such other cattle as the road affords?’
‘The old lady DIED, I have heard,’ said Nanty, affecting a moderation which was belied by accents that faltered with passion.
‘She might live or die, for what I care,’ answered Peter the Cruel; ‘what business have folk to do to live that canna live as law will, and satisfy their just and lawful creditors?’
‘And you – you that are now yourself trodden down in the very kennel, are you not sorry for what you have done? Do you not repent having occasioned the poor widow woman’s death?’
‘What for should I repent?’ said Peter; ‘the law was on my side – a decreet of the bailies, followed by poinding, and an act of warding – a suspension intented, and the letters found orderly proceeded. I followed the auld rudas through twa courts – she cost me mair money than her lugs were worth.’
‘Now, by Heaven!’ said Nanty, ‘I would give a thousand guineas, if I had them, to have you worth my beating! Had you said you repented, it had been between God and your conscience; but to hear you boast of your villany – Do you think it little to have reduced the aged to famine, and the young to infamy – to have caused the death of one woman, the ruin of another, and to have driven a man to exile and despair? By Him that made me, I can scarce keep hands off you!
‘Off me? I defy ye!’ said Peter. ‘I take this honest man to witness that if ye stir the neck of my collar, I will have my action for stouthreif, spulzie, oppression, assault and battery. Here’s a bra’ din, indeed, about an auld wife gaun to the grave, a young limmer to the close-heads and causeway, and a sticket stibbler [A student of divinity who has not been able to complete his studies on theology.] to the sea instead of the gallows!’
‘Now, by my soul,’ said Nanty, ‘this is too much! and since you can feel no otherwise, I will try if I cannot beat some humanity into your head and shoulders.’
He drew his hanger as he spoke, and although Joshua, who had in vain endeavoured to interrupt the dialogue to which he foresaw a violent termination, now threw himself between Nanty and the old litigant, he could not prevent the latter from receiving two or three sound slaps over the shoulder with the flat side of the weapon.
Poor Peter Peebles, as inglorious in his extremity as he had been presumptuous in bringing it on, now ran and roared, and bolted out of the apartment and house itself, pursued by Nanty, whose passion became high in proportion to his giving way to its dictates, and by Joshua, who still interfered at every risk, calling upon Nanty to reflect on the age and miserable circumstances of the offender, and upon Poor Peter to stand and place himself under his protection. In front of the house, however, Peter Peebles found a more efficient protector than the worthy Quaker.
CHAPTER XXI
NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD
Our readers may recollect that Fairford had been conducted by Dick Gardener from the house of Fairladies to the inn of old Father Crackenthorp, in order, as he had been informed by the mysterious Father Buonaventure, that he might have the meeting which he desired with Mr. Redgauntlet, to treat with him for the liberty of his friend Darsie. His guide, by the special direction of Mr. Ambrose, had introduced him into the public-house by a back-door, and recommended to the landlord to accommodate him with a private apartment, and to treat him with all civility; but in other respects to keep his eye on him, and even to secure his person, if he saw any reason to suspect him to be a spy. He was not, however, subjected to any direct restraint, but was ushered into an apartment where he was requested to await the arrival of the gentleman with whom he wished to have an interview, and who, as Crackenthorp assured, him with a significant nod, would be certainly there in the course of an hour. In the meanwhile, he recommended to him, with another significant sign, to keep his apartment, ‘as there were people in the house who were apt to busy themselves about other folk’s matters.’
Alan Fairford complied with the recommendation, so long as he thought it reasonable; but when, among a large party riding up to the house, he discerned Redgauntlet, whom he had seen under the name of Mr. Herries of Birrenswork, and whom, by his height and strength, he easily distinguished from the rest, he thought it proper to go down to the front of the house, in hopes that, by more closely reconnoitring the party, he might discover if his friend Darsie was among them.
The reader is aware that, by doing so, he had an opportunity of breaking Darsie’s fall from his side-saddle, although his disguise and mask prevented his recognizing his friend. It may be also recollected that while Nixon hurried Miss Redgauntlet and her brother into the house, their uncle, somewhat chafed at an unexpected and inconvenient interruption, remained himself in parley with Fairford, who had already successively addressed him by the names of Herries and Redgauntlet; neither of which, any more than the acquaintance of the young lawyer, he seemed at the moment willing to acknowledge, though an air of haughty indifference, which he assumed, could not conceal his vexation and embarrassment.
‘If we must needs be acquainted, sir,’ he said at last – ‘for which I am unable to see any necessity, especially as I am now particularly disposed to be private – I must entreat you will tell me at once what you have to say, and permit me to attend to matters of more importance.’
‘My introduction,’ said Fairford, ‘is contained in this letter. – (Delivering that of Maxwell.) – I am convinced that, under whatever name it may be your pleasure for the present to be known, it is into your hands, and yours only, that it should be delivered.’
Redgauntlet turned the letter in his hand – then read the contents then again looked upon the letter, and sternly observed, ‘The seal of the letter has been broken. Was this the case, sir, when it was delivered into your hand?’
Fairford despised a falsehood as much as any man, – unless, perhaps, as Tom Turnpenny might have said, ‘in the way of business.’ He answered readily and firmly, ‘The seal was whole when the letter was delivered to me by Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees.’
‘And did you dare, sir, to break the seal of a letter addressed to me?’ said Redgauntlet, not sorry, perhaps, to pick a quarrel upon a point foreign to the tenor of the epistle.
‘I have never broken the seal of any letter committed to my charge,’ said Alan; ‘not from fear of those to whom such letter might be addressed, but from respect to myself.’
‘That is well worded,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘and yet, young Mr. Counsellor, I doubt whether your delicacy prevented your reading my letter, or listening to the contents as read by some other person after it was opened.’
‘I certainly did hear the contents read over,’ said Fairford; ‘and they were such as to surprise me a good deal.’
‘Now that,’ said Redgauntlet, ‘I hold to be pretty much the same, IN FORO CONSCIENTIAE, as if you had broken the seal yourself. I shall hold myself excused from entering upon further discourse with a messenger so faithless; and you may thank yourself if your journey has been fruitless.’
‘Stay, sir,’ said Fairford; ‘and know that I became acquainted with the contents of the paper without my consent – I may even say, against my will; for Mr. Buonaventure’ —
‘Who?’ demanded Redgauntlet, in a wild and alarmed manner – ‘WHOM was it you named?’
‘Father Buonaventure,’ said Alan, – ‘a Catholic priest, as I apprehend, whom I saw at the Misses Arthuret’s house, called Fairladies.’
‘Misses Arthuret! – Fairladies! – A Catholic priest! – Father Buonaventure!’ said Redgauntlet, repeating the words of Alan with astonishment. – ‘Is it possible that human rashness can reach such a point of infatuation? Tell me the truth, I conjure you, sir. I have the deepest interest to know whether this is more than an idle legend, picked up from hearsay about the country. You are a lawyer, and know the risk incurred by the Catholic clergy, whom the discharge of their duty sends to these bloody shores.’
‘I am a lawyer, certainly,’ said Fairford; ‘but my holding such a respectable condition in life warrants that I am neither an informer nor a spy. Here is sufficient evidence that I have seen Father Buonaventure.’
He put Buonaventure’s letter into Redgauntlet’s hand, and watched his looks closely while he read it. ‘Double-dyed infatuation!’ he muttered, with looks in which sorrow, displeasure, and anxiety were mingled. ‘“Save me from the indiscretion of my friends,” says the Spaniard; “I can save myself from the hostility of my enemies.”’
He then read the letter attentively, and for two or three minutes was lost in thought, while some purpose of importance seemed to have gathered and sit brooding upon his countenance. He held up his finger towards his satellite, Cristal Nixon, who replied to his signal with a prompt nod; and with one or two of the attendants approached Fairford in such a manner as to make him apprehensive they were about to lay hold of him.
At this moment a noise was heard from withinside of the house, and presently rushed forth Peter Peebles, pursued by Nanty Ewart with his drawn hanger, and the worthy Quaker, who was endeavouring to prevent mischief to others, at some risk of bringing it on himself.
A wilder and yet a more absurd figure can hardly be imagined, than that of Poor Peter clattering along as fast as his huge boots would permit him, and resembling nothing so much as a flying scarecrow; while the thin emaciated form of Nanty Ewart, with the hue of death on his cheek, and the fire of vengeance glancing from his eye, formed a ghastly contrast with the ridiculous object of his pursuit.
Redgauntlet threw himself between them. ‘What extravagant folly is this?’ he said. ‘Put up your weapon, captain. Is this a time to indulge in drunken brawls, or is such a miserable object as that a fitting antagonist for a man of courage?’
‘I beg pardon,’ said the captain, sheathing his weapon – ‘I was a little bit out of the way, to be sure; but to know the provocation, a man must read my heart, and that I hardly dare to do myself. But the wretch is safe from me. Heaven has done its own vengeance on us both.’
While he spoke in this manner, Peter Peebles, who had at first crept behind Redgauntlet in bodily fear, began now to reassume his spirits. Pulling his protector by the sleeve, ‘Mr. Herries – Mr. Herries,’ he whispered, eagerly, ‘ye have done me mair than ae gude turn, and if ye will but do me anither at this dead pinch, I’ll forgie the girded keg of brandy that you and Captain Sir Harry Redgimlet drank out yon time. Ye sall hae an ample discharge and renunciation, and, though I should see you walking at the Cross of Edinburgh, or standing at the bar of the Court of Justiciary, no the very thumbikins themselves should bring to my memory that ever I saw you in arms yon day.’
He accompanied this promise by pulling so hard at Redgauntlet’s cloak, that he at last turned round. ‘Idiot! speak in a word what you want.’
‘Aweel, aweel. In a word, then,’ said Peter Peebles, ‘I have a warrant on me to apprehend that man that stands there, Alan Fairford by name, and advocate by calling. I bought it from Maister Justice Foxley’s clerk, Maister Nicholas Faggot, wi’ the guinea that you gied me.
‘Ha!’ said Redgauntlet, ‘hast thou really such a warrant? let me see it. Look sharp that no one escape, Cristal Nixon.’
Peter produced a huge, greasy, leathern pocketbook, too dirty to permit its original colour to be visible, filled with scrolls of notes, memorials to counsel, and Heaven knows what besides. From amongst this precious mass he culled forth a paper, and placed it in the hands of Redgauntlet, or Herries, as he continued to call him, saying, at the same time, ‘It’s a formal and binding warrant, proceeding on my affidavy made, that the said Alan Fairford, being lawfully engaged in my service, had slipped the tether and fled over the Border, and was now lurking there and thereabouts, to elude and evite the discharge of his bounden duty to me; and therefore granting warrant to constables and others, to seek for, take, and apprehend him, that he may be brought before the Honourable Justice Foxley for examination, and, if necessary, for commitment. Now, though a’ this be fairly set down, as I tell ye, yet where am I to get an officer to execute this warrant in sic a country as this, where swords and pistols flee out at a word’s speaking, and folk care as little for the peace of King George as the peace of Auld King Coul? There’s that drunken skipper, and that wet Quaker, enticed me into the public this morning, and because I wadna gie them’ as much brandy as wad have made them blind-drunk, they baith fell on me, and were in the way of guiding me very ill.’
While Peter went on in this manner, Redgauntlet glanced his eye over the warrant, and immediately saw that it must be a trick passed by Nicholas Faggot, to cheat the poor insane wretch out of his solitary guinea. But the Justice had actually subscribed it, as he did whatever his clerk presented to him, and Redgauntlet resolved to use it for his own purposes.
Without making any direct answer, therefore, to Peter Peebles, he walked up gravely to Fairford, who had waited quietly for the termination of a scene in which he was not a little surprised to find his client, Mr. Peebles, a conspicuous actor.
‘Mr. Fairford,’ said Redgauntlet, ‘there are many reasons which might induce me to comply with the request, or rather the injunctions, of the excellent Father Buonaventure, that I should communicate with you upon the present condition of my ward, whom you know under the name of Darsie Latimer; but no man is better aware than you that the law must be obeyed, even in contradiction to our own feelings; now this poor man has obtained a warrant for carrying you before a magistrate, and, I am afraid, there is a necessity of your yielding to it, although to the postponement of the business which you may have with me.’
‘A warrant against me!’ said Alan, indignantly; ‘and at that poor miserable wretch’s instance? – why, this is a trick, a mere and most palpable trick.’
‘It may be so,’ replied Redgauntlet, with great equanimity; ‘doubtless you know best; only the writ appears regular, and with that respect for the law which has been,’ he said, with hypocritical formality, ‘a leading feature of my character through life, I cannot dispense with giving my poor aid to the support of a legal warrant. Look at it yourself, and be satisfied it is no trick of mine.’
Fairford ran over the affidavit and the warrant, and then exclaimed once more, that it was an impudent imposition, and that he would hold those who acted upon such a warrant liable in the highest damages. ‘I guess at your motive, Mr. Redgauntlet,’ he said, ‘for acquiescing in so ridiculous a proceeding. But be assured you will find that, in this country, one act of illegal violence will not be covered or atoned for by practising another. You cannot, as a man of sense and honour, pretend to say you regard this as a legal warrant.’
‘I am no lawyer, sir,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘and pretend not to know what is or is not law – the warrant is quite formal, and that is enough for me.’
‘Did ever any one hear,’ said Fairford, ‘of an advocate being compelled to return to his task, like a collier or a salter [See Note 10.] who has deserted his master?’
‘I see no reason why he should not,’ said Redgauntlet, dryly, ‘unless on the ground that the services of the lawyer are the most expensive and least useful of the two.’
‘You cannot mean this in earnest,’ said Fairford; ‘you cannot really mean to avail yourself of so poor a contrivance, to evade the word pledged by your friend, your ghostly father, in my behalf. I may have been a fool for trusting it too easily, but think what you must be if you can abuse my confidence in this manner. I entreat you to reflect that this usage releases me from all promises of secrecy or connivance at what I am apt to think are very dangerous practices, and that’ —
‘Hark ye, Mr. Fairford,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘I must here interrupt you for your own sake. One word of betraying what you may have seen, or what you may have suspected, and your seclusion is like to have either a very distant or a very brief termination; in either case a most undesirable one. At present, you are sure of being at liberty in a very few days – perhaps much sooner.’
‘And my friend,’ said Alan Fairford, ‘for whose sake I have run myself into this danger, what is to become of him? Dark and dangerous man!’ he exclaimed, raising his voice, I will not be again cajoled by deceitful promises’ —
‘I give you my honour that your friend is well,’ interrupted Redgauntlet; ‘perhaps I may permit you to see him, if you will but submit with patience to a fate which is inevitable.’
But Alan Fairford, considering his confidence as having been abused, first by Maxwell, and next by the priest, raised his voice, and appealed to all the king’s lieges within hearing, against the violence with which he was threatened. He was instantly seized on by Nixon and two assistants, who, holding down his arms, and endeavouring to stop his mouth, were about to hurry him away.
The honest Quaker, who had kept out of Redgauntlet’s presence, now came boldly forward.
‘Friend,’ said he, ‘thou dost more than thou canst answer. Thou knowest me well, and thou art aware that in me thou hast a deeply injured neighbour, who was dwelling beside thee in the honesty and simplicity of his heart.’
‘Tush, Jonathan,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘talk not to me, man; it is neither the craft of a young lawyer, nor the SIMPLICITY of an old hypocrite, can drive me from my purpose.
‘By my faith,’ said the captain, coming forward in his turn, ‘this is hardly fair, general; and I doubt,’ he added, ‘whether the will of my owners can make me a party to such proceedings. Nay, never fumble with your sword-hilt, but out with it like a man, if you are for a tilting.’ He unsheathed his hanger, and continued – ‘I will neither see my comrade Fairford, nor the old Quaker, abused. D – n all warrants, false or true – curse the justice – confound the constable! – and here stands little Nanty Ewart to make good what he says against gentle and simple, in spite of horse-shoe or horse-radish either.’
The cry of ‘Down with all warrants!’ was popular in the ears of the militia of the inn, and Nanty Ewart was no less so. Fishers, ostlers, seamen, smugglers, began to crowd to the spot. Crackenthorp endeavoured in vain to mediate. The attendants of Redgauntlet began to handle their firearms; but their master shouted to them to forbear, and, unsheathing his sword as quick as lightning, he rushed on Ewart in the midst of his bravado, and struck his weapon from his hand with such address and force, that it flew three yards from him. Closing with him at the same moment, he gave him a severe fall, and waved his sword over his head, to show he was absolutely at his mercy.